Indigeneity, Culture and the UN Sustainable Development Goals (Sustainable Development Goals Series) 981990580X, 9789819905805

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Sustainable Development Goals Series

Connecting the Goals

Indigeneity, Culture and the UN Sustainable Development Goals Dominic O’Sullivan

Sustainable Development Goals Series

The Sustainable Development Goals Series is Springer Nature’s inaugural cross-imprint book series that addresses and supports the United Nations’ seventeen Sustainable Development Goals. The series fosters comprehensive research focused on these global targets and endeavours to address some of society’s greatest grand challenges. The SDGs are inherently multidisciplinary, and they bring people working across different fields together and working towards a common goal. In this spirit, the Sustainable Development Goals series is the first at Springer Nature to publish books under both the Springer and Palgrave Macmillan imprints, bringing the strengths of our imprints together. The Sustainable Development Goals Series is organized into eighteen subseries: one subseries based around each of the seventeen respective Sustainable Development Goals, and an eighteenth subseries, “Connecting the Goals,” which serves as a home for volumes addressing multiple goals or studying the SDGs as a whole. Each subseries is guided by an expert Subseries Advisor with years or decades of experience studying and addressing core components of their respective Goal. The SDG Series has a remit as broad as the SDGs themselves, and contributions are welcome from scientists, academics, policymakers, and researchers working in fields related to any of the seventeen goals. If you are interested in contributing a monograph or curated volume to the series, please contact the Publishers: Zachary Romano [Springer; zachary. [email protected]] and Rachael Ballard [Palgrave Macmillan; rachael. [email protected]].

Dominic O’Sullivan

Indigeneity, Culture and the UN Sustainable Development Goals

Dominic O’Sullivan Charles Sturt University Canberra, ACT, Australia

ISSN 2523-3084 ISSN 2523-3092 (electronic) Sustainable Development Goals Series ISBN 978-981-99-0580-5 ISBN 978-981-99-0581-2 (eBook) https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-99-0581-2 © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2023 Color wheel and icons: From https://www.un.org/sustainabledevelopment/, Copyright © 2020 United Nations. Used with the permission of the United Nations. The content of this publication has not been approved by the United Nations and does not reflect the views of the United Nations or its officials or Member States. This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. The publisher, the authors, and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. Cover illustration: Barbara Boensch/Alamy Stock Photo This Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. The registered company address is: 152 Beach Road, #21-01/04 Gateway East, Singapore 189721, Singapore

For my mother Tui

Acknowledgements

I would like to acknowledge my colleague Professor Manohar Pawar, at Charles Sturt University, for introducing me to the Sustainable Development Goals. Mark Filmer, also from Charles Sturt, edited the text. The book was developed on Ngunnawal country with support from the University’s Institute for Land Water and Society. It was finished on Te Raki Paewhenua during study leave in 2022. As always, my thanks to my family for supporting me and my work. My son Joey accompanied me to Auckland in 2022 and has been the best rugby and cricket companion during the year. My wife Cara and daughter Lucy kept the beer cold for our return to Canberra and with my father Vincent have shared the joys and frustrations of book writing with their characteristic love and interest. My mother Tui has provided a home for Joey and me during my study leave, and I dedicate this book to her for reasons needing more words than the book itself. The book honours the memory of my daughter Sarah Therese.

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Praise for Indigeneity, Culture and the UN Sustainable Development Goals

“A leader in indigenous political theory, O’Sullivan produces a series of arguments that wrench the UN’s Sustainable Development Goals from their non-indigenous biases, in order to preserve the hope that they might serve the whole of humanity. A formidable work of indigenous political theory from one of this emerging discipline’s foremost scholars.” —Dr. Lindsey MacDonald, University of Canterbury, New Zealand “A robust, well-theorised, and incisive critique that exposes the inattention of the Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs) to the histories, legacies, voices, aspirations, and authority of Indigenous peoples. A timely contribution to contemporary debates on nationhood, sovereignty, Indigenous recognition, and social justice.” —Professor Tanya Fitzgerald, The University of Western Australia, Australia “Asserting that Indigenous self-determination is ‘colonialism’s antithesis’, O’Sullivan analyses the UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples and demonstrates how, through associated Goals, Indigenous rights can truly transform both policy thinking and action. Navigating the interconnected relationships between culture, self-determination, and sustainable development, O’Sullivan affirms that continued policy failure

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in indigenous affairs is not inevitable, and his text presents essential considerations for Indigenous self-determination in multiple indigenous Nations globally.” —Dr. Jessa Rogers, Queensland University of Technology, Australia

Contents

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2

3

1

Introduction 1.1 The Agenda for Sustainable Development and the Indigenous Right to Self-Determination 1.2 The United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples 1.3 Structure References

7 12 15

Leaving Nobody Behind: Policy Integration, Policy Reform 2.1 Introduction 2.2 Targets and Beyond 2.3 Policy Integration 2.4 Targets, Relationships, the Goals and the Declaration 2.5 Implementing the Goals 2.6 Conclusion References

19 19 20 22 27 31 34 35

Indigenous Peoples: Policy, Culture and the Sustainable Development Goals 3.1 Introduction 3.2 Beyond Vulnerability 3.3 Why Policy Should Be Made Differently 3.4 Exclusion

39 39 40 42 46

1

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CONTENTS

3.5 3.6

4

5

6

Human Rights and Dignity Indigenous Voice, Indigenous Values and Inclusive Citizenship 3.7 Culture Matters 3.8 Capabilities 3.9 The Right to Choose One’s Own Manner of Living 3.10 Conclusion References

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Freedom and Culture: Beyond Egalitarian Justice 4.1 Introduction 4.2 Freedom and Culture 4.3 Poverty 4.4 Food Insecurity 4.5 Culture, Self-Determination and Environmental Management 4.6 Legitimacy, Trust and the Conditional Nature of Indigenous Rights 4.7 Conclusion References

67 67 68 71 73

The Just State 5.1 Introduction 5.2 Indigenous Peoples and the State 5.3 Can Colonialism Be Reversed, Can the Declaration and the Goals Help? 5.4 Liberal Politics of Indigeneity 5.5 What Constitutes a Just Order? 5.6 Participatory Parity 5.7 Differentiated Citizenship and Participation in Public Life 5.8 Conclusion References

89 89 90 92 95 97 100

Participation and Presence 6.1 Introduction 6.2 M¯ aori in Parliament 6.3 The Politics of Presence 6.4 The Uluru Statement from the Heart 6.5 Regional Voices, Recognition, Treaties and Legitimacy 6.6 Conclusion References

113 113 114 117 120 127 130 131

52 55 58 60 62 63

77 80 84 85

104 108 109

CONTENTS

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National Values, the Goals and the Right to Self-Determination 7.1 Introduction 7.2 Values and the Senate Inquiry 7.3 Canada: Human Rights Rhetoric and Racist Public Policy 7.4 Implementing the Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples: British Columbia 7.5 New Zealand’s Voluntary National Review to the UN High-Level Political Forum on Sustainable Development, 2019 7.6 Conclusion References

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133 133 134 138 144

150 153 154

Self-Determination, Participation and Leadership 8.1 Introduction 8.2 The M¯ aori Health Authority 8.3 Presence, Exclusion and Racism: The Care and Protection of Children 8.4 Indigenising the State: Whanau Ora Commission Agencies 8.5 Reforming Public Policy: An Australian Example 8.6 Policy Evaluation: Critical Tiriti Analysis 8.7 Conclusion References

159 159 160

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Quality Education 9.1 Introduction 9.2 The School as a Site of Self-Determination 9.3 Culture and the School 9.4 Indigenous Decision-Making 9.5 Conclusion References

189 189 190 197 203 206 206

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Economic Growth 10.1 Introduction 10.2 Growth and Well-Being 10.3 Environmental Management

211 211 212 215

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164 166 172 179 184 184

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10.4

The Australian National Review to the UN High-Level Political Forum on Sustainable Development, 2018 10.5 Economic Growth and Government Procurement Policy 10.6 Free Trade and Economic Growth 10.7 Conclusion References

217 218 222 228 229

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Data Sovereignty—What is Measured and Why? 11.1 Introduction 11.2 The Human Development Index and Beyond 11.3 Indigenous Data Sovereignty 11.4 The Indigenous Navigator Project 11.5 Data Sovereignty and Information Poverty 11.6 Data for Policy 11.7 Transforming Entire Policy Systems 11.8 Conclusion References

233 233 234 239 243 245 247 251 253 254

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Conclusion

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Index

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CHAPTER 1

Introduction

1.1 The Agenda for Sustainable Development and the Indigenous Right to Self-Determination In 2015, 193 United Nations (UN) member states adopted an Agenda for Sustainable Development. The Agenda was to take effect through 17 Sustainable Development Goals (the Goals or the SDGs), supported by 169 targets and 232 indicators (United Nations, 2015). The Goals are remarkable for their breadth of ambition but also for their inattention to culture which as this book shows, is an indispensable constituent of justice and essential to indigenous1 self-determination. The 17 Goals are: no poverty, zero hunger, good health and wellbeing, quality education, gender equality, clean water and sanitation, affordable and clean energy, decent work and economic growth, industry innovation and infrastructure, reduced inequalities, sustainable cities and communities, responsible consumption and production, climate action,

1 This book is interested in relationships among culture, self-determination and sustainable development. It presumes that all peoples have a right to cultural and political distinctiveness reflected in their own names and nationhood. This distinctiveness means that it is homogenising to capitalise the word ‘indigenous’ as a proper noun. For a full discussion of this argument see the Ngai Tahu writer Lindsey MacDonald ‘Decolonisation starts in a name: Moving on from the colonial pretence that ‘M¯aori’ or ‘indigenous peoples’ are explanatory frames,’ Political Science, 68(2), 105–123.

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2023 D. O’Sullivan, Indigeneity, Culture and the UN Sustainable Development Goals, Sustainable Development Goals Series, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-99-0581-2_1

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life below water, life on land, peace, justice and strong institutions, and, finally, partnerships for the Goals (United Nations, 2015). The Goals were developed from the Rio + 20 UN Conference on Sustainable Development in 2012. The UN says that the Goals describe The Future We Want (United Nations, 2012). Their ultimate purpose is to ensure that development is sustainable and leaves nobody behind (United Nations, 2015); an aspiration of potentially counter-colonial significance because it presumes that: ‘We must critically examine the crucible of human values and institutions – specifically the way power is distributed and wielded – to accelerate implementation of the 2030 Agenda for Sustainable Development’ (p. 5). The Agenda for Sustainable Development (United Nations, 2015) was explicit: We envisage a world of universal respect for human rights and human dignity, the rule of law, justice, equality and non-discrimination; of respect for race, ethnicity and cultural diversity; and of equal opportunity permitting the full realization of human potential and contributing to shared prosperity... A just, equitable, tolerant, open and socially inclusive world in which the needs of the most vulnerable are met. (Our vision, para. 8)

There are more than 476 million indigenous people in the world, in 90 states and comprising around 5000 distinct groups (United Nations, 2021 International Day of the World’s Indigenous Peoples). They are distinct peoples who exist (or did exist) in some kind of relationship with a colonial power and claim cultural and linguistic distinctions from the people with whom they share territories, either involuntarily or on terms that are in different ways unfavourable. Although culturally diverse, the United Nations (2015) suggests that they tend to share the following characteristics: • They often have small populations relative to the dominant culture of their country; • They usually have (or had) their own language; • They practice distinctive cultural traditions; • They have (or had) their own land and territory, to which they are connected at various levels; • They self-identify as Indigenous. (United Nations, 2015, Indigenous Peoples, Introduction, para. 2)

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Like all peoples, indigenous peoples claim self-determination as a fundamental human right. Self-determination is colonialism’s antithesis, which is why it is contested and difficult to realise. It may be summarised as the right not to be left behind. Self-determination is the underlying and integrated theme of the Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (United Nations, 2007), and encompasses indigenous peoples right to maintain distinctive and independent authority and participate distinctively in the public life of the state. Furthermore, by virtue of the right to independent authority ‘they freely determine their political status and freely pursue their economic, social and cultural development’ (United Nations, 2007, article 1). The Goals are potentially aligned with the Declaration, both intellectually and practically. As this book shows, such alignment adds to the internationalisation of human rights discourses. Like the Goals, the Declaration is an important agenda setting instrument. Together they require contextualisation and expression in the concrete circumstances of different peoples and jurisdictions. Together they may show that liberal democracy’s tendency to constrain the right to self-determination is neither inevitable nor immutable. From this perspective, one may evaluate the policy transformations that the United Nations (2015) intends the Goals to achieve: We envisage a world free of poverty, hunger, disease and want, where all life can thrive. We envisage a world free of fear and violence. A world with universal literacy. A world with equitable and universal access to quality education at all levels, to health care and social protection, where physical, mental and social well-being are assured ... (7). We envisage a world in which every country enjoys sustained, inclusive and sustainable economic growth and decent work for all. A world in which consumption and production patterns and use of all natural resources – from air to land, from rivers, lakes and aquifers to oceans and seas – are sustainable. One in which democracy, good governance and the rule of law as well as an enabling environment at national and international levels, are essential for sustainable development, including sustained and inclusive economic growth, social development, environmental protection and the eradication of poverty and hunger ... (9).

The Goals are coherent and potentially transformative in their support for indigenous self-determination, but they do not necessarily introduce any new ideas or conceptually develop it as a political aspiration. They

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do, however, provide a framework for comparing one nation’s progress against another’s with the potential to show that sustained policy failure in indigenous affairs is not inevitable and may be overcome, as a product of political will. They allow international scrutiny to be brought to matters of domestic policy. Furthermore, UN member states may, from time to time, present Voluntary National Reviews to the UN Annual High-Level Political Forum on Sustainable Development. The Reviews, discussed in later chapters, provide insights into state perspectives on the relationships between self-determination and the Goals. Indigenous land alienation can only be partially remediated. However, in societies like Australia, Canada and New Zealand, there remains deep disagreement on the nature of colonial injustice and, therefore, the actions and inactions of the state for which redress might be owed. In New Zealand, the Waitangi Tribunal2 provides a comprehensive framework for justifying and elaborating arguments for redress. The Truth and Reconciliation Commission in Canada, which reported in 2015, performed a similar function with respect to residential schools (Government of Canada, 2015), and contextualises legislation in both Canada and British Columbia to implement the Declaration. This is discussed in Chapter 7. In Australia, the Native Title Tribunal allows for the recognition of land rights with varying degrees of legal protection (Bartlett, 1999). In 2021, the Government of Victoria, in Australia, agreed with the state’s First Nations Assembly to establish a truth and reconciliation commission. Its task is to examine colonialism’s impacts beyond land alienation. Also, colonialism’s impacts beyond the removal of indigenous children from their families and deaths in custody, which were the subjects of public inquiries in 1997 (Australian Human Rights and Equal Opportunities Commission, 1997) and 1991 (Royal Commission into Aboriginal Deaths in Custody, 1991). These inquiry reports showed how colonialism is the denial of another’s political standing. It is thus not a single event but an ongoing act of subjugation. Political theory has been called upon to rationalise this subjugating project. However, it is among this book’s contrasting aims to show that political theory also provides recourse to ‘ways of representing the world and histories that critique 2 The Waitangi Tribunal is an administrative tribunal established in 1975 to hear alleged breaches of the Treaty of Waitangi by the Crown. It may make remedial recommendations. The historical, legal, and political significance of its reports can be far-reaching and enduring and are referred to throughout this book.

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rather than authorize or sustain imperialistic ways of knowing’ (Go, 2018, p. 441). The SDGs replaced the eight Millennium Development Goals (MDGs) which the UN adopted in 2000 (United Nations, 2015). These Goals were intended to ‘eradicate extreme poverty and hunger, achieve universal primary education, promote gender equality and empower women, reduce child mortality, improve maternal health, combat HIV/AIDS, malaria and other diseases, ensure environmental sustainability and global partnership for development’ (United Nations, 2015, para. 6). However, the MDGs were not established through broad consultation and were focussed only on the needs and aspirations of poorer countries. They were not developed with specific indigenous engagement. Nor were they developed with systematic indigenous contributions and, as this book shows, they do not explicitly address the concerns of indigenous peoples in wealthy states like Australia, Canada and New Zealand. In 2015, the Indigenous Peoples Major Group for Sustainable Development argued that: ‘The near “invisibility” of indigenous peoples in the current draft of the Goals poses a serious risk of repeating their negative experiences with national development processes and efforts to achieve the Millennium Development Goals’ (Indigenous Peoples Major Group for Sustainable Development, 2015, p. 1). The Major Group’s critique of the Millennium Development Goals did not substantively influence the drafting of the SDGs as their replacement. The failure to recognize indigenous peoples as distinct groups under the MDGs resulted in the absence of targeted measures to address their specific situations related to poverty and severely limited the realization of favourable outcomes. (Indigenous Peoples Major Group for Sustainable Development, 2015, p. 1)

None of the Major Group for Sustainable Development’s (2015) six recommendations for inclusion were reflected in the finally adopted SDGs. These recommendations are related to: ‘1.) Disaggregation of data; 2.) Lands, territories and resources; 3.) Free, Prior and Informed Consent [for land use]; 4.) Special Measures; 5.) Access to justice and redress mechanisms; 6.) Participation and representation in decisionmaking and relevant bodies’ (p. 5). These recommendations point to development as a culturally contextualised aspiration and as an aspiration that is formed from colonial context. For indigenous people in wealthy

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states, this context means that to be included among those who are not left behind requires understanding development as more than ‘what poor countries or developing countries needed to do to get richer’ (Yap & Watene, 2019, p. 451). It is, therefore, significant that the Indigenous Peoples Major Group for Sustainable Development (United Nations, 2019) argued that shared indigenous histories constitute a ‘development injustice’ that ‘should be fully acknowledged and addressed as a starting point for the inclusion and empowerment of indigenous peoples in achieving the [Sustainable Development] Goals’ (United Nations, 2019, p. 3). The Major Group (United Nations, 2019) told the UN High-Level Political Forum on Sustainable Development that indigenous ‘inclusion and empowerment entail legal recognition of their distinct identities; security of tenure of their lands, territories and resources; peace in their territory and enjoyment of the right to self-governance including the customs, traditions, cultures, and livelihoods linked to sustainable resource management practices’ (United Nations, 2019, p. 2). With these, and the broader aspirations of the UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (United Nations, 2007) in mind, this book considers whether the Goals may contribute to broader and transformative policy thinking, by indigenous and other actors, through their juxtaposition with the Declaration, which is presently introduced. Intellectually aligning the Goals and the Declaration may provide innovative and transformative approaches to indigenous peoples defining and pursuing well-being in the modern liberal state. The book especially considers what scope exists for an alliance of common aspiration between the Declaration and SDG 16 (Peace, Justice and Strong Institutions), as the goal that is foundational to their full contribution to indigenous people being among those who are not left behind. SDG 16’s targets include five which are especially relevant to indigenous self-determination—the Declaration’s underlying theme. 16.3 Promote the rule of law at the national and international levels and ensure equal access to justice for all 16.6 Develop effective, accountable and transparent institutions at all levels 16.7 Ensure responsive, inclusive, participatory and representative decision-making at all levels

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16.10 Ensure public access to information and protect fundamental freedoms, in accordance with national legislation and international agreements 16 B Promote and enforce non-discriminatory laws and policies for sustainable development. (United Nations, 2015, p. 16) SDG 16’s targets may offer inclusion, independence and agency to peoples traditionally ‘left behind’ by the colonial experiences of assimilation, discriminatory laws and public policies.

1.2 The United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples The Declaration set out universal human rights norms and made their unique application to indigenous contexts explicit. Its foundational presumption is that self-determination is a right that belongs to indigenous peoples as much as anybody else. The Declaration’s 46 articles set out rights of independent decision-making in fields as diverse as quality education (SDG 4), good health and well-being (SDG 3), and decent work and economic growth (SDG 8). The Declaration (United Nations, 2007) conceptualises self-determination in these ways: Indigenous peoples have the right to establish and control their educational systems and institutions providing education in their own languages, in a manner appropriate to their cultural methods of teaching and learning. (Article 14(1)) Indigenous individuals, particularly children, have the right to all levels and forms of education of the State without discrimination. (Article 14(2)) States shall, in conjunction with indigenous peoples, take effective measures, in order for indigenous individuals, particularly children, including those living outside their communities, to have access, when possible, to an education in their own culture and provided in their own language. (Article 14(2)) Indigenous peoples have the right to determine and develop priorities and strategies for exercising their right to development. In particular, indigenous peoples have the right to be actively involved in developing and determining health, housing and other economic and social programmes affecting them and, as far as possible, to administer such programmes through their own institutions. (Article 23)

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Indigenous individuals have an equal right to the enjoyment of the highest attainable standard of physical and mental health. States shall take the necessary steps with a view to achieving progressively the full realization of this right. (Article, 24(2))

As an instrument developed by states, the Goals are open to interpretation as top-down and distant. In contrast, the Declaration was drafted by indigenous peoples and is a comprehensive and authoritative expression of their political aspirations. Drafting the Declaration was an example of how deliberating in an international forum allows people to express their aspirations free of the political constraints and prejudices that may exist within the colonial state. It fostered international cooperation in the development of ideas and expression of political aspirations. The Declaration accepts the state’s right to govern but positions it as a conditional right. If self-determination belongs to indigenous peoples as much as it belongs to anybody, it is beyond the reasonable powers of the state to constrain it, especially in ways that are discriminatory, undermine a people’s right to culture or limit their capacities to exercise authority over their own affairs. It is similarly unreasonable to limit indigenous people’s opportunities to participate in the affairs of the state with the same opportunity for meaningful influence as anybody else. Self-determination means that state sovereignty is not an absolute and incontestable power over and above indigenous nations. It is not a power to extinguish indigenous nationhood. Yet, nationhood is not purely a political identity. It is an indigenous way of living and an assertion of independence. Self-determination is concerned with reversing indigenous dependency on the state; a dependency that was deliberately created by the colonial state to diminish indigenous agency and capacities for resistance. For example, Canada’s Indian Act 1876 was an instrument of control separating ‘Indigenous peoples from each other and disconnect[ing] them from their relationships to culture and the natural world’ (Courchene, in Cameron et al., 2019, p. 14). Relationships with culture and the natural world were the basis of indigenous autonomy, political organisation and cultural integrity, which self-determination aims to restore. However, addressing culture’s omission from the Goals’ explicit and systematic consideration is the book’s recurring purpose. The book concludes by suggesting additional indicators to ensure that indigenous aspirations are evident in each of the 17 Goals.

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Along with the United States, Australia, Canada and New Zealand were the only UN member states to oppose the Declaration when it was adopted by the General Assembly in 2007. These states especially feared the expansive nature of its treatment of indigenous land rights, but after ‘reading down’ its significance, each eventually accepted its aspirational importance and formally withdrew their opposition (O’Sullivan, 2020). Australia, for example, proposed that the Declaration’s ‘universal aspirations’ could ‘help build understanding and trust’ and ‘gives us new impetus to… advance human rights and close the gap between Indigenous and non-Indigenous Australians’ (Macklin, 2009, p. 2). New Zealand said that: The Declaration acknowledges the distinctive and important status of indigenous peoples, their common historical experiences and the universal spirit that underpins its text. The Declaration is an affirmation of accepted international human rights and also expresses new, and non-binding, aspirations. In moving to support the Declaration, New Zealand both affirms those rights and reaffirms the legal and constitutional frameworks that underpin New Zealand’s legal system. Those existing frameworks, while they will continue to evolve in accordance with New Zealand’s domestic circumstances, define the bounds of New Zealand’s engagement with the aspirational elements of the Declaration. (Sharples, 2010, paras. 7–8)

British Columbia’s and Canada’s commitments to implementing the Declaration (discussed in Chapter 7) are not yet paralleled in Australia or New Zealand. The New Zealand government is considering a report on how the Declaration could inform public policy, while also strengthening Te Tiriti o Waitangi’s3 influence (Charters et al., 2019). Australia has no comparable interest in the Declaration (O’Sullivan, 2020). The Norwegian Sami Parliament argues for incorporating the Declaration into state legislation (Larsen, 2018). Instead, the Norwegian 3 Te Tiriti o Waitangi is a treaty concluded between M¯ aori chiefs (rangatira) and the British Crown. It allowed Britain to establish government over its settlers, affirmed rangatiratanga or M¯aori authority over themselves and their natural environment. It conferred on M¯aori the rights and privileges of British subjects; a status that evolved and continues to evolve as New Zealand citizenship. There is an English version of the agreement under which M¯aori transferred their sovereign authority to the British Crown. The British Crown signed both versions, while over 500 rangatira signed the M¯aori text and 39 signed the English.

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Constitution (1988) says that: ‘The authorities of the state shall create conditions enabling the Sami people to preserve and develop its language, culture and way of life’ (s. 108). Larsen (2018) explains the distribution of responsibilities that the Constitution establishes. This explanation further contextualises local understanding of the right to self-determination. ‘The Constitution sets first, that the state shall create conditions. Secondly, it sets that the Sami people themselves shall be enabled to preserve and develop their culture. This means that the state has a facilitator role, and the Sami people has an implementation role’ (p. 1). Given the power and resources of the state, it inevitably holds a facilitative role in establishing the conditions for self-determination coupled with its necessary leadership and coordination of measures to implement the Goals. However, it is also clear that the Constitution does not envisage the state exercising the protective functions of guardianship used to justify state control over indigenous movement, work and marriage in Australia and to justify the removal of indigenous children from their families, which occurred in a systematic effort to eliminate indigenous cultures until the 1970s. However, Larsen (2018) does note a particular vulnerability ‘because of the close connection between traditional livelihoods and nature’ compounded by global warming’s impact on the Arctic region. The expectation is that, in the absence of remedial measures, Arctic temperatures will increase by between 4 and 6° by 2050. The impact of changes to the region’s biodiversity is affecting Sami culture, and Larsen (2018) fears further disruption due to climate change making the area more easily accessible to extractive industries. Larsen (2018), therefore, argues the importance of admitting indigenous knowledge into environmental management but notes that it is ‘an on-going challenge to achieve inclusion of contrasting knowledge visions in the field of biodiversity and ecosystem services and consumer participation of Indigenous Peoples’ traditional knowledge holders in both national and international processes’ (p. 3). Although the parliament has some decision-making powers in relation to culture, Larsen (2018) argues on its behalf that it does not prevent active Sami exclusion from some decision-making processes and does not guarantee that culturally informed environmental perspectives influence public policy formation. There is dissonance between culture and policy because the means of admitting culture through robust participatory arrangements

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are not always strong. ‘Policymaking needs to be driven both by scientific findings, and also by accumulated traditional knowledge and wisdom’ (Larsen, 2018, p. 3). In Australia, Canada and New Zealand, the tension between colonialism and self-determination exerts significant influence over public policy formation and the broader working of each state’s liberal democratic system of government. The tension arises because there is no objective good that colonialism tries to serve. Its purpose is to assert some people’s self-interest over another people’s self-determination. However, the Goals’ intention that nobody is left behind may provide indigenous peoples and the modern colonial state with a conceptual framework for responding to this tension. In so responding, the Goals may not give self-determination additional political effect nor guarantee its meaningful application. However, they do potentially support a new and internationally sanctioned framework for developing policy thinking on how self-determination might be applied. Self-determination responds to inequities in the distribution of political power, so the Goals’ overarching significance stems from SDG 16 and its potential influence on how public policy works and how it might be harnessed to work in self-determination’s favour. Just institutions are preliminary to indigenous peoples being able to work out precisely how the Goals might support their broader aspirations, and localised accounts of the right to self-determination. As a starting point, just institutions may require that belonging to the national political community is not ‘inextricably tied to white possession’ (Moreton-Robinson, 2003, p. 137) as the ‘definitive marker of citizenship’ (Moreton-Robinson, 2004, p. 79). The Declaration provides an account of what indigenous peoples, internationally, mean by the rights and capacities of self-determination. It sets out minimum standards and aspirations, minimum and essential constituents of the right to self-determination. Important and consequent political questions include what do the Goals add, or how do they help give effect to the Declaration? Do they support instruments like treaties and the Voice to Parliament in Australia? Nordbeck and Steurer (2015) argued that using an instrument like the Goals as a deliberate communication strategy could ‘facilitate networking, shape the framing of problems and solutions, and lead to policy learning’ which are ‘important prerequisites for effective policy coordination’ (p. 13). They continue to argue that ‘better policies usually emerge from conflicts between specialists advocating competing solutions, not from

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a vague consensus’ (p. 14). Policy integration may, however, support Courchene’s (2017) argument that: We each bring knowledge of values from the four corners of the earth, based on our cultures and spiritual traditions, which show us how to be kind and how to relate to each other and the Earth. Everyone has something to contribute in knowledge and gifts. We have to find a way to share that. (para. 5)

Nevertheless, each of the Goals is ambitious and potentially relevant to the indigenous rights and capacities of self-determination. Together they provide a framework for recognising circuitous relationships among policy objectives. For example, eliminating poverty (SDG 1) and hunger (SDG 2) requires high levels of well remunerated employment (SDG 8), requiring that a population is healthy (SDG 3) and well educated (SDG 4).

1.3

Structure

Chapter 2 introduces the argument that leaving nobody behind requires the state to work differently. Most especially, for indigenous peoples, this means admitting indigenous peoples and cultures into public institutions and policy-making as substantive shareholders in the right to make decisions. Although the Goals do not presume this level of political transformation, the chapter shows that considering and perhaps revising the Goals alongside the Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples may allow them to support the rights, claims and capacities of indigenous self-determination as a transformative aspiration. The chapter also argues that culture is an essential, though presently missing, consideration for the policy integration that the Goals presume. It shows that integration is an ambitious task in the indigenous policy domain and that despite their present limits, the Goals are potentially relevant to the claims of indigeneity in wealthy states like Australia, Canada and New Zealand. Chapter 3 introduces culture as a mark of human dignity. It notes the limited responsiveness to self-determination in the two references that the Goals’ 232 indicators make to indigenous peoples. In particular, the chapter argues that these references take a reductionist view of the scale and scope of reasonable indigenous ambition, and that broader and more inclusive perspectives are required for indigenous people to be among

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those who are not left behind. The chapter introduces public policy as a site where colonial authority and indigenous resistance meet, and different conceptions of human equality are contested. In helping to resolve these conflicts and contests, the Goals must transcend their passing references to indigenous vulnerability to support self-determination as a politics of human agency. Chapter 4 continues to examine culture as the book’s recurrent theme. It shows relationships between culture, freedom, equality and group rights. As an example, it shows why group rights to natural resources matter as a determinant of SDG 1 (No Poverty). It examines relationships between colonisation and poverty, with food insecurity as an example. The chapter also considers indigenous access to the natural environment with reference to culture and draws attention to treaties between indigenous nations and the state as instruments of recognition that are concerned with legitimacy and trust as determinants of indigenous people being left behind, or not. Chapter 5 argues that not leaving indigenous people behind would be an expression of a just state and would require addressing the ambitious and complex task of eliminating state interference in indigenous people’s lives. It asks how, then, and according to which values should public institutions operate. It considers arrangements to support the idea that all and not just some people should contribute to public decision-making. To this end, it introduces participatory parity and differentiated citizenship. These organising principles explain the book’s confidence in liberal democracy’s capacity to work in indigenous people’s favour, as much as it works for other citizens, if people so choose. Chapter 6 extends this argument. It proposes that for public institutions to work equally well for indigenous peoples, they must be present and able to contribute meaningfully wherever decisions are made. There must be scope for distinctive indigenous contributions to public life as a complement, but not an alternative, to the extant authority that indigenous peoples are entitled to exercise in relation to their own affairs. The chapter examines M¯aori presence in the New Zealand Parliament and executive and the proposed First Nations Voice to Parliament in Australia as examples of liberal democracy’s capacity to support distinctive indigenous contributions to public life as an essential precursor to people not being left behind. Chapter 7 considers how states present their national political values and the relationship between the values that are presented and policy

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outcomes. It examines an Australian Senate committee inquiry report on the Goals and the Canadian and New Zealand Voluntary National Reviews to the UN High-Level Political Forum on Sustainable Development. The chapter also considers national responses to the Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples, including legislation to support its implementation in British Columbia and Canada. These examinations show how values influence how people are left behind or not left behind and are foundational to subsequent chapters’ consideration of these questions in relation to SDG 3 (Health and Well-being) (Chapter 8), SDG 4 (Quality Education) (Chapter 9) and SDG 8 (Decent Work and Economic Growth) (Chapter 10). Chapter 8 considers some of the characteristics of a just public institution. It discusses New Zealand’s M¯aori Health Authority and Whanau Ora Commissioning Agencies as examples of how indigenous people are present in the public life of the state. Australia’s Indigenous Evaluation Strategy and revisions to its National Agreement on Closing the Gap are raised as further examples. On the other hand, it discusses the care and protection of children at risk in New Zealand and Canada as a continuing example of policy as a site of colonial contest. The chapter considers policy evaluation as a site of potential transformation and introduces Critical Tiriti Analysis (Came et al., 2020), an original methodology I developed with Came and McCreanor, to show how and why. Chapter 9 considers culture’s relevance to not being left behind and quality education (SDG 4). Formal schooling is based on and transmits a body of values that may or may not be intended to serve all citizens equally well. The chapter provides examples of developments in contemporary schooling that recognise culture as a constituent of not being left behind. It shows the importance of how, why and by whom decisions are made about what schooling should achieve and examines how and why schools may function as just institutions. It provides examples of indigenous people thinking about schooling, not as a response to their vulnerability as SDG 4.1 frames it, but as an expression of agency. Chapter 10 is concerned with economic growth as an ambition of greater significance and transformative potential than is possible in the SDGs’ reference to subsistence farming. Again, culture and colonial context are important considerations when thinking about growth in relation to the policy domains of environmental management, procurement policy and free trade agreements, as the examples that this chapter considers. The chapter shows that indigenous economic growth occurs at

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the intersection of justice and pragmatic economic policy, with the Goals requiring significant revision to recognise and support economic growth as an essential condition of self-determination. Chapter 11 recognises that the Goals’ targets and indicators require measurement so that progress may be established. It argues that what is measured and why reflects whose values and influences most count. It considers examples of what indigenous peoples, from different jurisdictions and in different policy domains, say should be measured to show whether they are being left behind. The chapter shows that what is measured and how is not a mark of statistical objectivity, but of political values. It examines indigenous data sovereignty, information poverty and the use of data to support policy development. It argues that what one wants to know and why may include value judgements about who, if anybody, will be left behind.

References Bartlett, R. H. (1999). Native title in Australia: Denial, recognition and dispossession. In P. Havemann (Ed.), Indigenous peoples rights in Australia, Canada, and New Zealand. Oxford University Press. Came, H., O’Sullivan, D., & McCreanor, T. (2020). Introducing critical Tiriti policy analysis through a retrospective review of the New Zealand Primary Health Care Strategy. Ethnicities, 20(3), 434–456. Cameron, L., Courchene, D., Ijaz, S., & Mauro, I. (2019). The Turtle Lodge: Sustainable self-determination in practice. AlterNative: An International Journal of Indigenous Peoples, 15(1), 13–21. Charters, C., Kingdon-Bebb, K., Olsen, T., Ormsby, W., Owen, E., Pryor, J., Ruru, R., Solomon, N., & Williams, G. (2019). He Puapua: Report of the working group on a plan to realise the UN declaration on the rights of indigenous peoples in Aotearoa/New Zealand. Te Puni Kokiri. https://www. cwis.org/document/he-puapua-report-of-the-working-group-on-a-plan-torealise-the-un-declaration-on-the-rights-of-indigenous-peoples-in-aotearoanew-zealand/. Accessed 3 September 2022. Courchene, D. (2017). A time to change. https://www.turtlelodge.org/ 2017/05/a-time-to-change-a-presentation-on-behalf-of-the-giigewigamigelders-council-and-traditional-healing-centre-dave-courchene-april-23-2017/. Accessed 6 August 2022. Go, J. (2018). Postcolonial possibilities for the sociology of race. Sociology of Race and Ethnicity, 4(4), 439–451.

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Government of Canada. (2015). Canada’s residential schools: The final report of the truth and reconciliation commission of Canada. https://publications.gc. ca/site/eng/9.807830/publication.html. Accessed 12 August 2022. Human Rights and Equal Opportunities Commission. (1997). Bringing them home report of the national inquiry into the separation of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander children from their families. http://www.austlii.edu.au/au/ special/rsjproject/rsjlibrary/hreoc/stolen/prelim.html#terms. Accessed 29 January 2003. Indigenous Peoples Major Group for Sustainable Development. (2015). Policy brief on sustainable development goals and post-2015 development agenda: A working draft. https://sustainabledevelopment.un.org/content/documents/ 6797IPMG%20Policy%20Brief%20Working%20Draft%202015.pdf. Accessed 6 August 2022. Larsen, E. (2018). Sustainable development in the territories of indigenous peoples. https://www.google.com/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web& cd=&ved=2ahUKEwi9gJyx_tT5AhUowTgGHfI5BIUQFnoECAoQAQ&url= https%3A%2F%2Fwww.un.org%2Fdevelopment%2Fdesa%2Findigenouspeo ples%2Fwp-content%2Fuploads%2Fsites%2F19%2F2018%2F01%2FLarsen_ presentation_Jan_2018.docx&usg=AOvVaw0ZetzaSan2YF3k4GFsTg3U. Accessed 7 August 2022. MacDonald, L. T. A. o. T. (2016). Decolonisation starts in a name: Moving on from the colonial pretence that ‘M¯aori’ or ‘indigenous peoples’ are explanatory frames. Political Science, 68(2), 105–123. Macklin, J. (2009). Statement on the United Nations declaration on the rights of indigenous peoples. http://www.un.org/esa/socdev/unpfii/documents/Aus tralia_official_statement_endorsement_UNDRIP.pdf. Accessed 14 November 2009. Moreton-Robinson, A. (2003). I still call Australia home: Indigenous belonging and place in a white postcolonizing society. In Uprootings/regroundings: Questions of home and migration (pp. 131–149). Moreton-Robinson, A. (2004). Whiteness, epistemology and indigenous representation. In A. Moreton-Robinson (Ed.), Whitening race: Essays in social and cultural criticism (pp. 75–88). Aboriginal Studies Press. Nordbeck, R., & Steurer, R. (2015). Integrated multi-sectoral strategies as dead ends of policy coordination: Lessons to be learned from sustainable development. Institute of Forest, Environmental and Natural Resource Policy. https:// boku.ac.at/fileadmin/data/H03000/H73000/H73200/InFER_Discus sion_Papers/InFER_DP_15_5_Integrated_multi-sectoral_strategies_as_dead_ ends_of_policy_coordination.pdf. Accessed 20 August 2022. O’Sullivan, D. (2020). ‘We are all here to stay’: Citizenship, Sovereignty and the UN declaration on the rights of indigenous peoples. ANU Press.

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Royal Commission into Aboriginal Deaths in Custody. (1991). National Report. Australian Government. Sharples, P. (2010). Supporting UN declaration restores NZ’s mana. https:// www.beehive.govt.nz/release/supporting-un-declaration-restores-nzs-mana#: ~:text=The%20Declaration%20acknowledges%20the%20distinctive,and% 20non%2Dbinding%2C%20aspirations. Accessed 20 August 2022. United Nations. (2007). Declaration on the rights of indigenous peoples. United https://www.un.org/development/desa/indigenouspeoples/wpNations. content/uploads/sites/19/2018/11/UNDRIP_E_web.pdf. Accessed 5 August 2022. United Nations. (2012). The future we want. https://www.un.org/ga/search/ view_doc.asp?symbol=A/RES/66/288&Lang=E. Accessed 8 August 2022. United Nations. (2015). Transforming our world: The 2030 agenda for sustainable development. https://sustainabledevelopment.un.org/content/docume nts/21252030%20Agenda%20for%20Sustainable%20Development%20web. pdf. Accessed 5 August 2022. United Nations. (2019). Inclusion, equality, and empowerment to achieve sustainable development: Realities of indigenous peoples. Report by the Indigenous Peoples Major Group for Sustainable Development. https://www.indige nouspeoples-sdg.org/index.php/english/all-resources/ipmg-position-papersand-publications/ipmg-reports/global-reports/124-inclusion-equality-andempowerment-to-achieve-sustainable-development-realities-of-indigenous-peo ples/file. Accessed 20 August 2020. United Nations. (2021). International day of the world’s indigenous peoples 2021. https://www.un.org/development/desa/indigenouspeoples/internati onal-day-of-the-worlds-indigenous-peoples-2021.html. Accessed 20 August 2022. Yap, M.L.-M., & Watene, K. (2019). The sustainable development goals (SDGs) and indigenous peoples: Another missed opportunity? Journal of Human Development and Capabilities, 20(4), 451–467.

CHAPTER 2

Leaving Nobody Behind: Policy Integration, Policy Reform

2.1

Introduction

Leaving nobody behind is not simply a matter of better developed policy targets. Nor is it only a matter of more effective policy implementation. For indigenous peoples, it requires the state to work differently. Policymaking, for example, is ideological but it is also epistemological, and this matters for indigenous peoples whose distinctive presence and ambitions are not explicitly recognised in the Goals. Although the Goals’ value to a politics of indigenous self-determination is not immediately obvious, the chapter develops the idea that they can evolve in this way when juxtaposed against the Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples. As the Goals admit, sustainable development requires careful policy integration relying on comprehensive data about policy success and failure. This chapter shows that policy integration may, however, be unrealistically ambitious and explains that measuring its success is not an objective culturally neutral process. People have different and culturally contextualised ways of defining success and determining what it means to say that nobody is left behind. One of this book’s key arguments, which is introduced in this chapter, is that success is defined by those who are present in decision-making forums and decide which kinds of policy outcomes will be measured and which will not. There is a politics of presence that the Goals do not presume, but must be developed to presume, if they are to add to indigenous capacities for self-determination. © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2023 D. O’Sullivan, Indigeneity, Culture and the UN Sustainable Development Goals, Sustainable Development Goals Series, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-99-0581-2_2

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Policy integration presumes shared objectives across policy domains, yet colonialism is distinguished by incompatible objectives to show just how difficult it is to achieve efficacious integration. Disagreement over who makes policy for whom, and why, and over the role of epistemology in policy-making is among integration’s obstacles. Nevertheless, it remains that the Goals provide a philosophical justification for states to distribute their wealth more evenly, and this ambition provides a potential alignment with indigenous peoples’ claims in wealthy states. Furthermore, colonial presumptions about sovereignty, citizenship and democracy may, if societies so choose, be reconfigured in favour of more inclusive political communities where being left behind, or not, is as much a matter of thinking about where power lies as it is a matter of thinking about the distribution of material resources as is the Goals’ principal but limiting focus. For this reason, among others, the chapter introduces the idea that sustainable development requires thinking beyond the UN’s 15year implementation timeframe (United Nations, 2015b) and developing long-term culturally informed targets that respond to colonial context and can be measured against indigenous accounts of what it is desirable to measure. For example, when thinking about the characteristics of a just institution, one should not think about state institutions alone but the capacities of indigenous institutions to exercise self-determination with respect to the Goals. These are the complexities of policy evaluation that indigenous data sovereignty tries to address—a concept that is considered in Chapter 11 as what is measured and why?

2.2

Targets and Beyond

The tension between colonialism and self-determination is not resolvable. Instead, ‘the challenge facing settler states such as Australia is decolonisation rather than post-conflict reconciliation’ (Strakosch, 2019, p. 115). So, choosing not to leave indigenous people behind is not simply a matter of setting more ambitious policy targets. The task that indigenous peoples may call upon the Goals to support involves transforming how liberal societies like Australia, Canada and New Zealand actually work. In these jurisdictions, colonialism and indigenous peoples’ resistance unmistakably contribute to the 2030 Agenda’s context. This context shows just how ambitious it is to pursue ‘a shared blueprint for peace and prosperity for people and the planet’, and to recognise that:

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ending poverty and other deprivations must go hand-in-hand with strategies that improve health and education, reduce inequality, and spur economic growth – all while tackling climate change and working to preserve our oceans and forests. (United Nations, 2015a, History, 1)

The targets are defined as aspirational and global, with each government setting its own national targets guided by the global level of ambition but taking into account national circumstances. Each government will also decide how these aspirational and global targets should be incorporated in national planning processes, policies and strategies. (United Nations, 2015b, para. 55)

While many of the targets are specific, some are ‘idealistic, visionary and somewhat vague’ (Weitz et al., 2015, p. ii). They require political interpretation and culturally contextualised translation from ideals to substantive policy measures. However, for indigenous nations it is not consistent with self-determination to argue that: ‘The interpretation process needs to be led by government, but with the full involvement of parliament and other sectors and stakeholders’ (Weitz et al., 2015, p. ii). One of this book’s underlying purposes is to defend indigenous peoples’ self-description as nations in their own right rather than stakeholders in somebody else’s project. To this end, the book is concerned with how the Goals support, and do not support, that nationhood’s meaningful expression. It is important that policy implementation reflects the values through which people interpret their place in the world, and their relationships with people and the environment. These interpretations inform people’s understanding of what they want public policy to achieve and give specific culturally and politically contextualised meaning to who exactly is not left behind, and politically contextualised meaning to how exactly they are not left behind. The question of what space exists for indigenous leadership in SDG policy-making thus becomes important. It is also important to ask how national policy programmes ‘will be coordinated to ensure that in aggregate, they constitute a viable plan for achieving the transformative global vision behind the Goals’ (Weitz et al., 2015, p. ii). The conflict between colonialism and self-determination means that shared transformative visions are difficult to establish.

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The Goals do not enjoy public prominence in Australia, Canada or New Zealand. Library database searches indicate that there is little indigenous scholarly interest in the policy framework that they provide. Nor do they have an obvious wider influence over public debate, even though Canada rhetorically asserts that the 2030 Agenda ‘is among the defining global frameworks of our time’ (Government of Canada, 2018, p. 4). The Goals do, however, make explicit assumptions about what public policy should achieve through integration across policy domains. These assumptions are broadly consistent with what indigenous people, internationally, understand through the Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (United Nations, 2007) as the right to self-determination. Beyond this consistency, however, is a particular way of making and implementing public policy. The Goals propose fundamentally different ways of working, different presumptions about how the state bureaucracy should work internally, and how it should work with people and entities outside government. Fukuda-Parr et al. (2014) argue that the Goals’ effectiveness also requires that: Targets and indicators need to be evaluated for their potential to give information on core human rights and human development priorities in dimensions of equity, participation, transparency and accountability. Reflexively privileging data availability may unwittingly neglect dimensions such as distributive consequences, and volatility of outcomes. (p. 115)

Self-determination, too, provides an integrated rationale for indigenous public policy. It provides meaningful points of measurement. Evaluative measures may then respond to indigenous policy aspirations. However, in terms of pursuing self-determination, the Goals are valuable only if they can be aligned coherently (generally they can) and used to support the concept and aspiration in ways that may not otherwise occur. As this book will show, the Goals may support indigenous self-determination, but it is not evident that they will support it.

2.3

Policy Integration

The Goals emphasise policy integration because this, ideally, allows each goal and its targets to be pursued collectively and coherently with

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philosophical integrity and common purpose. This proposition follows Briassoulis’ (2005) conditions for integration, which are: The two policies are likely to draw on common or compatible and nonconflicting theories and epistemological frameworks reflecting common perceptions of the problem situation and common outlooks of the actors involved. This implies also that concepts are defined and operationalised... Providing a common language and communication code to those adopting and implementing them. The congruence of the theoretical and conceptual framings of two or more policies is perhaps the necessary precondition and the sine qua non for their substantive, and not only instrumental, and sustainable integration. (p. 57)

Adam et al. (2019): ‘Understand effective vertical coordination as interactions between policy implementers and policymakers that result in policy decisions’ (p. 499). Vertical coordination does not, however, occur without careful planning and effective communication processes across the policy system. It requires systematic and consistent ministerial oversight, clarity of purpose and minimising space for bureaucratic obstruction. Although Adam et al. (2019) suggest that there are no conceptual tools available to understand exactly how poor vertical integration contributes to poor policy outcomes, it is evident that bureaucratic discretion and inadequate evaluative data to inform policy revision help explain indigenous policy failure. Relationships between policy development, implementation and evaluation may also be weak and mitigate against coherent integration. Perfect policy integration may thus be a ‘utopian ideal’ (Briassoulis, 2004, p. 13). Its multiple focusses and the diversity and breadth of its interests may lead to overwhelming incoherence. Bejakovi´c’s (2018) simple test for integration as a policy development model is whether it produces better policy outcomes. However, ‘better’ is not a neutral concept. It is defined by those who are present in decision-making forums with substantive voice. Independent indigenous presence is, therefore, an essential characteristic of just public institutions. Effective policy evaluation drawing on data collected according to indigenous values and aspirations is an essential though underdeveloped precursor to policy integration. Indigenous people’s inclusion in evaluation helps to ensure that the ‘right data’ are collected. Targets and indicators must represent indigenous ‘worldviews and lived experiences’

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(Yap & Watene, 2019, p. 451). They must reflect indigenous epistemologies, especially the importance of permanent geopolitical attachments to distinctive space. Inclusion may also help to ensure that data governance is consistent with indigenous expectations and aspirations. Indigenous people’s participation does not, on its own, guarantee that indigenous epistemologies are present, so it is important to conceptualise meaningful participation as not just the participation of individuals, but the presence of indigenous ideas about the knowledge that is worth acquiring, for which purposes and by which means. How policy is made and evaluated and for whose purposes are among this book’s important themes. Self-determination requires high levels of policy coordination, meaning that leaving nobody behind must occur across policy domains and jurisdictions in federal states like Australia and Canada. Policy integration is concerned with the simultaneous pursuit of many Goals, and it may, on the other hand, help policy-makers think about relationships among education, good health and employment outcomes and in favour of indigenous self-determination. The targets and indicators may help to identify those areas where stronger integration would be most useful. They may support the ‘whole of government’ relationships that iwi have sought with the New Zealand government and should, according to Bejakovi´c (2018), ‘boost the allocation of resources and help avoid the adverse side effects of actions aiming to hasten progress in one area on the realisation of targets in the other areas’ (p. 488). But its potentially negative aspects must also be considered. Integration may, for example, diminish the benefits of contested advice from different departments of state and contribute to the diminution of specialist knowledge. Indeed, sectoral boundaries develop because of the expertise that is required to understand any one policy problem. Bejakovi´c (2018) explained three categories of policy integration: Horizontal integration encompasses integration across sectors or institutions. Vertical integration expresses how the actions of various (national and sub-national) levels of government can be adjusted to achieve coherent outcomes. The third dimension is engagement of all stakeholders and the integrated realisation of shared objectives. (p. 489)

However, shared objectives are not consistent with indigenous experience. Indeed, Briassoulis (2005) argued that the ‘facets and characteristics’ of a

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policy problem refer to: ‘Its scope… spatial and geographical characteristics… temporal characteristics… [and] social, economic, environmental, cultural and other features’ (p. 52). In indigenous policy, these other features may include ideological assumptions about the nature of the colonial relationship. These assumptions do, however, change over time to reflect changes in the power relationship between the state and indigenous peoples, and changes in state thinking about its status as a colonial power. One cannot separate the description of a policy problem from the value judgements of those who have conceptualised it. Integration’s purpose may, therefore, be difficult to identify (Briassoulis, 2005). It may also be subject to ideologically driven change. As it was noted above, it is also inconsistent with self-determination to position indigenous nations or their members as ‘stakeholders’ rather than citizens and nations. The distinction is important. While the stakeholder may have a legitimate interest in a policy outcome, the citizen and the nation are entitled to higher-level political rights asserted in instruments like the Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (United Nations, 2007). In New Zealand, Te Tiriti o Waitangi is explicit, M¯aori are not stakeholders in a government project, but peoples carrying distinct political authority and rights of participation. Integration’s purpose is to provide coherent responses to: ‘Relationships among policy objects’ (Briassoulis, 2004, p. 15). However, a process that would use the Goals alongside the Declaration to create an integrated response to self-determination is vastly more complicated than Briassoulis (2004) suggests: Two policies are integrated, or have chances of being integrated, if they have a common scope, treat common or complementary facets (environmental, spatial, economic, social, institutional) of a problem situation in congruent or unified manner; or, equivalently, accommodate or respect variously one another’s concerns about the social, economic, environmental, cultural and other features of the issues studied. (p. 15)

Relationships between policy actors, including those who approach policy from epistemologically different perspectives, are important. The rules of engagement must be clear. They must also be just and grounded in reason. Alternative presumptions and policy-making frameworks are required to accommodate different perspectives arising from deep-seated

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and substantially different epistemological values and ways of thinking about what makes a policy proposal objectively good. Bejakovi´c (2018) argued that integration’s test is simply whether it produces better policy outcomes. However, ‘better’ is not an objective concept and indigenous leadership in policy development and evaluation is therefore a central constituent of justice. Policy integration tends to occur among only a small number of policy programmes. Integration of the scale that the Goals propose is unprecedented. Scale may explain policy actors’ reticence in giving the Goals the level of support and attention that their integration requires. Furthermore, weaknesses in vertical policy integration may explain why proportionate M¯aori representation in parliament and participation in the executive does not always lead to efficacious policy implementation. Ineffective vertical policy coordination ‘is an important source of deficits in both policy design and policy implementation’ (Adam et al., 2019, p. 499). In many respects, the Goals were not compatible with Australian policy preferences (under the Liberal/National party coalition government that held office between 2013 and 2022) because they were, in short, inconsistent with the political values that prevailed. For example, Hall et al. (2020) showed that SDG 6, which is concerned with the quality of and access to drinking water, may not be ‘fully achieved’ ‘under current policy settings’ (p. 1). Water contamination is one reason for the higher incidence of hygienerelated diseases in remote communities (Hall et al., 2020). In some remote Australian communities, inadequate access to a safe water supply contributes to endemic rates of trachoma. If access to clean water is elusive, regularly washing one’s face is not the simple solution it might be elsewhere. The Goals are significant because they provide a framework for thinking more broadly about this kind of policy problem than the Howard Government’s (1996–2007) Shared Responsibility Agreements, which provide one of the more graphic recent contrasts with the Goals’ underlying philosophy. The SRAs were exclusive and paternalistic. For example, in 2004, the Agreement between the Mulan community (Western Australia) and the Commonwealth and state governments provided that in return for two Commonwealth-provided petrol bowsers [pumps] and access to trachoma screening and treatment, children would wash their faces twice daily. The minister justified the Agreement on the basis that: ‘A community gets what it wants – a petrol bowser … and the kids get better

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health outcomes. Who could complain about that?’ (Vanstone, 2004). In contrast, the Goals allow one to think beyond discriminatory measures and, indeed, to identify discrimination as a political determinant of health. The SDGs presume that health is a human right so that, among other considerations, parental behaviour is not a determinant of a child’s right to health; perhaps a further example of what the Australian Medical Association meant when it argued that ‘political will’ is the solution to indigenous people’s burden of rheumatic heart disease (Australian Medical Association, 2016, p. 3). If then: ‘The project to rid policy practice of incoherence is too heroic’ (Jordan & Halpin, 2006, p. 21), it may be partly because the roles of epistemology and the matter of who makes policy for whom, and how, is not given sufficient attention. The 17 Goals’ full integration into coherent policy programmes may simply be beyond coordination. However, from an indigenous policy perspective, the aspiration does at least provide insights into the working of liberal democratic bureaucracies. In particular, the aspiration provides a framework for integrating the Declaration into broader policy imperatives. Theories of integration, developed with reference to the Goals, provide insights into the relationship between systemic level processes and the street level implementation of individual policy programmes. On the other hand, coherence may be supported simply by referring to the Goals in individual policy domains and not necessarily attempting whole of government integration. Coherence may simply be provided through each Goal’s interdependence with one or more of the others to support the unambiguous and guiding ambition that nobody is left behind. The complexities of vertical integration and scale of cooperation that horizontal integration requires may thus be avoided.

2.4 Targets, Relationships, the Goals and the Declaration The Goals provide developed economies such as Australia, Canada and New Zealand with policy targets and a philosophical rationale for distributing their wealth more evenly. Their integrated approach to policy implementation creates scope for significant innovation and the dismantling of policy silos. Targets may make the Goals ‘visible and normative’ (Kawharu, 2015, p. 43). However, and as one example, dissatisfaction with government Closing the Gap targets (a policy measure discussed in detail in Chapter 8) in Australia shows that targets’ legitimacy as an

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indigenous policy instrument depends on their grounding in indigenous defined aspirations. In New Zealand, there is strong M¯aori confidence in Te Tiriti o Waitangi as an instrument that protects and develops self-determination. However, it is still instructive to consider whether New Zealand government statements of commitment to the Goals help give effect to its often though not consistently positive view of the Treaty and Tiriti, and whether they and their jurisprudence may in turn be drawn upon to define and rationalise just institutions. It is similarly instructive to consider what the Goals may mean in relation to the Prime Minister’s observation in 2010, when he noted that New Zealand was revoking its opposition to the Declaration: ‘My objective is to build better relationships between M¯aori and the Crown, and I believe that supporting the declaration is a small but significant step in that direction’ (Key, 2010, para. 6). Better relationships may be influenced by how sovereignty, citizenship and democracy are practised because these relationships influence indigenous opportunities for substantive social and economic participation. There is an inter-relationship between social and economic participation and access to culturally responsive educational, health and other social services. Sovereignty, citizenship and democracy are constituents of liberal political theory that are, like the politics of indigeneity (O’Sullivan, 2017), ultimately concerned with the question of who belongs to the shared national polity, on which terms and on whose terms? Importantly, sovereignty is not a static or absolute body of political authority but one that shifts according to changes in people’s values and developments in people’s appreciation of what shifts in political power are possible at any given time. For example, self-determination’s possibilities expand when the indigenous nation positions itself beyond geographic boundaries to exert influence in whichever institutions decisions are made that impact on a people’s capacity to live lives that they have reason to value (Sen, 1998). John (2020) suggested that arguments for independent indigenous health services are illustrative because they have played an important role in ‘reframing and reshaping the broader project of Indigenous self-determination’ (p. 209). There may, then, be a contemporary argument in favour of SDG 3 (Good Health and Well-being) as an important site of indigenous self-determination. Target 3.8, for example, aims to: ‘Achieve universal health coverage, including financial risk protection, access to quality essential health-care services and access to safe, effective,

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quality and affordable essential medicines and vaccines for all’ (United Nations, 2015b). The Declaration explicitly sets the same aspiration: ‘Indigenous individuals have an equal right to the enjoyment of the highest attainable standard of physical and mental health’ (United Nations, 2007, article 24 (2)). Indigenous health policy may also provide an example of political discourse being increasingly distinguished by diverse ‘conceptual sovereignties’ (John, 2020, p. 209), which offer a broader framework for thinking about power and where it lies vis-à-vis where people think it should lie. The Goals may provide a useful political and conceptual framework for advancing this non-territorial project of indigenous selfdetermination achieved in conjunction with the Declaration and expressed through the further and targeted diminishing of the relative authority of the state. Furthermore, ‘sharing the land cannot mean dividing it up into jurisdictions, but rather working together to arrive at ways to act in common – ways that simultaneously honour what is important for Self and Other’ (Asch, 2019, p. 12). From this perspective, selfdetermination may occur outside the boundaries of a distinct territory as well as within them to influence the character of public institutions. The Goals take a relational approach to policy formation and presume that the Other’s interests are constituents of the interests of the Self. In Tully’s (Forthcoming) description of a common indigenous theory of political relationships, one finds possible conceptual consistency with the Goals’ relational ideals. Each member’s way of life is organized in such a way that it does no harm to his neighbours and provides some goods or services that help to sustain them. The neighbours recognize this gift as a gift and experience the emotion of gratitude. Gratitude moves and freely obliges the recipients to reciprocate by giving their gifts of mutual aid to the same or other neighbours; thus setting in motion a virtuous gift-reciprocity cycle that co-sustains all relatives.

This view of just political relations provides an instructive counterpoint to colonialism’s essential requirement that some people’s interests take priority over other people’s rights. The presumption of reciprocity has implications for the meanings of justice in how public institutions operate. Justice may then be better served if one begins ‘not with identifying which party has sovereignty

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in a certain territory, but rather how to work out arrangements that are mutually beneficial’ (Asch, 2019, p. 12). Although the Goals do not provide a certain path to non-colonial political arrangements, it remains that when SDG 16’s reference to justice is interpreted alongside Articles 5 and 18 of the Declaration, the Goals’ potential breadth and significance are clear. Indeed, SDG 16’s contribution to just and efficacious public institutions such as schools, hospitals and state policy-making agencies is a determinant of whether the Goals could, collectively, contribute to self-determination more effectively than the alternative policy frameworks, legal instruments and agreements already in place. Indigenous peoples have the right to maintain and strengthen their distinct political, legal, economic, social and cultural institutions, while retaining their right to participate fully, if they so choose, in the political, economic, social and cultural life of the State. (UN, 2007, article 5), and Indigenous peoples have the right to participate in decision-making in matters which would affect their rights, through representatives chosen by themselves in accordance with their own procedures, as well as to maintain and develop their own indigenous decision-making institutions. (UN, 2007, article 18)

While Article 18 assures indigenous peoples of the right to object to public policy measures that might be to their disadvantage, it does not entail a positive right to develop public policy. It presumes that indigenous people are subjects of the state, not agents of their own aspirations. SDG 16 may, however, help to rationalise the alternative presumption that if public institutions are just, they will have acquired that status by the people’s consent. There is nothing in the Goals, nor in the Declaration to suggest that consent must be offered only by some and not all people, in the way that a colonial defence of exclusive public institutions might proceed. In liberal societies, it may be possible to presume everybody’s inclusion in the consent granting ‘people’ through the construction of an indigenous citizenship that is different but fundamentally equal in the rights and capacities that it upholds. Yet, the Goals are not a blueprint for radical transformation in favour of non-colonial political relationships. Although they are indeed concerned with policy domains that are never far from indigenous or state concern—education, health, environmental

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protection and economic growth for example—it is still to be established that they are, in fact, significantly more than a ‘marginal add-on to current policy and action’ as the Stockholm Environment Institute ambitiously proposes (Weitz et al., 2015, p. ii). So, this book examines the evolving relationship between possibilities and constraints through the potential alignment between the UN Sustainable Development Goals and the Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples.

2.5

Implementing the Goals

The UN intends that the Goals be implemented over a finite period of 15 years (United Nations, 2015b). However, like self-determination, sustainable development cannot be achieved at a pre-determined point and then set to one side, with its purposes perpetually secured. Sustainable development is, instead, a way of thinking about policy development and the purposes of economic activity. It is potentially a way of thinking about what it means to bring human needs into permanent alignment with protecting the natural environment. Perhaps, for example, just institutions require a substantive and culturally meaningful indigenous voice at all levels of the policy process. The Goals’ purpose is, ultimately, to provide a measurable policy framework. Perhaps, then, measuring success against the Goals’ targets and indicators also requires that robust, culturally valid, and politically useful data are available to inform policy-making. Perhaps, too, policy agencies concerned with mining and other forms of land use may be capable of working justly if their decision-making is restrained by the Declaration’s (United Nations, 2007) provision that: States shall consult and cooperate in good faith with the indigenous peoples concerned through their own representative institutions in order to obtain their free and informed consent prior to the approval of any project affecting their lands or territories and other resources, particularly in connection with the development, utilization or exploitation of mineral, water or other resources. (Article 32(2))

Beyond recognising natural resource rights, special measures may be required to improve indigenous peoples’ health, education, employment and opportunities for economic growth. There are international legal principles to justify special measures. However, these measures must be

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temporary and are permissible only until the circumstances that justify their use no longer prevail (United Nations, 2009, General Recommendation, No. 32). Eliminating these circumstances would ordinarily require access to just and fair redress for colonial transgressions of political and cultural freedom. Secure arrangements for participation in public decision-making are also important (United Nations, 2007). It may be that harnessing the Goals in favour of self-determination requires seeking out spaces of intellectual consistency and political opportunity rather than assuming that if explicit targets in favour of self-determination are not present, the Goals have limited value. On the other hand, it is true that targets may powerfully guide policy development and that expressing one’s aspirations with reference to the Goals may be a politically more promising strategy than expressing them with reference to the Declaration alone. When considering what constitutes a just institution, one should not think exclusively about state institutions. The Goals’ implementation and meaningful contribution to sustainable development require indigenous knowledge and indigenous people. For example, indigenous knowledge systems allow indigenous people to be ‘valuable agents in maintaining global biodiversity and building resilience to climate change’ (Magni, 2016, para 9). Indigenous knowledge systems are an important constituent of self-determination. They counter the colonial presumption that: ‘If one’s racial superiority could be scientifically legitimated then the logical conclusion could be drawn that the scientific methods used in “other” cultures to investigate or transmit knowledges were inferior and irrational’ (Rigney, 2001, p. 4). An indigenous people’s interest in global environmental imperatives does not necessarily overshadow their interest in relationships between the natural environment and immediate spiritual, economic and social imperatives. Wightman (undated) shows the connection between the Tla’amin Agreement, in British Columbia in 2016 and the protection of marine resources (SDG 14 Life Below Water). Ugwuegbula (2019) shows a relationship between the Inuvialuit Agreement, concerned with biodiversity, and SDG 15 (Life on Land). However, fisheries protection and biodiversity were concerns of these First Nations long before the Goals were conceptualised. While there is a consistency of aspiration, implementing these Goals per se was not the First Nations’ intent in reaching these agreements. The practical political question is, then, whether the Goals can assist with the protection and realisation of these rights under the

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Agreement. There may, however, be value in the international sanction they provide to the inherently non-colonial presumption that nobody is left behind. Their potential is also to refocus policy discourse on the idea that policy’s purpose is ultimately to improve all and not just some people’s lives. The Goals also provide a framework for cooperation across indigenous nations. They provide an internationally sanctioned language and set of presumptions through which indigenous actors may choose to speak to one another and form political relationships with civil society and states. While reference to indigenous knowledge systems in the Goals’ implementation is one way of giving effect to the New Zealand government’s argument that ‘no single institution working alone can achieve meaningful progress on a global challenge such as climate change, and that appropriate action on a national or global level can only be achieved when individuals and entities are able to take action on a micro level’ (New Zealand Government, 2019, p. 95). Nevertheless, it remains that on balance self-determination, the Declaration and the Goals, separately and collectively, question Cameron et al.’s (2019) bleak account of the nature of contemporary indigenous politics. In recent decades, the structure of colonialism within the state has changed – from state domination over Indigenous peoples to recognition of them – but arguably maintains the same aim of controlling and assimilating Indigenous peoples while dispossessing them of their lands and self-determining authority. (p. 14)

Certainly, the Australian and Canadian states are potential formidable forces against indigenous self-determination. Their colonial intent is often central to contemporary policy discourse. However, indigenous agency is positively asserted and occasionally influential in state policy. There are signs of significant change evident with the election of a new government in Australia in May 2022. British Columbia’s commitment to implement the Declaration (see Chapter 7) was the first such measure anywhere in the former British colonies and has been followed by a Canadian federal commitment. Yet the Goals’ supporting value to the Declaration and domestic instruments, like the Treaty of Waitangi, remains largely untested. They bring theoretical and practical coherence to wide-ranging policy objectives and may help to address policy fragmentation as one of the bureaucratic obstacles to self-determination. However, there remains

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scope for further indigenous scholarship and contributions to the public debate on what the Goals mean and how their overarching aspiration that ‘nobody is left behind’ is especially relevant to making the connection from self-determination as a political theory to self-determination as a tangible and durable political capacity. Their transformative capacity may ultimately rest on how much political value indigenous scholars and policy-makers place on the Goals as a framework for promoting their existing and well-established aspirations. Ivison’s (2020) book title Can Liberal States Accommodate Indigenous Peoples? may, nevertheless, be answered in the affirmative, but with the caution that an affirmative answer is a matter of political choice and how effectively an indigenous population can harness its influence through numbers, moral reasoning, and recourse to judicial interventions. The answer is influenced by the effectiveness of a politics of self-determination because self-determination is not a simply and easily definable body of rights but a body of political capacities. This is why one may choose to speak not so much of the right to self-determination, but of the capacities of self-determination, as a body of potentially transformative political thought and practice. Self-determination’s effectiveness requires that it is not simply a theoretical construct but capable of attachment to immediate and clearly definable political objectives. In this respect, there may be alliances of common aspiration between self-determination and the Goals. Their transformative capacity may also be a function of their development in favour of policy integration and coherence in a policy domain that remains distinguished by fragmentation (O’Sullivan, 2017).

2.6

Conclusion

Leaving nobody behind is not only a matter of the fair and effective distribution of public resources. Nor is it achieved just by effective policy integration. Both these objectives may support indigenous selfdetermination, but it cannot be presumed that they will do so effectively without regard to culture and colonial context, which means that implementing the Goals is not the 15-year project that the UN imagines, but an ongoing project requiring the state always to work differently. Furthermore, to say that effective public policy requires attention to culture is to say that effective policy is not always and everywhere a matter of objective definition. This means how decisions are made and by whom are important and that establishing causal relationships between

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the Goals and self-determination requires the influence of indigenous accounts of sustainable development. Interpreting and pursuing the Goals with reference to the Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples is one way of drawing out the relationship between self-determination and sustainable development. Integration should not, then, be seen only as a technical process distinguished by inherent internal difficulties but also as a philosophical project concerned with epistemological relationships among people’s values and aspirations of the kind that the Declaration presented as permanent expressions of the political rights that belong to all people by virtue of their humanity, not by virtue of colonial benevolence. Whether or not one is left behind is the outcome of complex philosophical and policy positions and a determinant of the nature and strength of one’s presence.

References Adam, C., Hurka, S., Knill, C., Peters, B. G., & Steinebach, Y. (2019). Introducing vertical policy coordination to comparative policy analysis: The missing link between policy production and implementation. Journal of Comparative Policy Analysis: Research and Practice, 21(5), 499–517. Asch, M. (2019). UNDRIP, treaty federalism, and self-determination. Review of Constitutional Studies, 24, 1. Australian Medical Association. (2016). 2016 AMA report card on indigenous health—A call to action to prevent new cases of rheumatic heart disease in indigenous Australia by 2031. https://www.ama.com.au/article/2016-amareport-card-indigenous-health-call-action-prevent-new-cases-rheumatic-heartdisease. Accessed 3 September 2022. Bejakovi´c, P. (2018). Working together: Integration, institutions and the sustainable development goals, world public sector report 2018. Public Sector Economics, 42(4), 487–494. Briassoulis, H. (2004). Policy integration for complex policy problems: What, why and how. Greening of Policies: Interlinkages and Policy Integration, Berlin, 1–30. http://userpage.fu-berlin.de/ffu/akumwelt/bc2004/download/briass oulis_f.pdf Briassoulis, H. (2005). Analysis of policy integration: Conceptual and methodological. In H. Briassoulis (Ed.), Policy integration for complex environmental problems: The example of Mediterranean desertification. Routledge. Cameron, L., Courchene, D., Ijaz, S., & Mauro, I. (2019). The Turtle Lodge: Sustainable self-determination in practice. AlterNative: An International Journal of Indigenous Peoples, 15(1), 13–21.

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Fukuda-Parr, S., Yamin, A. E., & Greenstein, J. (2014). The power of numbers: A critical review of millennium development goal targets for human development and human rights. Journal of Human Development and Capabilities, 15(2–3), 105–117. Government of Canada. (2018). Canada’s implementation of the 2030 agenda for sustainable development. https://sustainabledevelopment.un.org/con tent/documents/20312Canada_ENGLISH_18122_Canadas_Voluntary_Nat ional_ReviewENv7.pdf. Accessed 5 August 2022. Hall, N. L., Creamer, S., Anders, W., Slatyer, A., & Hill, P. S. (2020). Water and health interlinkages of the sustainable development goals in remote indigenous Australia. NPJ Clean Water, 3(1), 1–7. Ivison, D. (2020). Can liberal states accommodate indigenous peoples? Polity Press. John, M. (2020). Beyond land: Indigenous health and self-determination in an age of urbanisation. In L. Rademaker, & T. Rowse (Eds.), Self-determination in Australia: Histories and historiography. ANU Press. Jordan, G., & Halpin, D. (2006). The political costs of policy coherence: Constructing a rural policy for Scotland. Journal of Public Policy, 26(1), 21–41. Kawharu, M. (2015). Aotearoa: Shine or shame? A critical examination of the sustainable development goals and the question of poverty and young M¯aori in New Zealand. Journal of Global Ethics, 11(1), 43–50. Key, J. (2010). National Govt to support UN rights declaration. https://www. beehive.govt.nz/release/national-govt-support-un-rights-declaration#:~:text= My%20objective%20is%20to%20build,significant%20step%20in%20that%20d irection. Accessed 5 August 2022. Magni, G. (2016). Promoting indigenous knowledge within the sustainable development agenda. UNESCO. https://world-education-blog.org/2016/08/ 09/promoting-indigenous-knowledge-within-the-sustainable-developmentagenda/. Accessed 5 August 2022. New Zealand Government. (2019). He Waka Eke Noa towards a better future, together: New Zealand’s progress towards the SDGs—2019. https://hlpf. un.org/sites/default/files/vnrs/2021/23333New_Zealand_Voluntary_Nat ional_Review_2019_Final.pdf. Accessed 5 August 2022. O’Sullivan, D. (2017). Indigeneity: A politics of potential: Australia, Fiji and New Zealand. Policy Press. Rigney, L.-I. (2001). A first perspective of indigenous Australian participation in science: Framing indigenous research towards indigenous Australian intellectual sovereignty. Aboriginal Research Institute, University of South Australia Adelaide, Australia. Sen, A. (1998). Human development and financial conservatism. World Development, 26(4), 733–742.

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Strakosch, E. (2019). The technical is political: Settler colonialism and the Australian indigenous policy system. Australian Journal of Political Science, 54(1), 114–130. Tully, J. (Forthcoming). Trust, mistrust and distrust in diverse societies. In D. Karmis, & F. Rocher (Eds.), Trust and distrust in political theory and practice: The case of diverse societies. McGill-Queens University Press. Ugwuegbula, L. (2019). Promoting the sustainable development goals through Canadian First Nations treaties: SDG 15 and the Inuvialuit final agreement. University of Waterloo. https://uwaterloo.ca/scholar/mcordoni/sdg15-and-inuvialuit-final-agreement. Accessed 5 August 2022. United Nations. (2007). Declaration on the rights of indigenous peoples. United https://www.un.org/development/desa/indigenouspeoples/wpNations. content/uploads/sites/19/2018/11/UNDRIP_E_web.pdf. Accessed 5 August 2022. United Nations. (2009). General recommendation No. 32: The meaning and scope of special measures in the international convention on the elimination of all forms racial discrimination. https://www.refworld.org/docid/4adc30 382.html. Accessed 5 August 2022. United Nations. (2015a). Do you know all 17 SDG? https://sdgs.un.org/Goals. Accessed 5 August 2022. United Nations. (2015b). Transforming our world: The 2030 agenda for sustainable development. https://sustainabledevelopment.un.org/content/docume nts/21252030%20Agenda%20for%20Sustainable%20Development%20web. pdf. Accessed 5 August 2022. Vanstone, A. (2004, December 9). ABC radio PM . http://www.abc.net.au/ pm/content/2004/s1261745.htm. Accessed 29 September 2005. Weitz, N., Persson, Å., Nilsson, M., & Tenggren, S. (2015). Sustainable development goals for Sweden: Insights on setting a national agenda. SEI Working Paper No. 2015–2010. Stockholm Environment Institute. https://www.sei.org/publications/sustainable-development-Goalsfor-sweden-insights-on-setting-a-national-agenda/. Accessed 5 August 2022. Wightman, A. (undated). Promoting the sustainable development goals through first nations treaties: SDG 14 and Tla’amin final agreement. University of Waterloo. https://uwaterloo.ca/scholar/mcordoni/sdg-14-and-tlaaminfinal-agreement. Accessed 5 August 2020. Yap, M.L.-M., & Watene, K. (2019). The sustainable development goals (SDGs) and indigenous peoples: Another missed opportunity? Journal of Human Development and Capabilities, 20(4), 451–467.

CHAPTER 3

Indigenous Peoples: Policy, Culture and the Sustainable Development Goals

3.1

Introduction

Creating a postcolonial society is a complex and contested aspiration. As the previous chapter raised, this requires systematic attention to the role of culture in public policy-making. It also requires recognising culture as a mark of human dignity. Culture is the foundation from which people contribute fairly to the public life of the state. Yet, culture does not obviously influence the SDGs and the two references that their 232 indicators make to indigenous peoples are narrow and homogenising. Indicator 4.1 refers to indigenous people as the subjects of concern for educating the ‘vulnerable’, while Indicator 2.3 is concerned for indigenous people as small-scale farmers. The chapter shows how and why a broader and more inclusive focus is required to ensure that indigenous agency is privileged, and indigenous people are not left behind. As Chapter 2 argued, agency requires that indigenous people are present wherever public policy decisions are made and able to contribute from their preferred epistemological perspectives. This chapter develops the argument to propose that culture’s presence is a matter of human rights because policy is not a neutral technical process. It is, instead, the product of human values and a reflection of the aspirations that arise from people’s different perspectives on just relationships among people and between people and the natural environment. In short, sustainable

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2023 D. O’Sullivan, Indigeneity, Culture and the UN Sustainable Development Goals, Sustainable Development Goals Series, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-99-0581-2_3

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development and what it means to say that one is not left behind cannot be determined without reference to culture and aspirations that express human agency as much as they might be responses to vulnerability. Policy is a site where colonial authority is asserted, on the one hand, and where indigenous resistance occurs, on the other. This chapter introduces examples of each. The contrast shows the importance of human equality as a concept that should be brought explicitly into the Goals and indicators with reference to the claims of indigenous self-determination. In this way, the political space indigenous people require to choose their own manner of living and influence the working of the states that have emerged over their territories may develop. Thinking beyond vulnerability is, however, preliminary to this aspiration.

3.2

Beyond Vulnerability

Creating a postcolonial society requires just terms of association, which is both complex and contested, and dependent on political will. Most importantly, the will to counter the ‘specific historical and political circumstances… [which] combine to produce a particular intolerance of Indigenous political orders’ (Strakosch, 2019, p. 115). How policy works, who makes it and how are matters of profound importance which the indicators’ two passing references to indigenous peoples do not admit. Nor do they recognise the importance of culture to indigenous conceptions of development and understanding of what it means to say that one is not left behind. Culture is a constituent of development. It informs people’s expectations of education, and understanding of the meanings of health and well-being, the relationships between people and the natural environment, and the nature and purposes of work and economic growth. For these reasons, culture’s absence from the Goals is significant. The Goals, instead, presume that indigenous peoples warrant special attention because they are ‘vulnerable’ (United Nations, 2017, 7/26). By way of comparison, the Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (United Nations, 2007) affirms that self-determination belongs not just to the indigenous vulnerable, but also to the indigenous wealthy, healthy and educated. Indigeneity is a right to culture, which is preliminary to development and preliminary to a politics that leaves nobody behind.

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The diversity of indigenous experience and the different contemporary characteristics of indigenous political life are also overlooked as Indicator 4.5 aims to: eliminate gender disparity in education and ensure equal access to all levels of education and vocational training for the vulnerable, including persons with disabilities, indigenous peoples and children in vulnerable situations. (United Nations, 2017, 7/26)

Self-determination is a human right and a politics of agency rather than an egalitarian response to vulnerability. Meanwhile, Indicator 2.3 aims to: double the agricultural productivity and incomes of small-scale food producers, in particular women, indigenous people, family farmers, pastoralists and fishers, including their secure and equal access to land, other productive resources and inputs, knowledge, financial services, markets and opportunities for value addition and non-farm employment. (United Nations, 2017, 3/26)

This indicator homogenises indigenous peoples. Very few indigenous farmers in Australia and New Zealand, for example, are small-scale food producers. While this may be partly due to land alienation, it is also due to more expansive agricultural opportunities in New Zealand, with the combined value of M¯aori agricultural, fishing and forestry assets being $23.4 billion in 2021 (Reserve Bank of New Zealand, 2018). The right to agricultural participation is not a right to subsist, but a constituent of the right to economic growth, with growth integral to a broader human right to development, and in turn dependent on opportunities beyond agriculture and education. These matters are fully discussed in Chapter 10. M¯aori comprise 17.1% of the New Zealand population (Statistics New Zealand, 2021). The M¯aori economy needs to be considered as ‘we transform our economy to one that is productive, sustainable inclusive… Creating new opportunities, new jobs, new skills and new investments’ (New Zealand Government, 2019, p. 7). Indigenous people are entitled to benefit from national economic growth. Specifically, aligning the Goals with the Declaration invites a conceptualisation of growth as a right which indigenous peoples are entitled to pursue, for themselves, and for their own purposes. This means that M¯aori civil and economic institutions are essential to the government’s aims.

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Sustainable development will occur, or not, in a context where the nature of M¯aori being ‘left behind’ is clear. Their life expectancy differential with non-M¯aori populations is 7.3 years, while M¯aori household incomes are 78% of the national average (International Work Group for Indigenous Affairs, 2020). Forty-five per cent of the population leave school without a qualification, and New Zealand’s ‘working poor’ is disproportionately M¯aori. Partial solutions may lie in a coordinated and integrated policy response consistent with the SDGs. However, questions of how policy is made and where powers of influence lie are still unresolved. Finding agreement over what constitutes the just institutions that SDG 16 imagines is preliminary to policy efficacy. Indeed, inattention to the relationships between just institutions and efficacious outcomes helps explain policy failure and shows why it is important to refocus policy systems beyond their construction of indigenous vulnerability to assert colonial authority.

3.3

Why Policy Should Be Made Differently

Policy is developed to allow certain human aspirations to be pursued. It cannot be neutral because people’s expectations of what governments are for and what they ought to do are different. Policy is the expression of human values. As the previous chapter argued, policy is not an ideologically neutral technical process. State institutions and policy processes may be explicitly ‘partisan’ (Strakosch, 2019, p. 114), and policy may be a site of colonial conflict (Strakosch, 2019). Its ideological character allows policy to be used as a ‘site of settler sovereign legitimation’ (Strakosch, 2019, p. 116). However, it is for the same reason, a potential site of resistance and even radical transformation. Policy outcomes are determined by the relative strength of different actors’ voices in the political system. This is why, who makes policy and implements it, for whom, and for which reasons are important. It is also why culture is important. Policy design for success requires policy-makers’ explicit acceptance of human equality, of the universality of the right to self-determination and of an equal indigenous moral claim to public policy that works in their favour. Whereas sustained exclusion, or marginal inclusion, is a statement of some citizens’ lesser claims to political equality. The colonial project is strengthened by the creation, or indeed, just the imagination of indigenous dysfunction or vulnerability, which is why Strakosch (2019) is

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correct to contest the framing of public policy as a ‘depoliticised, technical practice of public management for Indigenous well-being’ (p. 114). Exerting colonial authority through policy means that indigenous peoples can be positioned as subjects of the sovereign, as people to whom policy is done, rather than citizens who influence policy through the liberal democratic processes of the state and to whom policy-makers are ultimately accountable. Understanding sovereignty as an absolute and hegemonic authority over a given territory and claimable by the state alone reinforces vulnerability and limits the space one has to think about just political institutions and a political community in which being indigenous is not constructed as a democratic disability. In Australia, ‘bureaucracy has been the frontline of colonisation’ (Strakosch, 2019, p. 115). The Goals’ capacity to improve indigenous people’s lives, therefore, requires that they contribute to making public policy work in profoundly different ways. This book shows that such potential exists, but there is considerable uncertainty about whether that potential will be realised. One of the reasons is that public policy may not only be used to reinforce the idea of indigenous peoples as subjects of a hegemonic sovereign, but as subjects of ‘state intervention and improvement’ (Strakosch, 2019, p. 115). Strakosch (2019) explains how policy measures, such as the Shared Responsibility Agreements (SRAs), mentioned in Chapter 1, were instruments of control. The same argument can be made in respect of the Morrison Government’s (2018–2022) cashless welfare card, repealed after the change of government in 2022, whereby a proportion of a welfare recipient’s benefit was sequestered for spending only on items approved by the state. In this way, excessive spending on drugs or alcohol was to be controlled when, instead, locating drug or alcohol misuse as a community problem open to resolution through integrated community-designed policy measures, may be more consistent with self-determination, and was justified by successful trials to that effect (Bulloch et al., 2019). Community leadership privileges the Declaration’s emphasis on the indigenous right to determine their own health programmes (United Nations, 2007, art. 23). This form of self-determination may provide a pathway to SDG 3.8—universal health coverage. However, the cashless welfare cards gave effect to an alternative government view. The political capacities of citizenship, most especially the capacity to influence the working of the society in which one lives, were rightly diminished.

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Social policy was to be used to condition the vulnerable to behave in certain ways. Avoiding excessive alcohol consumption or drug abuse may be reasonable. However, sequestering welfare payments does not address the causes and consequences of drug and alcohol abuse, places a burden on welfare recipients who do not misuse their state financial support and undermines people’s capacity to decide for themselves to spend that support on its intended purpose. To this end, sustained policy failure is explained by ‘ideology, complexity and racism’ and one may ‘hold foundational sovereign conflict and everyday policy practice in the same frame’ (Strakosch, 2019, p. 116) and in ways that the SDG indicators’ two references to indigenous peoples do not consider. The condition that Strakosch describes is an expression of what it means to be left behind and an example of what it means for public institutions to function in ways that are made unjust by their exclusive character. The SRA policy demonstrated contemporary indigenous public policy’s emergence from the Howard Government’s (1996–2007) rejection of self-determination as a guiding presumption. In 2005, the abolition of the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Commission (ATSIC) as an indigenous governed agency with some powers of self-determination meant that unmediated authority was reclaimed by the state. ATSIC was established in 1990 and its objectives were: • to ensure maximum participation of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people in government policy formulation and implementation • to promote Indigenous self-management and self-sufficiency • to further Indigenous economic, social and cultural development, and • to ensure co-ordination of Commonwealth, state, territory and local government policy affecting Indigenous people. (Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Commission Act 1989, section 3) ATSIC’s abolition meant that there was no meaningful indigenous check on the policy priorities that governments should set and how they should be implemented. Agency was diminished in favour of an imposed vulnerability. Since 2015, the Goals’ contribution to the restoration of indigenous agency is the principal determinant of their contribution to indigenous peoples being among those who are not left behind.

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The transition from ATSIC as a self-determining institution presuming indigenous agency to policy-making within departments of state reflected the view that policy’s purpose was to allow the state to solve problems, rather than to allow people to identify problems and lead their resolution in their own cultural and political contexts. The philosophical shift from self-determination to the state as the framer and solver of people as problems was an example of the policy system’s ‘cycles of crisis and reinvention’ (Strakosch, 2019, p. 118). These cycles reinforced the argument that setting policy purposes and means of implementation are deeply ideological, but that beyond asserting its colonial authority, there is not necessarily ideological consistency in the policy process which, in turn, leads to an ongoing and self-reinforcing sense of crisis. The Goals’ overarching contribution to better indigenous policy may, then, be their philosophy of policy integration and coherence. The general assumption that public bureaucracies are accountable to their ministers, who are in turn accountable to parliament, which is then accountable to the people does not routinely work for indigenous people. In Australia, the Commonwealth government presently contains one indigenous minister, and the parliament comprises just ten other indigenous members (of 227) (National Indigenous Times, 2022). None of these people, however, are representatives of indigenous voters. They are not elected by indigenous people and have no particular mandate to advance their distinctive aspirations. Measures beyond parliamentary accountability need to be established. Especially because, as Strakosch (2019) argued, ‘policy constitutes a site of performance of its own neutrality and benign intent, even though the state apparatus is involved in colonial conflict rather than necessarily being a site of resolution’ (p. 117). She also argued that ‘policy is a site of problematisation, where Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people are framed in abject ways that authorise the extension of state jurisdiction and intervention into their lives’ (p. 117). Indigenous people are, therefore, people who need the state’s benevolent care and direction. They are subjects rather than citizens entitled to use their share in the sovereign to support personal accounts of the good life. There is a political vulnerability, but resolving this vulnerability is not the Goals’ explicit intent. On the other hand, the Goals are intended to give effect to the human rights of all and not just some people, with human rights foundational to indigenous agency, juxtaposing the Goals with the Declaration and allowing policy to develop from and with substantive regard to culture.

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3.4

Exclusion

Internationally, exclusion is a recurrent theme in indigenous politics. For example, Wang (2015) examined the impact of social exclusion on indigenous people’s ‘happiness’ in Taiwan. That country’s indigenous population of 530,000 accounts for 2.3% of the national total (Wang, 2015). Indigenous life expectancy and unemployment rates are worse than for the wider population. These are, among other considerations, outcomes of the inequitable distribution of the benefits of economic growth. Wang (2015) not surprisingly found a relationship between health, wealth, education and happiness. However, ‘possessing western beliefs’ was a further determinant of happiness (p. 1), which may be inconsistent with a worldwide indigenous view that strong cultural connections are conditions of personal security. On the other hand, it is possible that possessing western beliefs reduces the personal dissonance with wider society that indigenous people may experience. However, Wang (2015) defines social exclusion only as ‘the lack of accessibility of different welfare provisions’ (p. 4). In countries like Australia, Canada and New Zealand, this view is unhelpfully narrow. In these jurisdictions, the right of access to public schooling and health care is universal. Welfare payments for the sick, elderly and unemployed may be means tested against income, but there are no systemic obstacles to indigenous individuals accessing payments if they pass the income test. It is their greater likelihood of needing this kind of support that is the political obstacle to self-determination, and which the Goals might help to address. Social exclusion manifests itself especially in labour markets where discrimination may help to explain higher levels of unemployment, lower incomes and concentration in the low paid, low skilled sectors of the labour market. Wang’s (2015) list of policy measures to combat social exclusion is, therefore, limited: ‘cash transfer, employment, health care, housing and social services delivery’ (p. 4). Employment is the only one of these that contributes to addressing the maldistribution of opportunities, rather than the maldistribution of goods. Employment eliminates the need for cash transfers. It allows people to make choices about health care and housing and allows people access to the determinants of well-being. People who are employed in high paid work may benefit from the correlation between wealth and political influence to strengthen their capacities to participate in policy development consistent with wider indigenous imperatives. However, Wang (2015)

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argues that assisting indigenous people to develop a social safety net at the family and community level may be preferable to individual welfare provision. Certainly, social exclusion is cultural and political as much as it is economic. It includes exclusion from the same opportunities as other citizens to lead and contribute to policy-making. Cultural exclusion occurs when an indigenous person does not speak the language of the state. It occurs when one’s values are not present, or perhaps even actively and obviously undermined in schooling, or when cultural preferences and determinants of health and well-being are not present in public health systems, or when child protection systems are used to undermine indigenous conceptions of the care and protection of children. This is why SDG 16 (Peace, Justice and Strong Institutions) is important, and Wang’s (2015) account of happiness does remain conceptually useful as a measure of a just political system and effective policy outcomes. ‘Happiness represents the subjective degree to which persons judge their entire life quality favourably, also known as overall happiness’ (p. 4). Political influence may be a determinant of happiness. The Goals are based on liberal presumptions of free markets, democratic decision-making and individual liberty. Their support for the indigenous right to self-determination, therefore, depends on liberalism’s capacity to enhance that right—and to enhance happiness. Like self-determination, the Goals presume that markets are legitimately constrained by a wider good and that liberty must be seen in the context of wider public imperatives. For example, self-determination maintains that liberty is both a constituent and product of collective rights and aspirations. The Goals also show how liberty is derived from a wider common good. Liberty is an abstract ideal if it is isolated from the social and cultural contexts in which people live. Its meaning comes from the responsibilities that people believe that they owe to others, identities that they have derived from their associations with others, and shared experiences like language, culture and geopolitical associations. These are enjoyed or constrained in consort with others. There are, however, ways in which culture may be integrated into the Goals to make them a useful framework for indigenous nations, civil society, scholars and individual policy actors to consider. Potentially, they provide a new and innovative framework for thinking about relationships among policy domains. They could contribute to a common language through which to develop and share aspirations with other indigenous actors and others with whom alliances

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of common aspiration may be possible. However, SDG 17 (Partnerships for the Goals) does not consider these possibilities. Its targets are instead focussed on overseas aid and other ways in which wealthy states may support poorer jurisdictions.

3.5

Human Rights and Dignity

Power imbalances mean that in practical terms colonised peoples require that their rights of self-determination are formally recognised. Morally, human rights proceed from human dignity which is inherent to the human condition. Dignity is also fundamental to the rights of indigeneity enunciated in the Declaration, which contextualises these as rights that depend on non-colonial political relationships. At international law, human dignity is inviolable (Universal Declaration of Human Rights, 1948, art. 1), and human rights are not the colonial state’s gift to indigenous peoples. However, in political practice, human dignity’s violation is an essential condition for colonialism and is justified by perceived hierarchies of human worth. On the other hand, the Universal Declaration of Human Rights proceeds from ‘faith in… the dignity and worth of the human person’ (1948, preamble). So, despite their origins in Old Testament theology (O’Sullivan, 2005), it was only after the Second World War that western human rights discourses began to influence international law, and it is only since the latter part of the twentieth century that they became discourses to which indigenous people may sometimes confidently appeal. ‘Our intuition tells us, anyway, that human rights have always been a product of resistance to despotism, oppression, and humiliation… The appeal to human rights feeds off the outrage of the humiliated and the violation of their human dignity’ (Habermas, 2010, p. 466). Human rights’ practical value may also include that they serve as ‘a moral standard that can be employed for political mobilisation to change the behaviour of states, corporations, and other agents, even in cases where it does not impose clear legal duties on them’ (Buchanan, 2013, p. 26). Human rights are prior to the state but, as abstract concepts, points of principle only take one so far in influencing public discourse. Definite contexts are required to enunciate points of principle. For example, instruments of law and public policy like Te Tiriti o Waitangi, the Declaration and the Goals help answer questions of how political relationships should proceed and how and to which ends public policy should be made. Yet, self-interest and relative power imbalances mean that human

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dignity is not always accepted as a fundamental purpose of law. Nevertheless, human rights, grounded in human dignity, provide a framework for the Goals’ conceptual integration in favour of self-determination. Certain political circumstances may raise public awareness of a moral precept and raise its contemporary political relevance, but they do not create it. The expression of human dignity, through public policy, is contextualised by the circumstances of a particular policy aspiration and provides a set of theoretical presumptions with the potential to guide policy integration. ‘Human dignity, which is one and the same everywhere and for everyone, grounds the indivisibility of all categories of human rights. Only in collaboration with one another can basic rights fulfil the moral promise to respect the human dignity of every person equally’ (Habermas, 2010, pp. 468–469). Human dignity has implications for relationships among citizens and between the citizen and the state. If human dignity, rather than location in a hierarchy of human worth is the principle according to which conflicts must be settled, then ‘a justified decision’, as Habermas (2010) argues: ‘often becomes possible only by appealing to a violation of human dignity whose absolute validity grounds a claim to priority’ (p. 469). Culture is a mark of human dignity (O’Sullivan, 2005), and Habermas (2010) makes the inherent conflict between human dignity and colonialism clear in his observation that human dignity: Performs the function of a seismograph that registers what is constitutive for a democratic legal order, namely, just those rights that the citizens of a political community must grant themselves if they are able to respect one another as members of a voluntary association of free and equal persons. (p. 469)

Colonial societies are not voluntary associations and are founded on the presumption of inequality. However, it may be that these societies can aspire to freedom and equality, even if they can never be truly voluntary. This book’s purpose is to show how and why the Goals support and do not support this aspiration and, especially, to illuminate the role of culture in indigenous peoples’ agency in the sustainable development project that the Goals presume. A further purpose is to illuminate the indigenous agency that the Goals do not presently support but could be recast to support when viewed alongside the Declaration.

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Pragmatic acceptance that ‘we are all here to stay’ (Supreme Court of Canada, 1997, para. 186) need not be an indigenous concession to colonial dominance. Colonialism is a constraint on independence, but it does not diminish the indigenous person’s inherent dignity from which a coherent body of rights may be asserted. This is, for example, exactly the Declaration’s purpose. However, the universality of human rights depends on them being collective rights and the political utility and capacity for alignment with indigenous values depends on their alignment with the common aspirations of indigenous populations. Herr (2017) argues that ‘the international legal human rights system ought to be reconceptualised to reflect a genuine international consensus on human rights among all well-ordered societies if it is to function as a just mechanism of global governance’ (p. 196). This is an aspiration which indigenous peoples, internationally, have used the Declaration to support (O’Sullivan, 2020). Referring to the Goals as one of the policy frameworks through which the Declaration might be advanced is, however, constrained by indigenous exclusion from the Goals’ development which, according to Herr’s (2017) human rights test, means that there is not an international consensus on the Goals. While the Goals are a set of policy ambitions consistent with human rights, these rights are not simply abstract ideas. The Declaration, however, makes a series of presumptions about how societies should work, how people should manage their associations with others and, like the Goals, places people and their environments at the centre of public policy concerns. Yet, in 2020, the Indigenous Peoples Major Group for Sustainable Development told the UN High-Level Political Forum on Sustainable Development that after four years, indigenous peoples were not just being left behind but were ‘pushed further behind’ (Indigenous Peoples Major Group for Sustainable Development, 2020, p. 2). As an example, the Goals do not reflect the Group’s argument that: ‘Universal Goals require specific targets, indicators, and appropriate special measures to address indigenous peoples’ distinct needs in the development process so as to overcome historic structural inequalities and ongoing risks of human rights violations’ (p. 2). ‘Structural inequalities’ are among colonialism’s essential characteristics and explain why indigenous peoples are ‘left behind’. Indeed, colonialism requires that some people are left behind. The Goals are unrealisable if indigenous peoples are located on the periphery of post-settler colonial states. Their realisation requires the strengthening of non-colonial political systems. Non-colonial politics

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‘raises the challenge of having a plurality of normative authority. How is it possible to pluralise authority and still be a community?’ (Ivison, 2017 p. 123). This question, however, presumes that colonial states have ever constituted single communities. An alternative aspiration may be concerned with the ways in which plural communities, as well as plural authorities, may constitute a just state even as they have not come together by voluntary association. How, then, do. we create new resonances between these now multiple normal activities in our communities, and thus new modes of solidarity required to identify and then address domestic and global injustices? This should be the focus of a resolutely anti-colonial and egalitarian political theory. (Ivison, 2017, p. 127)

Colonialism is a clear political ideology demanding a political response, which is why indigenous peoples tend to have very clear views about what they want from public policy and why. Indigenous peoples’ contemporary arguments in favour of self-determination include positions taken at the very beginnings of the colonial process. For example, the common M¯aori understanding that Te Tiriti o Waitangi was not the cession of absolute sovereignty to the British Crown (Waitangi Tribunal, 2014) and, as mentioned in Chapter 1, the Tla’amin Agreement’s pre-existing concern for marine resources and the Inuvialuit Agreement’s pre-existing concern for biodiversity. Drafting the Goals and targets without substantive reference to indigenous peoples and cultures reflected a power imbalance that needs to be considered before any expectation that their objectives will actually be addressed in indigenous peoples’ favour. To this end, policy responses are required to the President of the Native Council of Canada’s argument that: We are still the first to know about changes in the environment, but we are now the last to be asked or consulted. We are the first to detect when the forests are being threatened, as they are under the slash and grab economics of this country. And we are the last to be asked about the future of our forests. We are the first to feel the pollution of our waters, as the Ojibway peoples of my own homelands in northern Ontario will attest. And, of course, we are the last to be consulted about how, when, and where development should take place in order to assure continuing harmony for the seventh generation. The most we have learned to expect

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is to be compensated, always too late and too little. We are seldom asked to help avoid the need for compensation by lending our expertise and our consent to development. (Bruyerer, cited in Yap & Watene, 2019, p. 457)

Human rights and human dignity demand meaningful political inclusion. Inclusive citizenship is one of the ways in which indigenous agency might be privileged over the presumption of vulnerability.

3.6 Indigenous Voice, Indigenous Values and Inclusive Citizenship Twenty-four per cent of the carbon stored in the world’s forests is managed by indigenous people (International Work Group for Indigenous Affairs, 2020). The International Work Group for Indigenous Affairs (2020) argues that because indigenous people manage 50% of the world’s land mass, but own only 10%, stronger land rights are required to strengthen their contributions to ‘increasing carbon storage, reducing emissions, improving food security, diminishing the likelihood of climaterelated conflicts and enhancing ecosystem resilience’ (p. 7). Furthermore, indigenous delegates to the UN Climate Summit in 2019 argued that their contribution to international emissions’ reduction measures depends on the Declaration’s implementation. The ability to make land management decisions consistent with reduced carbon emissions depends on the acceptance of article 32(2) of the Declaration, which holds that: States shall consult and cooperate in good faith with the indigenous peoples concerned through their own representative institutions in order to obtain their free and informed consent prior to the approval of any project affecting their lands or territories and other resources, particularly in connection with the development, utilization or exploitation of mineral, water or other resources. (United Nations, 2007)

In 2004, the United Nations Special Rapporteur on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples argued that the prevention of discrimination and protection of indigenous peoples requires their permanent sovereignty over natural resources. In this context, the Rapporteur argued that there was indeed a willingness among UN member states ‘to address the rights of indigenous peoples to their natural resources’, though it remained that a wide range of measures would be required to realise this right in different contexts

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(United Nations, 2004, p. 3). The Rapporteur understood permanent sovereignty as ‘the right of a nation or people to exercise ownership, control, and management authority over its natural resources… as an aspect of the exercise of the right to self-determination’ (United Nations, 2004, p. 9). This interpretation is more far-reaching than the Declaration itself which qualifies resource rights by affirming the settler or post-settler state’s right to govern (article 46 (1)) and by providing alternative forms of restitution to the return of alienated land (article 28 (1)). The protection of resource rights, like the protection of other rights, presumes that indigenous people enjoy an inclusive citizenship with the freedom to participate in the public life of the state with reference to and in support of culture. Such participation reflects just terms of association. Just terms of association may be expressed through participatory parity as an alternative to the homogenous presumptions that rationalise citizenship as sameness, leading to what Fraser (2003) calls a situation where. some individuals and groups are denied the status of full partners in social interaction simply as a consequence of institutional patterns of cultural value in whose construction they have not equally participated and which disparage their distinctive characteristics or the distinctive characteristics assigned to them. (p. 29)

From this perspective, citizenship is an abstract concept until its rights and obligations are set as practical political capacities. Positioning citizenship’s capacities and obligations with reference to culture allows indigenous people to define for themselves SDG 16’s responsiveness to the argument that there are ‘duties of institutions and actors in reducing inequalities’ (Ruger, 2004, p. 1092), including the substantive political inequality that colonialism presumes and requires. The International Labour Organization has noted SDG 16’s importance to its Convention Number 169 Concerning Indigenous and Tribal Peoples, which provided that ‘governments shall establish means by which these people can freely participate, to at least the same extent as other sectors of the population, at all levels of decision-making in elective institutions and administrative and other bodies responsible for policies and programmes which concern them’ (Article, 6.1 (b)). This kind of inclusive citizenship is democratically important because:

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In the absence of a Philosopher King who reads transcendent normative verities, the only ground for a claim that a policy or decision is just is that it has been arrived at by a public which has truly promoted the free expression of all. (Young, 1989, p. 263)

The strength of the indigenous space within the sovereign may be measured against the quality of the deliberative opportunities that liberalism allows indigenous citizens to create within the state. Shared sovereign spaces ideally provide for the expression of self-determining voices to reflect the inherent authority that indigenous people are entitled to enjoy in and over their own affairs (United Nations, 2007, art. 5). The Declaration presumes that public sovereignty is dispersed and indigenous people are entitled to claim some sites of public authority as their own and share all other sites of that authority with other citizens. For example, it presumes authority in relation to health, education and the management of natural resources. Sharing the sovereign in these ways means that citizenship is equipped to meet Aristotle’s simple but far-reaching ideal of the citizen as one who deliberates (Aristotle, 1988). Recognising culture may require recasting sovereignty as an authority that indigenous persons and nations share and are entitled to influence. Sharing the sovereign (O’Sullivan, 2021) thus creates scope for ‘otherness’ and ‘difference’ to be defined by indigenous people as positive expressions of identity. An identity grounded in culture, but not limited by culture’s definition as a private right. From this perspective, political rights and their free and equal political expression are not abstract ideals divorced from the context of how one sees the world. Culture may then provide the moral reasoning to justify one’s choices about how to claim one’s share in the sovereign. Self-determination within the state, therefore, disrupts the presumption of sovereignty as an absolute, incontestable and hegemonic authority that the state exercises over and above indigenous people. As a deliberator, one contributes to the formation of the values by which a society functions and through which a body politic is formed among peoples who have not come together voluntarily but whose circumstances require ongoing association. Indeed, one of the tests of self-determination’s substantive presence is whether belonging to the state contributes to people living a better life. Whether, for example, people

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are confined to the margins of a political community that actively seeks their exclusion or whether they are shareholders in a commonwealth that reflects their interests and supports their capacity to live a life of personal value. One needs, then, to find paths beyond the procedural problem that Ivison (2017) raised, which is that one of the explanations for entrenched policy failure in indigenous affairs is ‘the lack of political (and moral) attention accorded to the determination of law and policy’ (p. 125). It is, therefore, impossible for law and public policy to ordinarily be just and the product of reasoned thought when evaluated against indigenous requirements of efficacy and fairness. Hegemony may always prevail because liberal democracy is an imposed form of political organisation and indigenous peoples’ position on its periphery means that even with measures like guaranteed parliamentary representation, they are unlikely to be equal participants in determining democracy’s evolution and are unlikely to find space within that system for the autonomy that they believe is just and a necessary constituent of the good life (United Nations, 2007). When a person holds the legal status of a citizen but does not, in practice, enjoy the powers and capacities that come from substantive inclusion, they are beyond the political and unable to participate in the formation of public values and political priorities. Substantive inclusion means that culture matters in policy formation and is a constituent of the just institutions that SDG 16 imagines.

3.7

Culture Matters

Culture’s absence from the Goals is especially apparent when considered alongside Corntassal’s (2008) sustainable self-determination. While the Goals make sustainable development a public policy objective, Corntassal (2008) argued that sustainable self-determination is a process of ‘Indigenous livelihoods, food security, community governance, and relationships to the natural world and ceremonial life that enables transmission of these cultural practices to future generations’ (p. 124). There is a focus on ‘interconnectedness and balance’ between the human and natural worlds and between the present and future. He, therefore, warned against political and economic approaches to removing barriers to selfdetermination. Instead, he favours ‘sustainable, spiritual foundations’ (p. 115); presuming that these are different and incompatible approaches. Similarly, the Sagkeeng First Nation in Manitoba conceptualises ‘sustainable’ self-determination as a discourse of responsibilities rather than

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rights. This responsibility involves ‘taking our rightful place of leadership in our original homelands’ (Courchene, in Cameron et al., 2019, p. 13). It is achieved through indigenous modes of governance and interpersonal relationships. A test of the Goals’ contribution to indigenous sustainable development is, therefore, whether they provide scope for framing arguments for political and economic development, based on, and in support of sustainable, spiritual foundations. Furthermore, from some indigenous perspectives, relationships rather than rights are a source of self-determination. For example, Courchene (2017) argues that: Our leadership is not a political leadership, rather a spiritual leadership guided by values. We offer a glimpse into our ways and our traditions, into our values that helped sustain our ancestors for thousands and thousands of years on these lands, living in harmony and peace with each other and the natural world. (para. 65)

The right to culture is self-determination’s foundational right, and cultural development is a constituent of development more broadly. Without regard for culture, as the point connecting indigenous environmental concerns with their conceptions of material well-being, there is a risk that indigenous well-being is reduced to the egalitarian distribution of national wealth, not the distribution of spatially and culturally contextualised political authority. In this event, opportunities for sustainable development remain elusive. Culture is the framework through which people conceptualise the world and their place within it, including the policy targets that governments may choose to adopt. The Goals require that decision-making bodies are empowered to consider public policy from integrated and holistic perspectives. It is important that policy-makers may think about the impacts of decisions taken within their sphere of authority on other policy domains, and for indigenous decision-making bodies to have the political space to make their own connections among different domains and policy targets. The Goals were developed on the presumption that these kinds of connections are inherent to effective policy-making, but in the absence of institutions capable of making decisions in this way, the scope for their realisation is diminished.

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Indigenous knowledge and ways of thinking generally presume relationships between people and their environments, with the well-being of each inseparable from the well-being of the other. Where this presumption prevails, there is a philosophical consistency with the principle of interrelated and integrated approaches to policy problems. This integration introduces significant complexities into policy design, but the scope for philosophical alignment with the rights and capacities of self-determination is also significant. Indigenous people and knowledge systems contribute to environmental protection, and indigenous value systems may provide philosophically important counterpoints to the environmental exploitation that state development policy often favours. Therefore, the meaning of leaving no one behind is further culturally and geopolitically contextualised. Indigenous peoples consider culture a foundational and a transformative dimension of sustainable development—understanding that diverse cultural values and spiritual traditions shape relations with nature. (Indigenous Peoples Major Group for Sustainable Development, 2020, p. 3)

The view that development is culturally contextualised means that the term sustainable is vague, vacuous and detached from human being if it cannot be described and defended with reference to culture. The social and economic dimensions of development similarly make sense only with reference to the cultural foundations of human being. Therefore, ‘A relational starting point emphasises connections to people and the natural world, and generates different kinds of reciprocal obligations to people and the natural world’ (Watene & Yap, 2015, p. 52). Conflict between state ideas of land ownership and indigenous ideas of custodianship or guardianship shows that environmental protection is not a culturally neutral process. As Watene (2021) explained: When you begin with a story about socio-environmental relationships – not ownership – this idea of stewardship and collective flourishing runs at the heart of the philosophy… What really matters is our capability for collective continuance – to protect and nurture a community’s capacity to thrive well into the future. (Why is environmental stewardship so central to indigenous peoples, para. 3)

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In developing this argument, Watene (2016) asked: Can the capability approach to well-being and development capture the way nature is valued within “Matauranga M¯aori” (the philosophies of the indigenous peoples of Aotearoa/New Zealand) (p. 287)? ‘M¯aori values expressed a relationship with nature grounded in the physical and spiritual dimensions of “whakapapa” (genealogy). Such an approach differs markedly from that which values nature in light of human agency (as Sen’s theory does) or dignity (as Martha Nussbaum’s theory does). (p. 287)

3.8

Capabilities

Watene (2016) argued that Nussbaum’s (2003) account of capabilities grounded in human dignity requires that capabilities are specifically defined. The question then becomes whether it is possible to develop a universal account of human capabilities or whether these capabilities are in their entirety culturally dependent. Similarly, while their universality explains the Goals’ influence and authority, it may also explain indigenous reservations about their attention to culture. Nevertheless, Watene (2016) does concede that the capabilities approach to development creates space for the kind of dialogue that is necessary to bring cultural precepts explicitly into the theories of human agency and dignity that Sen (2005) and Nussbaum (2003) proposed. On the other hand, their objective, that people should have the capability to construct for themselves lives that they have reason to value, is sufficiently broad to account for whatever understanding of relationships between people and the environment one wishes to acknowledge. Indeed, the capabilities approach to human development is not intended to be a complete theory of justice. This is because it necessarily requires that people may work out for themselves what they value and what is needed to lead a dignified and purposeful life. People know what it means to be an indigenous person who is not left behind. How they privilege and reflect cultural context, knowledge and aspirations shows how and why indigenous voice matters in working out what it means to say that nobody is left behind. These aspirations are not, however, new. After almost 200 years of indigenous insistence, in Australia in 1974, the Woodward Royal Commission into Aboriginal Land Rights made the simple but compelling observation that: ‘Aborigines should be free to choose their own manner

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of living’ (Woodward, 1974, p. 11). This book’s equally simple but farreaching question is: ‘Do the United Nations Sustainable Development Goals help?’ When Australia adopted self-determination as official public policy during the early 1970s, it was a relatively new concept in international law and was interpreted by largely non-indigenous policy-makers. Nevertheless, even at that time, the right as it was enunciated in the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (United Nations, 1966a) and the International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights (United Nations, 1966b), was open to expansive and transformative interpretation. ‘All peoples have the right of self-determination. By virtue of that right they freely determine their political status and freely pursue their economic, social and cultural development’ (article 3 of both covenants). The subsequent Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (2007) offers further interpretive guidance and detailed descriptions of the substance of the right to self-determination. Altman (2020) argued that the return of as much as 50% of indigenous land in the Northern Territory has given people ‘the choice to live differently in accord with diverse elements of their traditions and customs’ (p. 228). However, these choices are still constrained in fundamentally important ways, and in relation to economic growth and security, health, education and the working of the criminal justice system. For example, Woodward (1974) proposed an indigenous veto right over mining on their lands (Altman, 2020) and recommended that the government fund indigenous land development as an essential contribution ‘towards selfsufficiency and eventual social and economic equality’ (Woodward, 1974, p. 138). Land rights were the cause of ‘postcolonial optimism’ (Altman, 2020, p. 233). However, indigenous experience internationally shows that land rights are essential but insufficient conditions for a postcolonial political order. Land rights are often conditional and provide important case studies on prevailing constraints on meaningful indigenous political voice. There may be significant colonial restrictions on how the natural environment is used. Differences of opinion between the environmental lobby and indigenous landholders led to colonial intrusion under Queensland’s Wild Rivers Act 2005 as one recent example. The Act overrode indigenous environmental management practices. It constrained their right to sustenance from the natural environment and opportunities to develop it according to established environmental management practices. The Act

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was repealed in 2014 because in the view of the chairperson of the Cape York Land Council: This legislation... jeopardise[s] future development and enterprise for Aboriginal people of the Cape hoping to become self sufficient with the return of their traditional country through business enterprises such as cattle, development and other activities. It also restricts the traditional use of some water systems in Cape York. (Ross, cited in O’Sullivan, 2017, p. 127)

The Act showed the state’s unease with indigenous authority over their own affairs and with the role of culture in public policy. An alternative form of environmental management, discussed in the next chapter, is to recognise the legal personhood of natural environmental features, such as rivers and mountains, with distinctive indigenous voice in their guardianship. The right to exercise such guardianship is a constituent of the broader right to choose one’s own manner of living.

3.9 The Right to Choose One’s Own Manner of Living The concept of being able to choose one’s own manner of living is selfdetermination’s ultimate concern. However, its measurement is complex because people have different values and aspirations and prefer different manners of living. As Altman (2020) explained, these aspirations range from ‘that of a recognised traditional owner of land who might be focused on maintaining difference to that of a member of Australia’s political, corporate or bureaucratic elites who often emphasise sameness’ (p. 228). If it is a deliberate choice, taken from a range of realistic possibilities, then the choice to assimilate is a legitimate exercise of the individual right to self-determination. From this perspective, there are no further collective cultural rights, land rights or linguistic rights to consider. In contrast, the choice to participate in the state’s political, corporate or bureaucratic elites as indigenous is an equally authentic indigenous choice. These possibilities reflect different and distinct ways of being indigenous. The right to live in a manner of one’s choosing and to consider what that choice means for land, culture and broader political associations, reflect characteristics of indigeneity which others cannot define or prescribe. What it means to be indigenous is a question for people to answer for themselves.

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Nevertheless, it remains that the Goals are concerned with a broader conception of human development than traditional economic measures such as GDP may describe, and the idea that there is a human right to development is significant in its own terms. Importantly also, the Goals recognise that development’s constituents and determinants are multidimensional and interconnected. The World Commission on Environment and Development’s report (the Brundtland Commission) ‘Our Common Future’ (World Commission on Environment & Development, 1987), which preceded the Goals’ development, presumed that prosperity, security and sustainability may coexist. This presumption is consistent with prevailing indigenous world views about human relationships with the physical world, while inconsistent with the aggressive pursuit of wealth, at the expense of others, which is among colonialism’s essential and foundational characteristics. The capabilities approach does not stipulate the characteristics of freedom or the things one should value. It simply maintains that making one’s own choices about these matters is important and legitimate. This is why Sen (2005) does not propose a definitive list of the capabilities that people are entitled to enjoy, even though Nussbaum (2003) does attempt to explain indispensable capabilities. For Sen (2005), the capabilities that matter to a community are for that community to decide. This book’s questions about who makes decisions, for whom and why, are thus affirmed as preliminary to working out self-determination’s essential characteristics. As Sen (2005) argued: The problem is not with listing important capabilities, but with insisting on one pre-determined list of capabilities, chosen by theorists without any general or public reasoning. To have such a fixed list, emanating entirely from pure theory, is to deny the possibility of fruitful public participation on what should be included and why. (p. 158)

Theories of the good life such as matauranga M¯aori may, therefore, provide reference points from which people work out what it is that they value. Public reasoning is important, but like political theories, ideas about what is good do not arise from nothing. People reason from their own perspectives of what is good and what should count as legitimate public policy objectives. Just institutions do not simply admit indigenous forms of reasoning. They actively support their influence and development.

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Nussbaum (2003) says that dignity is reflected in the individual’s capacity to do and be what one wants to do and be. Again, these conceptions of what is good do not arise from nowhere. They come from understanding of what it means to be human which may, as it does according to matauranga M¯aori theories, include both physical and metaphysical connections between humanity and the natural environment. However, as Watene (2016) pointed out, matauranga M¯aori is neither a singular nor static body of knowledge. It may be interpreted differently by hapu and iwi and evolve to meet changing circumstances. Human development means expanding human capabilities which, in turn, supposes eliminating constraints on people’s capacities to make decisions about how they will live their lives and how they will interact with and protect their environment. The capability to reflect one’s views about the purpose of the natural environment, in relation to human welfare, is one that colonialism curtails. Human progress can only meaningfully be measured according to one’s own values and aspirations, not according to another’s, which means that a philosophical framework for thinking about what public policy should achieve is preliminary to secure and sustainable human freedom.

3.10

Conclusion

The interactions among culture, human rights, human dignity, policy and the right to live according to values that hold personal meaning are central to the tension between the colonial aspirations of the state and indigenous claims to self-determination. These omissions must be addressed to realise their necessary contributions to indigenous self-determination. The Goals cannot otherwise attend to the contextual factors that may influence indigenous accounts of what it means to be not left behind. They do not make specific reference to the claims of culture or culture’s importance in the formation of public policy. The SDG indicators’ two references to indigenous people position them as vulnerable and holding limited economic ambition. The chapter shows that exclusion and the use of public policy as an instrument of control create a political vulnerability that is resolvable, although it is not the vulnerability that the Goals aim to address. The chapter shows the complexities involved in thinking beyond vulnerability and why the Goals’ potential value to indigenous peoples depends on such thinking. The implications of this argument are

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considered in the book’s remaining chapters, beginning with Chapter 4’s consideration of why thinking beyond vulnerability requires thinking beyond the egalitarian distribution of public resources to the book’s recurring presumption that it is the distribution of political authority that matters most in determining whether or not indigenous people will be left behind.

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Strakosch, E. (2019). The technical is political: Settler colonialism and the Australian Indigenous policy system. Australian Journal of Political Science, 54(1), 114–130. Supreme Court of Canada. (1997). Delgaamukw v. British Columbia. SCR 1010. United Nations. (1948). Universal declaration of human rights. http://www.un. org/en/documents/udhr/. Accessed 25 March 2014. United Nations. (1966a). International covenant on civil and political rights. https://www.ohchr.org/en/instruments-mechanisms/instruments/int ernational-covenant-civil-and-political-rights. Accessed 6 August 2022. United Nations. (1966b). International covenant on economic, social and cultural rights. https://www.ohchr.org/en/instruments-mechanisms/instruments/int ernational-covenant-economic-social-and-cultural-rights. Accessed 6 August 2022. United Nations. (2004). Prevention of discrimination and protection of Indigenous peoples: Indigenous peoples’ permanent sovereignty over natural resources. Final report of the special Rapporteur, Erica-Irene A. Daes: Addendum. https://view.officeapps.live.com/op/view.aspx?src=https%3A%2F%2Fwww. un.org%2Fesa%2Fsocdev%2Funpfii%2Fdocuments%2Fstatement_vtc_wipo_j uly07.doc&wdOrigin=BROWSELINK. Accessed 6 August 2022. United Nations. (2007). Declaration on the rights of Indigenous peoples. https://www.un.org/development/desa/indigenouspeoples/wp-content/ uploads/sites/19/2018/11/UNDRIP_E_web.pdf. Accessed 5 August 2022. United Nations. (2017). Report of the inter-agency and expert group on sustainable development Goal Indicators (E/CN.3/2017/2). https://uns tats.un.org/sdgs/indicators/Official%20Revised%20List%20of%20global% 20SDG%20indicators.pdf. Accessed 6 August 2022. Waitangi Tribunal. (2014). Te Paparahi o Te Raki stage 1. https://forms.jus tice.govt.nz/search/Documents/WT/wt_DOC_85648980/Te%20RakiW_1. pdf. Accessed 6 August 2022. Wang, J.-H. (2015). Happiness and social exclusion of Indigenous peoples in Taiwan—a social sustainability perspective. PLoS ONE, 10(2), Article e0118305. Watene, K. (2016). Valuing nature: M¯aori philosophy and the capability approach. Oxford Development Studies, 44(3), 287–296. Watene, K. (2021). Why local and Indigenous communities are vital to sustainable human development. United Nations Development Programme. Accessed 6 August 2022. Watene, K., & Yap, M. (2015). Culture and sustainable development: Indigenous contributions. Journal of Global Ethics, 11(1), 51–55. Woodward, E. (1974). Aboriginal land rights commission: Second report April 1974. https://apo.org.au/sites/default/files/resource-files/1974-05/ apo-nid36136_2.pdf. Accessed 6 August 2022.

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World Commission on Environment and Development. (1987). Report of the world commission on environment and development: Our common future. https://sustainabledevelopment.un.org/content/docume nts/5987our-common-future.pdf. Accessed 10 September 2022. Yap, M.L.-M., & Watene, K. (2019). The Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs) and Indigenous peoples: Another missed opportunity? Journal of Human Development and Capabilities, 20(4), 451–467. Young, I. (1989). Polity and group difference: A critique of the ideal of universal citizenship. Ethics, 99(2), 250–274.

CHAPTER 4

Freedom and Culture: Beyond Egalitarian Justice

4.1

Introduction

This chapter continues the book’s central theme of culture as a determinant of equality. It explains why culture is essential to the liberal concern for personal freedom and why group rights matter over colonialism’s casting of these rights as a political disability. For example, group rights to language and the management of natural resources are determinants of liberty. Resource management is especially significant in relation to SDG 1 (No Poverty). Poverty is exacerbated by colonial power relationships which means that, for indigenous peoples, its resolution is not simply a matter of fairer resource distribution but, again, a matter of the fair distribution of power, including the power to define poverty and develop responses that make cultural sense. The chapter notes that poverty constrains political opportunities and the tendency for wealthy states to see SDG 1 as primarily relevant to developing countries is one of the ways in which the Goals are leaving indigenous people behind in these states. Poverty shows the importance of thinking about what it means practically to say that sustainable development is for everybody’s benefit. To this end, the chapter discusses food insecurity as a particular outcome of colonial relationships and as an example of a policy problem that is resolvable only in cultural context. The chapter shows that food insecurity is also resolvable only with reference to the human rights presumptions that are implicit © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2023 D. O’Sullivan, Indigeneity, Culture and the UN Sustainable Development Goals, Sustainable Development Goals Series, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-99-0581-2_4

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in the Goals, but which are not routinely and obviously apparent to indigenous peoples. As well as poverty and food insecurity, the chapter discusses indigenous conceptions of the natural environment as matters that are understood with reference to culture, and which may be usefully considered through treaties between states and indigenous nations. Treaties are instruments of recognition. They provide context for thinking about questions of legitimacy and trust as determinants of who is left behind and who is not. Legitimacy and trust are linked to the state’s willingness to admit indigenous leadership in defining and giving effect to what it means for a people to be not left behind. From these perspectives, a state’s conception of political equality is an important factor in the political value that indigenous peoples might take from the Goals.

4.2

Freedom and Culture

Freedom is a culturally contextualised right and aspiration. Just political institutions must, therefore, be responsive to indigenous peoples’ unique circumstances and unique positioning within the post-settler states that have emerged over their territories. Culture and colonial experience should concern the normative liberal interest in personal freedom because it is through culture that freedom derives meaning, and it is in the groups to which one belongs that freedom is expressed or curtailed. For example, one’s view of freedom may flow from one’s view of the natural world to make the natural world an important consideration in one’s thinking about the nature of human well-being. Although, indeed, cultural recognition alone does not guarantee that political authority will be distributed fairly. Fairness cannot exist beyond culture because beyond culture life loses its meaning. One cannot otherwise explain one’s being, the purpose of human relationships or how to think about one’s location in the physical environment. This is why the question that Watene (2016) asks is important, not just in the context in which it is posed, but also with reference to the Goals. ‘What insights can M¯aori values bring to development theory and practice…?’ (p. 288). If it is not attentive to cultural context, the general proposition that one should be able to work out for one’s self the meaning of a life that holds personal value is unsuccessful in its own terms. Culture is also a determinant of sustainable development and how indigenous people are inclined to frame their policy aspirations. Power

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imbalances in making public policy decisions also influence how indigenous people see the state and the actions it takes and decides not to take. If the Goals’ translation into substantive policy aspirations is state-led, they will likely exacerbate these power imbalances. Recognising difference in how people experience and evaluate freedom: ‘Is compatible with a form of universalism that counts the culture and cultural context valued by individuals as among their basic interests’ (Taylor & Gutmann, 1994, p. 3). Indigenous rights are not claimed from a ‘conjunction between “culture” and “disadvantage”’ (Scott, 2003, p. 94), which is why egalitarian concerns for class-based injustice in the distribution of public resources do not attend to the claims of self-determination. Claims to language, land and culturally framed modes of belonging are distinctive claims of indigeneity. These are appeals to extant rights of prior occupancy and, as group rights, they show why indigenous people are unlikely to see the state ‘as their sole, or even principal, point of identity’ (O’Sullivan, 2017, p. 36). Group rights matter because it is only by virtue of one’s group membership that one’s access to language, land and culturally framed modes of belonging are compromised. Colonialism requires that group membership is a political disability. Indeed, in 1788 when the British First Fleet arrived, between 300 and 700 languages were spoken in Australia (Simpson, 2019). Measures to make these languages obsolete were essential colonial policy. Culture is a constituent of the just operation of public institutions and the just formation, implementation and evaluation of public policy. The UN Open Working Group on the Sustainable Development Goals proposed ‘culture and partnerships with cultural agents to achieve poverty eradication and inclusive economic growth’ (Kawharu, 2015, p. 45), which Kawharu argued was a ‘helpful’ guide for New Zealand (p. 47). Yet Watene and Yap (2015) argued that the Goals actually ‘sideline culture as a dimension of development’ (p. 51), and that one should, therefore, treat their stated presumption cautiously that ‘all cultures and civilisations can contribute to sustainable development’ (Watene & Yap, 2015, p. 51). Instead, Watene and Yap (2015) suggested that there are indigenous perspectives from Australia and New Zealand which would ‘transform how sustainable development might be understood and pursued’ (p. 51). Some of these are introduced throughout this book. Enduring cultural and geopolitical attachments mean that indigenous populations bring distinctive perspectives to questions of development. These attachments also explain distinctive vulnerabilities, manifest when

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outside commercial interests seek to exploit natural resources or when indigenous populations are excluded from decision-making over sustainable resource use, for example. Geopolitical attachments are enduring because, for indigenous peoples, culture is formed from relationships with the physical environment. Sustainable development makes sense only with reference to the relationships between people and space. ‘Human beings are understood to be only one part of a development story that includes and weaves all things in the world (and universe) together. Our shared and overlapping lands, oceans and rivers connect us’ (Watene & Yap, 2015, p. 52). However, the Goals’ targets make just five references to culture, which for Watene and Yap (2015), reflects the presumption that ‘culture is useful merely as a means to achieve sustainable development and its economic, social and environmental dimensions. Culture (and the survival of indigenous cultures, for instance) is not valued for its own sake’ (p. 52). If: ‘culture does not feature as one of the key dimensions of sustainable development, the risks and impacts of achieving particular Goals on the maintenance of indigenous culture and livelihood will never be part of the conversation on sustainable development’ (p. 56). Yet, as an important example, Goal 1 (No Poverty) must be viewed through culture because: Poverty includes not just material wealth, but also the content and quality of our relationships with other people, and our connections to and expressions of culture. Indigenous perspectives are, in other words, important contributions to a shared understanding of how sustainable development ought to be conceived, and the Goals that ought to be pursued. (Watene & Yap, 2015, p. 52)

Egalitarian policy objectives to improve indigenous well-being may focus on indigenous people as poor or otherwise deficient individuals with ‘needs’ that public policy should address. An alternative perspective and aspiration that can be read into SDG 16 are that just public institutions would ensure institutional mechanisms for indigenous people to frame needs for themselves, which suggests that the primary indigenous need is political not material. No individual lives in isolation or is devoid of culture. Group rights cannot be confined to one’s private life because contributing to public life in a language that is not one’s own or through institutional processes that one has not helped to construct is a political disability. One is

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not participating in public life with parity of esteem. The Goals could be strengthened with explicit attention to the right to culture and the cultural context that gives meaning to each of the Goals. Poverty as one example does not come from nowhere.

4.3

Poverty

Poverty constrains self-determination. Eliminating that constraint requires addressing how poverty diminishes political opportunities and how it may be caused or developed by unjust political arrangements. Different responses to poverty are provided in Australia, Canada and New Zealand, but in none of these are sufficient insights into their colonial foundations admitted into policy discourse. As this book will show, public institutions are not culturally neutral. They privilege the values and aspirations of those who design them. It is a matter of justice that they are attentive to culture and that, in their attempts at neutrality, they do not set aside distinctive and legitimate indigenous interests and aspirations. Poverty, homelessness, ill-health and poor education are the necessary outcomes of colonial political relationships. The construction of non-colonial public institutions with decision-making authority would, in itself, help address the wider objectives of the Goals and give practical effect to their theoretical consistency with the objectives of selfdetermination. For indigenous peoples, colonialism is among poverty’s causes. But simultaneously, poverty entrenches colonialism and makes resistance to it through quality education (SDG 4) and decent work and economic growth (SDG 8) more difficult. The Indigenous Peoples Major Group for Sustainable Development (2015) argued that for indigenous peoples, the connection between collective land rights and poverty eradication is so strong that the two should be linked in an explicit target. The connection between restrictions on indigenous access to land and settler populations’ material development is clear. The connection draws out the inherent injustice of colonialism as a political system dependent on privileging some people’s interests over other people’s rights. Yet, New Zealand’s contribution to the Goals’ development was particularly focussed on how the Goals could support poverty reduction in the Pacific (Kawharu, 2015). An Australian Senate Committee Inquiry into the Goals (discussed in Chapter 7) also privileged their relevance to developing countries (Australian Government, 2019). However, as Kawharu (2015) explained, it is equally

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reasonable to argue that there is value in applying the Goals to domestic poverty reduction. For example, they provide a framework for analysing and responding to M¯aori poverty not as a singular policy problem but with reference to its determinants—health (SDG 3), education (SDG 4), unemployment (SDG 8) and land alienation (SDG 15). Kawharu (2015) traces the relationship between land alienation and further geographic displacement as factors contributing to material poverty. Target 1.4 recognises the relationship, and aims that: by 2030… all men and women, particularly the poor and the vulnerable, have equal rights to economic resources, as well as access to basic services, ownership, and control over land and other forms of property, inheritance, natural resources, appropriate new technology, and financial services including microfinance. (United Nations, 2015, Target 1.4)

Land alienation contributes to and is compounded by other examples of people being ‘pushed further behind’ and which the Indigenous Peoples Major Group for Sustainable Development explains, are among the Goals’ wider concerns, criminalization, increasing poverty and hunger, loss of livelihood, destruction of cultural heritage, forest degradation, loss of biodiversity, conflicts on resource use and development, increased violence against indigenous women and girls, rising inequality and lack of access to justice, among others. (Indigenous Peoples Major Group for Sustainable Development, 2020, p. 2)

Consequently, when policy-makers explore solutions to poverty as a cause of ill-health or poor education, there are broader considerations still to be brought into the equation. While the Goals are not designed as responses to colonialism, they may still contribute to its mitigation. Their potential proceeds from the non-colonial implications of the assumption that sustainable development belongs to all and not just some people. For example, the Goals’ assumptions about how people should engage with the natural world conflict with colonialism’s foundational presumption that land and other natural resources are primarily the subjects of human exploitation. If land ownership cannot be demonstrated by humans exploiting it, in an agricultural sense, then according to Locke’s theory of labour another may apply their labour to it and claim it as their own (Locke, 1887). The British claim to the sovereign possession

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of Australia was made from this perspective and illustrates colonialism’s foundational assumption that some people are justly left behind. The land was apparently terra nullius or unoccupied. The colonial power could not, or perhaps chose not to see that the people inhabiting the continent for at least the preceding 50,000 years did, in fact, have an organised social and political structure that included principles for the sustainable use of natural resources for material benefit (Reynolds, 1996). The proposition that nobody, including people in wealthy states should be left behind, is, therefore, a proposition of special relevance to indigenous peoples.

4.4

Food Insecurity

The Stockholm Environment Institute argued that none of the 107 targets lack relevance to Sweden simply because Sweden is a developed and wealthy state. Yet, the Institute found that only 26 of these ‘could be considered steadily achieved’ in that country (Weitz et al., 2015, p. 6). By way of further example, food insecurity affects as much as 20% of the population in some highly developed states. In Australia, food insecurity’s prevalence was estimated at 21.7% (Pollard & Booth, 2019). The Canadian government says that 10.6% of its population live in poverty. It has developed a national Poverty Reduction Strategy and established a test-free child benefit, which it claims is having a significant impact. Against trends in other developed countries, including Australia and New Zealand, Canada has reduced the age of eligibility for its old age pension from 67 to 65 (Government of Canada, 2018). Canada recognises relationships between poverty and policies to improve early childhood education, housing, employment training and access to clean and safe water (Government of Canada, 2018, p. 22). In 2018, in its Review for High-Level Political Forum on Sustainable Development, Canada recognised the importance of improved food security to indigenous self-determination. It spoke of ‘engaging’ indigenous people in food security policy, but not speak of the political spaces that need to be secure to facilitate indigenous policy leadership and ownership of policy solutions. Canada noted the relationship between SDG 3 (Good Health and Well-being) and the International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights (United Nations, 1966), and its emphasis on freedom from discrimination. The connection proceeds from the relationship between racism and ill-health. For example, the obstacles that

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discrimination creates for equal access to health care and how public bureaucracies may operate to exclude some people’s values and understanding of the meaning of good health from the development of clinical practices (O’Sullivan, 2015). The civil society group, Canadian Feed the Children, argued that the rates of food insecurity for indigenous people range between 21 and 83%, while for non-indigenous citizens the rate is between 3 and 9% (Yesno, 2019). SDG 2.1 aims ‘to end hunger and ensure access by all people, in particular the poor and people in vulnerable situations, including infants, to safe, nutritious and sufficient food all year round’ (United Nations, 2015). In response, Yesno (2019) argued that ‘zero hunger’ means ‘total sovereignty’ for First Nations’ people. More specifically, the Indigenous Food Systems Network in Canada argues that food sovereignty provides a framework for addressing food insecurity. Its arguments are grounded on four principles: 1. Sacred or divine sovereignty—Food is a gift from the Creator; in this respect the right to food is sacred and cannot be constrained or recalled by colonial laws, policies and institutions. Indigenous food sovereignty is fundamentally achieved by upholding our sacred responsibility to nurture healthy, interdependent relationships with the land, plants and animals that provide us with our food. 2. Participatory—IFS [Indigenous Food Sovereignty] is fundamentally based on “action”, or the day to day practice of maintaining cultural harvesting strategies. To maintain Indigenous food sovereignty as a living reality for both present and future generations, continued participation in cultural harvesting strategies at all of the individual, family, community and regional levels is key. 3. Self-determination—The ability to respond to our own needs for healthy, culturally adapted Indigenous foods. The ability to make decisions over the amount and quality of food we hunt, fish, gather, grow and eat. Freedom from dependence on grocery stores or corporately controlled food production, distribution and consumption in industrialized economies. 4. Policy—IFS attempts to reconcile Indigenous food and cultural values with colonial laws and policies and mainstream economic activities. IFS thereby provides a restorative framework for policy

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reform in forestry, fisheries, rangeland, environmental conservation, health, agriculture, and rural and community development. (Indigenous Food Systems Network, 2022, para. 2) The economic and social costs of food insecurity are not systematically measured (Pollard & Booth, 2019). However, the affront to human dignity and impact on people’s health are clear and important because illhealth is an obstacle to wider social participation, including participation in education and employment. It is often associated with poor housing. It is, therefore, significant as Pollard and Booth (2019) argued, that the distinctive contributions that the Goals could make to reducing food insecurity come from their foundation in human rights from which there is capacity to think about the structural causes of policy problems, and the cultural context of their solutions. In remote Australia, this includes the cost of importing fresh foods and the absence of competitive food markets as factors contributing to food insecurity. The comparative affordability of unhealthy fast foods is a product of poorly functioning markets and, therefore, a structural contributor to poor diet. Food insecurity contributes to significant inequities in the distribution of the burden of disease. Like other markers of poverty, food insecurity needs to be analysed with reference to its political determinants. Sen (2005) argued that access to functioning markets is essential to maximising human capabilities. Access applies not just to markets for consumable goods, but also to markets for medicines and effective health care, markets for culturally cognisant and ambitious education, and labour markets free of discrimination. Pollard and Booth (2019), therefore, argued that: ‘Reframing and focusing food insecurity to address the broader sustainable development issues of supporting human rights and sustainable development to create an equitable and prosperous society, will have much broader impact than the current focus on redistributing food waste’ (p. 4). Pollard and Booth (2019) argue that eliciting public support and the support of policy-makers depends on how the goal is framed. Government economic policy-makers, for example, may be persuaded by arguments concerning the economic benefits of improved nutrition. Human rights advocates may be persuaded by arguments grounded in human dignity. However, it seems that like the wider public, indigenous peoples have not been persuaded that the Goals provide a useful framework for advancing and contributing to their claims to self-determination. This uncertainty

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remains even though the World Health Organization and the Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nations have argued that improving nutrition would contribute to at least 12 of the 17 Goals (Pollard & Booth, 2019). The adequacy of income support to the unemployed also contributes to food insecurity (Pollard & Booth, 2019). However, increases to income support payments address only the symptoms not the fundamental causes of disadvantage and the unequal distribution of disadvantage between indigenous and other population groups. Similarly, in New Zealand, providing meals to school children is a newly introduced policy response to food insecurity. The policy may be justified in egalitarian justice, but there is a risk that such measures mask the problem’s wider contributing variables. These include, arguably, the colonial structure of the modern state, which inhibits people from making choices for themselves. For example, the choice to use one’s land and natural resources as food sources or the choice to participate in the labour market as one prefers rather than according to the limits that discrimination imposes. Pollard and Booth (2019) correctly argue for government leadership in addressing the social determinants of food insecurity. Further consideration of how indigenous people contribute to that leadership and how indigenous nations lead responses for their own communities are among the commonly neglected political determinants of poor and inequitable outcomes in this policy domain. Chapter 8, therefore, introduces Critical Tiriti Analysis as an original framework (Came et al., 2020) for ensuring M¯aori leadership in policy development. Food insecurity’s relationship with culture and self-determination is clear: As Yesno (2019) put it: My hope is not that my grandmother and her friends can get food subsidies so the grocery store is more affordable, my ultimate hope is that she has access to food from the land and water, shared amongst our community, so she doesn’t have to go to the grocery store at all. (Paragraph 14)

The aspiration to food sovereignty is, therefore, an example of the relationship between SDG 2 (Zero Hunger) and the right to selfdetermination. Yesno’s remark draws out the difference between food subsidies as a measure of egalitarian justice and access to food sources as a measure of self-determination. It shows indigeneity as a more complete form of justice and more far-reaching political strategy.

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Food insecurity in remote indigenous communities in Canada, as well as Australia, is partly caused by the costs of importing fresh foods and water supply, which in turn, affect people’s capacity to make dietary choices consistent with good health and is associated with wider obstacles to self-determination. As Canada explained: ‘Everyone should be able to safely drink the water that comes out of their tap. Everyone deserves access to a safe and affordable home. No young person should have to move far from home to get a good, basic education. Yet throughout Canada, these are the disparities faced by Indigenous peoples’ (Government of Canada, 2018, p. 4).

4.5 Culture, Self-Determination and Environmental Management The Goals are concerned with interconnectedness and balance across public policy domains. They provide guidelines and targets for policymakers, rather than a philosophical framework reflecting how people want to live, interact with others and make decisions for themselves and their environments (Courchene, in Cameron et al., 2019, p. 14). Courchene’s (2017) understanding of the relationships between law and moral imperatives also shows why expressing aspirations purely as policy targets may be culturally incomplete. In our belief system, we have our values that we call the seven teachings that are represented by seven animals… These laws can’t be legislated, simply because you can’t legislate morality. These teachings must be lived from within us, from the heart, the spirit. It is these teachings, these laws that align and connect those with the natural laws of Mother Earth. (para. 39)

The Anishinaabe view that land is not owned but borrowed from future generations (Cameron et al., 2019) distinguishes the purposes of environmental protection. This intergenerational conceptualisation of development may also influence indigenous approaches to economic development. For indigenous scholars and policy actors, political aspirations stem from geopolitical attachments, and self-determination makes no sense without reference to these contributors to human identity and well-being. The transmission of culture from one generation to the next defines sustainable development so that sustainability is not simply a

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matter of reconciling environmental imperatives with the constituents of human material well-being. For this reason, Corntassel (2008) argued that contemporary rights discourses can take indigenous peoples ‘only so far’. This is because international instruments ‘deemphasize’ selfdetermination’s significance for the ‘responsibilities and relationships’ that are inherent to indigenous cultures. He proposed ‘sustainable self-determination’ as a way of ‘regenerating indigenous nations’ and to provide a ‘benchmark for future indigenous political mobilization’ (p. 105). Regenerating indigenous nationhood is both an expression of self-determination and preliminary to its broader exercise. Corntassel (2008) cited Alfred (2005) to make this point and provide what one may consider, in 2023, as a benchmark against which to measure the Goals’ usefulness to indigenous peoples. It is still true that the first part of self-determination is the self. In our minds and in our souls, we need to reject the colonists’ control and authority, their definition of who we are and what our rights are, their definition of what is worthwhile and how one should live, their hypocritical and pacifying moralities. We need to rebel against what they want us to become, start remembering the qualities of our ancestors and act on those remembrances. This is the kind of spiritual revolution that will ensure our survival. (Cited in Corntassel, 2008, p. 106)

This means that self-determination must transcend political and legal recognition. It must also be ‘economically, environmentally, and culturally viable and inextricably linked to indigenous relationships to the natural world’ (Corntassel, 2008, p. 108). While the Goals’ purpose is to ensure policy integration between the material and natural worlds, there are arguments that they do not achieve this objective with respect to integrating indigenous values into their policy targets. Indeed, Corntassel (2008) argued that environmental sustainability is a policy aspiration that indigenous peoples should assert ‘on their own terms’ and ‘as a benchmark for the restoration of Indigenous livelihoods and territories and for future Indigenous political mobilization’ (p. 109). It is instructive to consider whether the Goals are a further example of what Alfred and Corntassel (2005) described or if they are instead an opportunity for indigenous peoples to strengthen and seek further alliances of common aspiration to construct a different kind of politics to one where:

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there are new faces of empire that are attempting to strip indigenous peoples of their very spirit as nations and of all that is held sacred, threatening their sources of connection to their distinct existences and the sources of their spiritual power: relationships to each other, communities, homelands, ceremonial life, languages, histories… These connections are crucial to living a meaningful life for any human being. (p. 599)

The personification of the physical environment is important because cultural identity is bound in associations with mountains and rivers to explain why indigeneity is distinguished by geopolitical considerations. Cultural identity is also the outcome of relationships with personified objects. Unlike an approach to the natural world which views people as the principal (if not sole) end of concern, human beings are understood to be only one part of a creation story that weaves together all things… The starting point for such an approach to the natural world – value is derived from our coexistence and shared dissent. (Watene, 2016, p. 292)

For example, M¯aori understanding of the relationships between people and the natural environment is an important consideration for SDG 6 (Access to Water and Sanitation). The attribution of the rights of personhood to the Whanganui River involved creating a ‘just institution’ (SDG 16) to ensure that water policy reflected M¯aori epistemological values where water is not simply a constituent of physical health or a material resource. Water is understood as part of a spiritual account of the natural environment and how the natural environment fits in to peoples’ understanding of their place in the world. The material and the environmental are integrated to provide a single culturally framed view of what sustainable development means. Development cannot, for example, be understood as the concern of a singular policy domain. Acknowledging the Whanganui River’s legal personhood is an important example of distinctive M¯aori perspectives on the natural environment contributing to SDG 6 (Clean Water and Sanitation). Legal personhood means that the natural phenomenon owns itself. It follows the M¯aori custom of attributing personal qualities to these phenomena and facilitates the environmental protections that the Goals imagine. In 2021, the Magpie River in Québec was granted legal personhood. This means that it is not owned by the state or any other entity. Its guardians may claim the nine rights that it has been granted: (1) the right to flow; (2) the

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right to respect for its cycles; (3) the right for its natural evolution to be protected and preserved; (4) the right to maintain its natural biodiversity; (5) the right to fulfil its essential functions within its ecosystem; (6) the right to maintain its integrity; (7) the right to be safe from pollution; (8) the right to regenerate and be restored; and finally, (9) the right to sue’ (Raymer, 2021, para. 13). By contrast, Jackson (2019) argued that: ‘Colonial power relations shape Australian water governance and management, including environmental water management’. However, there is potential for treaties to provide scope for active and meaningful indigenous participation and leadership in these areas to enhance the systemic ‘legitimacy and trust’ (Jackson, 2019, p. 1) that Jackson argues is not present in water management.

4.6

Legitimacy, Trust and the Conditional Nature of Indigenous Rights

Legitimacy and trust are determinants of substantive political equality, which means that ‘we need to prioritise our conceptions of political legitimacy’ (Ivison, 2017, p. 118). It may be, for example, that just institutions presuppose a recasting of the meaning and practices of public sovereignty away from the Westphalian imagination of sovereignty as ‘states each of which is in control of a singular Self’ (Asch, 2019, p. 8). Societies might, instead, need to work out the just terms on which ‘we are all here to stay’ (Supreme Court of Canada, 1997). In New Zealand, Te Tiriti o Waitangi creates the opportunity and perhaps the M¯aori expectation that the Self and the Other are. intertwined in such a way that the relationship between them is identified as part of who they are. Thus, it presumes that Self cannot live in a space that is cordoned off from Other, for they are always together. Nor does it imagine, for the same reason, that the preoccupation of the Selfdetermining Self is to look after itself to the exclusion of Others. (Asch, 2019, pp. 8–9)

If the right to self-determination belongs equally to all people, then the assumption under the Australian Native Title Act 1993 that nonindigenous self-interest is morally superior to the indigenous right to land is unjust. In New Zealand, the assertion of non-M¯aori moral priority where there is conflict between rights and interests is contestable before

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the Waitangi Tribunal. Te Tiriti itself provides a framework for working out the distribution and location of political rights, and where rights are exhausted, and self-interest begins. However, the point of demarcation is not absolute, just as it is not in Norway, which like Finland, agreed to reduce Sami fishing rights in the Deatnu River to ensure sufficient stock for the tourism industry (Larsen, 2018). The privileging of nonindigenous tourism over Sami culture and livelihoods contravened the Sami Parliament’s view that ‘the people living closest to the resources are best to manage the resources. The locals’ way of life and culture depends on them’ (Larsen, 2018, p. 1). This remains even in the context of the Finmark Act 2005 under which 45,000 km2 of Sami land was to be returned, and as the Sami Parliament explained it, the legislation’s intent ‘was to create the conditions for the land and resources to be managed in a balanced and ecologically sustainable manner—and in particular to contribute to a stronger foundation for Sami culture’ (Larsen, 2018, p. 3). The human capacity for freedom is realised, or it is constrained, in the immediate circumstances of people’s lives—in the communities in which they live, or perhaps the communities from which they are estranged by colonial disruption. On the other hand, a society’s deliberative capacity is tested when its members have not come together voluntarily and are not grounded in a common culture. Indigenous peoples’ location on policy-making’s periphery is, therefore, unsurprising. For example, the Stockholm Environment Institute’s working paper Sustainabl e Development Goals for Sweden: Insights on Setting a National Agenda (Weitz et al., 2015) makes no reference to indigenous priorities or distinctive contributions to the Goals and may be an example of indigenous location on the periphery of this policy debate in Sweden. Similarly, the Canadian Constitution protects the right to selfdetermination, but Reinders (2019) argues that its scope is narrowly defined and therefore does not allow ‘meaningful self-government for the majority of Indigenous people’ (p. 1). She argues that the Constitution does not accept self-government as a sovereign right to independent statehood. However, there is important scope under the Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples for indigenous people to practise self-government, through managing their own institutions within the state (see Chapter 8 for examples from the policy domain of health and Chapter 9 for examples from the policy domain of education). In these instances, self-government may be both a path to self-determination and

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a reflection of it. But as the indigenous nation is not the only site of political authority that impacts on indigenous people’s capacities to live lives that they have reason to value, it cannot be the only institution through which self-determination is realised. Indigenous institutions must be just and efficacious in terms of serving the purposes for which they have been developed. This means that states must not interfere with their capacities to exist, evolve and contribute to the good of their own people and environment and humanity at large. But, again, there is a conflict between this expectation of justice and the colonial imperatives of the state. Colonialism is sharply contested and curtailed by well-functioning, effective and just indigenous institutions. Similarly, Asch (2019) argued for treaty federalism as a means to shift the balance of power by recognising indigenous statehood, by establishing First Nations’ political status as equivalent to Canada’s (p. 2). His argument is that this kind of federalism is simply ‘the sharing of political jurisdiction among a number of partners’ (p. 4), and that the relationship established through treaty entails that the Indigenous parties agreed to share their lands in perpetuity with those subjects of the British Crown who wish to settle on them by establishing an enduring partnership akin to one that exists between relatives in a family. More specifically, the partnership is based on an equality of political standing between the parties in which the kind of sharing and mutual aid that flows from kindness are foundational principles. (p. 5)

The important point here is the presumption of ‘an equality of political standing’. It may be instructive to test the meaning of this phrase by setting aside Asch’s (2019) reservations about the value of the Declaration and considering whether, and in which forms, the instrument imagines equal political standing. It is then instructive to consider whether the Goals provide a framework for giving material consequence to equal political standing. As an expression of equal political standing, Asch (2019) argued that if indigenous people had distinctive representation in parliament, there would be a case, with respect to political and sociological theories of consociation, for a majority of these members to provide their assent to certain legislation for it to pass. The legislation would also have to be agreed to by an overall majority of the legislature to provide a ‘double majority’.

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He says a ‘protected voting bloc’ would satisfy the terms of the Declaration ‘and might come close to meeting the standard for decolonization in cases where the colonized party chooses to remain within the colonial state’ (Asch, 2019, p. 7). In New Zealand, M¯aori accepted Britain into a new state, though not on the colonial terms that have transpired. Notwithstanding profound pragmatic obstacles, the M¯aori choice to not claim secession from the state is a matter of respecting the terms of Te Tiriti o Waitangi. However, under that agreement, it is also reasonable that M¯aori insist on the state’s reconfiguration to relieve it of its colonial character. Asch (2019) argued that treaties balance what he calls the Declaration’s subordination of the indigenous right to self-determination to ‘colonial frameworks’ (p. 1). He makes this argument with reference to article 32(2) and the likelihood that there is no enforceable veto power attached to the Declaration’s free and informed consent provisions. He argued that even if a veto right could be established, it is a right concerning only others’ development of indigenous land. It is not a positive indigenous right to develop land for their own purposes. This view of the Declaration contests its interpretation as an instrument showing how liberal societies may work differently and inclusively by providing for distinctive indigenous citizenships of both the state and the indigenous nation. However, as this book shows, there is recourse within the Declaration for the substantive exercise of self-determination in ways that undermine the state’s colonial character and support its reformation as a political entity that belongs to indigenous citizens as much as anybody else. Yet John (2020), for example, still critiques the Declaration for ‘not doing enough’ (p. 211) to restore a just level of political authority. The Goals are neither intended nor equipped to address these reservations. However, to make the argument that the Declaration protects the rights of self-government only in respect of the internal affairs of the indigenous nation, John (2020) conflated the rights of self-determination and self-government noting only that the Declaration affirmed the indigenous ‘right to autonomy or self-government in matters relating to their internal and local affairs’ (UN, 2007, article 4). Like sovereignty, selfdetermination is not an absolute, static or indivisible authority. It is a right that belongs to all peoples, which means that it is always relative and relational to the rights of others. It may be expressed through self-government, but this is not the sum of self-determination’s sphere of influence. Through meaningful and distinctive citizenship indigenous

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people may claim the right to influence and actively participate in public policy development and implementation as an expression of this right. They may wish to administer public schools in their own languages and with reference to cultural epistemologies (see Chapter 9), for example. Furthermore, Asch (2019) argued that ‘the Declaration’s (2007) exclusion of the right to independent statehood is inconsistent with the earlier Declaration on the Granting of Independence to Colonial Countries and Peoples (United Nations, 1960)’ which recognised a people’s right to free itself from ‘alien subjugation, domination and exploitation’ (p. 2). Notwithstanding the argument that the 2007 Declaration does hold the potential to protect indigenous people from colonial subjugation (O’Sullivan, 2020), the instrument indeed provides no guarantee because it is unenforceable except by incorporation into domestic laws, which, even then, are subject to limiting political and judicial interpretation.

4.7

Conclusion

This chapter’s consideration of poverty and food insecurity and their relationship with the natural environment support the book’s recurring argument that culture matters and that leaving nobody behind requires culture’s explicit presence in public policy-making. Culture is, therefore, a matter of liberal equality. Conversely, culture’s denial is a necessary colonial practice. The chapter has also shown some of the ways in which the Goals are potentially relevant, in explicit ways, to indigenous peoples in wealthy states like Australia, Canada and New Zealand. The general concept of leaving nobody behind requires development from the Goals’ broad aspirational statements into contexts that are specific for indigenous peoples, and which often reflect the unjust distribution of political power including restrictions on how people make use of the natural environment for material sustenance. There is, for example, an explicit relationship between these restrictions, poverty and food insecurity. Relationships between people and the natural environment are also relevant to how people think about the right to self-determination, which is, in turn, a reflection of the distribution of political power and concern of treaties between states and First Nations. Recognising and addressing power imbalances depends on recognising culture as the lens through which people participate in public life and as the lens through which they determine what it actually means to be not left behind. As the next chapter argues, not leaving indigenous peoples behind requires that the state is just in its political institutions and underlying values.

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Kawharu, M. (2015). Aotearoa: Shine or shame? A critical examination of the sustainable development goals and the question of poverty and young M¯aori in New Zealand. Journal of Global Ethics, 11(1), 43–50. Larsen, E. (2018). Sustainable development in the territories of Indigenous peoples. https://www.un.org/development/desa/indigenouspeoples/ meetings-and-workshops/egm2018.html. Accessed 20 September 2022. Locke, J. (1887). Locke on civil government. George Routledge and Sons. O’Sullivan, D. (2015). Indigenous health: Power, politics and citizenship. Australian Scholarly Publishing. O’Sullivan, D. (2017). Indigeneity: A politics of potential—Australia. Policy Press. O’Sullivan, D. (2020). We are all here to stay: Citizenship, sovereignty and the UN declaration on the rights of Indigenous peoples. ANU Press. Pollard, C. M., & Booth, S. (2019). Food insecurity and hunger in rich countries—it is time for action against inequality. International Journal of Environmental Research and Public Health, 16(10), 1804. Raymer, E. (2021). Recognition is a salvo in pressuring Quebec government to protect the river. Canadian Lawyer. https://www.canadianlawyermag.com/ practice-areas/esg/quebecs-magpie-river-is-granted-personhood/353752. Accessed 7 August 2022. Reinders, K. (2019). A rights-based approach to Indigenous sovereignty, selfdetermination and self-government in Canada. SURG Journal, 11. Reynolds, H. (1996). Aboriginal sovereignty: Reflections on race, state, and nation. Allen and Unwin. Scott, D. (2003). Culture in political theory. Political Theory, 31(1), 92–115. Sen, A. (2005). Human rights and capabilities. Journal of Human Development, 6(2), 151–166. Simpson, J. (2019). The state of Australia’s Indigenous languages—and how we can help people speak them more often. The Conversation. https://thecon versation.com/the-state-of-australias-indigenous-languages-and-how-we-canhelp-people-speak-them-more-often-109662#:~:text=In%201788%20there% 20were%20between%20300%20and%20700,languages%20were%20reported% 20as%20being%20spoken%20at%20home. Accessed 7 August 2022. Supreme Court of Canada. (1997). Delgaamukw v. British Columbia. SCR 1010. Taylor, C., & Gutmann, A. (1994). Multiculturalism. Princeton University Press. United Nations. (1960). Declaration on the granting of independence to colonial countries and peoples. https://www.ohchr.org/en/instruments-mec hanisms/instruments/declaration-granting-independence-colonial-countriesand-peoples. Accessed 7 August 2022. United Nations. (1966). International covenant on civil and political rights. https://www.ohchr.org/en/instruments-mechanisms/instruments/internati onal-covenant-civil-and-political-rights. Accessed 6 August 2022.

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CHAPTER 5

The Just State

5.1

Introduction

Previous chapters have developed the argument that culture is a constituent of justice. The argument recurs throughout this book and is raised in this chapter to demonstrate relationships between culture and public life. However, that relationship may be compromised through state interference in indigenous people’s authority over their own lives. Removing this interference is preliminary to the state being able to say that nobody is left behind. Yet, as this chapter shows, leaving nobody behind is a complex and ambitious policy goal that requires rethinking the values that underlie policy-making and inform the working of public institutions. Values and decision-making systems that privilege reason and rights over self-interest are important, while a just state cannot arise when some people have fewer opportunities than others to contribute to decision-making based on their position in the hierarchy of human worth that colonialism requires. The alternative that the Goals presume, but cannot achieve as they are presently expressed, is inclusive and admits self-determination as an indispensable human right for indigenous peoples as much as for anybody else. This chapter discusses some of the ways in which self-determination may be reflected in the administration of the state; for example, through inclusive, deliberative arrangements formed and practiced with reference to the ideals of participatory parity, which, for indigenous peoples, may be achieved through differentiated liberal citizenship. © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2023 D. O’Sullivan, Indigeneity, Culture and the UN Sustainable Development Goals, Sustainable Development Goals Series, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-99-0581-2_5

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From these perspectives, the chapter admits that while it may not be possible to reverse colonialism, it need not constitute a permanent condition. The chapter defends its confidence in liberal democracy to provide for indigenous self-determination against the alternative views of the New Zealand Iwi Chairs’ Forums’ Matike Mai Aotearoa (Iwi Chairs’ Forum, 2016) report on constitutional transformation, which envisages a bi-national state and the Canadian First Nations’ resurgence theory, which maintains that justice is attainable only in strict independence from the state. The chapter is informed by the presumption that self-determination, which means that nobody is left behind in terms that are personally meaningful, requires that indigenous people are present wherever decisions are made, implemented and evaluated.

5.2

Indigenous Peoples and the State

Culture and its associated rights of self-determination are vulnerable to state interference. Colonialism’s influence is reflected in this often arbitrary interference in indigenous people’s lives and decision-making authority. Eliminating that interference is arguably necessary prior to indigenous peoples recognising the legitimacy of the state; a legitimacy which the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples affirmed, and which treaties require. However, as Ivison (2017) explained with reference to Rawls: ‘we need an independent theory of justice, in addition to a liberal principle of legitimacy, in order to deliver just outcomes’ (p. 124). Therefore, we need both conceptual and empirical tests to determine whether a public institution is ‘just’, as SDG 16 requires. The tests cannot be arbitrary or culturally contextualised to suit only the normative preferences and criteria of more dominant populations. Indigenous peoples are entitled to ask themselves, what makes a public institution just, and if there is agreement that the SDG targets are reasonable (or could be made reasonable), people might then consider how the targets should be pursued. While indigenous policy failure is entrenched across jurisdictions, there are occasions of success when policies of counter-colonial significance develop against prevailing paradigms of exclusion. These instances of success offer hope that poor indigenous health, education and labour market outcomes, rates of imprisonment and insecure housing are not inevitable or irresolvable. However, significant shifts in overarching policy

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values, ways of making policy and doing politics are required to replicate these instances of success, and there may be potential for the Goals, in conjunction with the Declaration, to contribute to significant philosophical changes in these respects. The state must be able to provide reasons and justifications for its actions. Across jurisdictions, it is well-established that indigenous people do not accept that non-indigenous interests are morally more deserving than their own. Yet, the presumption of non-indigenous moral priority is inherent to colonialism and explains ongoing conflict of the kind that the previous chapter’s discussion of natural resource rights raised. The conflict is resolvable only when rights, rather than self-interest, provide the test for reasonableness in public policy. Ivison (2017) refers to Forst to develop this point: ‘the reasons I offer in justifying the imposition of norms on others must be in principle shareable among all those affected, not just the dominant parties’ (p. 122). Principles of justice become normative because they are acceptable to a broad community. Indigenous people’s inclusion in that community may mean that effective deliberative mechanisms have been established. Inclusion may be reflected in indigenous people accepting that deliberative processes may not always achieve the outcome they prefer but that the process is just, and their reasons are heard. The alternative is that their perspectives are set aside only because of the other party’s relative power. Normative processes of justice must be able to resolve conflicts between one group’s rights and another’s self-interests, whereas, and in usual practice, when these are in conflict, relative power determines the outcome. Therefore, how indigenous peoples may use deliberative processes and other political institutions is one of the tests of just public institutions. To this end, self-determination means that indigenous citizens, nations and civil society should be able to set the terms of their public engagement. They will not simply be responsive to state projects or policy ideas as stakeholders to be consulted. Self-determination requires a higher level of political participation, with supporting deliberative arrangements, which are made legitimate when they are based on the construction of a ‘public’ in which indigenous peoples are included with reference to their own values and aspirations. Yet, on the other hand, the question of what it would take for indigenous people to conclude that the state and the agreements that it makes are legitimate and trustworthy may be unanswerable. Colonialism may be so well entrenched that legitimacy and trust are unrealistic ambitions.

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Though it is also true that to take this defeatist interpretation may be to dismiss human agency and the opportunities that liberal political theory provides to at least attempt the development of a non-colonial state. One must consider how the state is structured and how decisions are made at its highest levels. Guaranteed indigenous representation in parliaments and the proposed First Nations Voice to Parliament, in Australia, are important examples and are discussed in the following chapter. The state is a large institution, wide-reaching in its power and influence but also diverse in the sites of power that it creates and uses to manage its influence. For example, Jackson (2018) describes formal water management agreements between state and indigenous entities ‘as a mechanism through which parties, including governments, can negotiate rules governing legitimacy’. These agreements involve the state recognising ‘the legitimacy of Indigenous modes of governance’ (p. 1). Even if the state itself is beyond legitimacy and trust, there may still be scope for individual agreements, policies, procedures and modes of operation to be legitimate and trustworthy and, for example, Jackson (2018) proposed that water management arrangements could be included in treaties. Though ultimately, the Goals’ usefulness to public policies that give effect to indigenous self-determination depend, partly, on the extent to which states are willing to stand aside to allow indigenous leadership. If indigenous peoples are to contribute to realising the Goals, their own political capacities must be secure.

5.3 Can Colonialism Be Reversed, Can the Declaration and the Goals Help? Can colonialism, then, be reversed and, if so, can the Declaration and the Goals help? For example, can a state formed and sustained on the ‘taking of another people’s lands, lives and power’ ever really be just (Iwi Chairs’ Forum, 2016, p. 29)? Perhaps not, but nor is colonialism an inevitably permanent political condition. Self-determination is, instead, a logical outcome of a policy vision focussed on leaving nobody behind. Therefore, an ‘important moral question [is] … to work out what a state will look like if it no longer reflects the colonial insistence on power over others’ (O’Sullivan, 2020a, Beyond partnership to independence and authority, para. 7). This may mean that one cannot accept that liberal democracy is incapable of serving M¯aori interests. Nor, for example, could self-determination accept the argument that substantive

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and distinctive M¯aori citizenship of the state, including M¯aori membership of parliament and the executive, should be foregone in favour of independent M¯aori authority alone as Matike Ma Aotearoa argued (Iwi Chairs’ Forum, 2016). This book’s position, therefore, differs from one of the most comprehensive contemporary M¯aori viewpoints, which rejects liberal democracy as a potentially just political system in which M¯aori should participate. Matike Mai argued that liberal democracy was inconsistent with Te Tiriti o Waitangi as a vehicle for M¯aori political expression. It proposed a strict bi-nationalism where M¯aori and other citizens form easily identifiable and strictly separate polities which should engage with one another as treaty partners, not through shared citizenship. Matike Mai understood the political affairs of each partner as distinct and properly managed according to processes that each would determine. It proposed several deliberative options for the partners to attend to their own affairs on the one hand and to consider matters of common concern on the other. One option is similar to the present New Zealand Parliament, with some strengthening of M¯aori representation but with no provision for rangatiratanga as a distinct political authority. The others, however, separate M¯aori from government and presume an ethnically exclusive and homogenous P¯akeh¯a Crown. Nevertheless, Matike Mai is a significant example of independent M¯aori deliberation. The views of 10,000 M¯aori people who contributed to workshops across the country informed its drafting. It was completely independent of the state and its rules of engagement were determined by M¯aori for M¯aori purposes. All M¯aori people were invited to deliberate, and the process revealed a clear and unapologetic sense of the values under which M¯aori people think political relationships should be conducted. It was not Matike Mai’s purpose to show how liberal democracy might work better, but in some ways, it makes such a contribution by setting out the terms under which M¯aori political communities could exercise independent authority. But seeing this authority as an alternative, not a complement to substantive participation in the state, presumes that democracy and M¯aori self-determination are incompatible. Self-determination through shared public institutions like parliaments is similarly inconsistent with the resurgence theories developed by First Nations scholars in Canada. They provide a further counterpoint to differentiated liberal citizenship as a path to self-determination (Coulthard, 2007; O’Sullivan, 2017, 2020b, 2021). The resurgence argument is

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that self-determination is attainable only outside the state through the resurrection of independent communities exercising control over their own affairs without regard to the relative and relational possibilities and constraints attached to occupying overlapping spaces with other people and polities. The argument is that isolation is practically desirable and a morally indispensable reclamation of the authority that colonialism has displaced. If, however, self-determination is conceptualised and developed as a human right (introduced in Chapter 3), and not claimed as the gift of a benevolent state it is unjustified to fear, as Coulthard (2007) does, that ‘the dominance of the legal approach to self-determination’ could lead to ‘rights and identities’ becoming ‘defined solely in relation to the colonial state and its apparatus’ (p. 452). It is true that in New Zealand, biculturalism positions M¯aori in this way with the Crown as senior partner and M¯aori as junior (O’Sullivan, 2007). Partnership may then be used to position M¯aori as subjects rather than citizens with partnership an assertion of state authority. However, there are alternative forms of indigenous participation and leadership in the state which, as this book argues, provide pathways for leaving nobody behind. Pathways, too, for non-colonial political relationships within the state, on the one hand and between the state and indigenous political communities on the other. The nature of these political relationships is determined by the construction of citizenship. Citizenship defines and describes how one belongs, and how one does not belong, to a political community. From this perspective, Justice Williams’ insistence that M¯aori citizenship means that M¯aori are part of the Crown, provides a significant and inclusive liberal alternative to Matike Mai’s bi-nationalism: Fundamentally, there is a need for a mindset shift away from the pervasive assumption that the Crown is P¯akeh¯a [non-M¯aori], English-speaking, and distinct from M¯aori rather than representative of them. Increasingly, in the 21st century, as the Crown is also M¯aori. If the nation is to move forward, this reality must be grasped. (Waitangi Tribunal, 2010, p. 51)

In contrast with Matike Mai’s presumption that the Crown should govern only for ‘its people’ (Iwi Chairs’ Forum, 2016, p. 9) who are

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easily definable by their non-M¯aori ancestry, Treaty of Waitangi jurisprudence is shaping a polity that is incrementally more accepting of M¯aori participation in state policy-making. The Crown’s unifying potential is not well considered, in part, because the meaning of citizenship, which Te Tiriti affirms as belonging to M¯aori persons as much as to all others, is not prominent in M¯aori policy discourse. This book’s following chapters help to address this gap in the scholarship of M¯aori self-determination. They do so by arguing for the strengthening of M¯aori capacities of citizenship through privileging culture which may, in turn, help to disrupt the positioning of the Crown as an ethnically P¯akeh¯a entity whose affairs can be neatly separated from those of the M¯aori polity. The imperative is to find ways to ensure equality through recognising difference. The importance of culture’s substantive absence from the SDGs is thus highlighted, while their potential alignment with the Declaration, as a liberal politics of indigeneity, is presented as a path to leaving nobody behind.

5.4

Liberal Politics of Indigeneity

A liberal theory of indigeneity examines the terms of indigenous and non-indigenous peoples belonging together differently (Maaka & Fleras, 2005). It also shows why it is not possible to maintain a just political community ‘irrespective of issues about whose ancestors were here first, irrespective of any history that may have attached to the process by which these people came to be side by side in that territory’ (Waldron, 2002, p. 1). It is both political theory and political strategy (O’Sullivan, 2014, 2017) proposing that indigenous people develop their own terms of association with other people and institutions inside the state through a political authority that exists alongside the right to independence and autonomy through indigenous institutions outside the state. A liberal politics of indigeneity views self-determination as a more expansive authority than Kymlicka’s (1995) understanding of self-government as ‘a right against the authority of the federal government, not a right to share in the exercise of that authority’ (p. 143). A distinctive theory of indigeneity is required to draw out the conceptually different foundations of indigenous claims from the claims of migrant ethnic minority politics (O’Sullivan, 2017). These differences are important because they show that indigenous political marginalisation is the product of indigeneity per se rather than subjugation to the ‘tyranny

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of the majority’ that may compromise an ethnic minority’s meaningful participation in public life (O’Sullivan, 2017). Practically and pragmatically, sustainable policy developments require majority public support. However, there is a moral weakness if that majority prevails over indigenous conceptions of development and its relationship with the rights, capacities and responsibilities of self-determination. If indigenous people are left behind, the Goals have not achieved their intent. Courchene’s (2017) observation in relation to Canada’s Indian Act 1876 is equally relevant to the Goals and, indeed, the Declaration: We cannot and must not wait to see [the Indian Act] removed for us to live our own nationhood in our homeland. We do not need their sanction or approval. We already have everything we need. We are already a Nation, we just have to believe it and live it. (para. 23)

Indigeneity is a claim to specific rather than simply proportionate shares in national sovereignty (O’Sullivan, 2017). Indigenous agency is therefore upheld, and the notion of indigenous peoples as subjects of a hegemonic sovereign is illegitimised. Proportionality may not mean that injustices are ‘more egregious… just because they were perpetuated against tangata whenua’ [indigenous peoples] (Kenrick, 2006, p. 19). But it does mean that they may be different and require different responses, not to reflect a ‘birthright to the upper hand’ (Brash, 2004), as a former leader of the New Zealand National party put it, but to express a birthright to be M¯aori. The right to be M¯aori in public life, as well as in the private sphere, implies opportunities to contribute to the evolution of the society in which one lives and ensure that one’s values and aspirations are reflected in its modes of operation. The right to belong is not a right that is reasonably constrained by others’ perceptions of what indigenous people should value or perceptions of how they should make public decisions. A liberal theory of indigeneity would see a political community that is philosophically disposed and practically equipped to recognise difference and find commonalities of interest through free and just terms of association rather than imagining that national unity may be imposed from a dominant group’s homogenous account of how people should think, speak and behave. Homogeneity is unjust because it denies the indigenous birthright to be indigenous and because: ‘We cannot develop political principles by starting with the assumption of a completely just society… but must begin from within the general historical and social conditions

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in which we exist’ (Young, 1989, p. 261). In contrast, one consequence of Brash’s (2004) argument of equality as sameness is that indigeneity becomes a basis for exclusion; a democratic disability. Instead, considering how the Goals may be drawn upon to give effect to the Declaration means recognising Ivison et al.’s (2000) argument that: one of the interesting consequences of the encounter between liberalism and its colonial past and present might be a more context-sensitive and multilayered approach to questions of justice, identity, democracy, and sovereignty. (p. 21)

The result would be a ‘political theory open to new modes of cultural and political belonging’ (Ivison et al., 2000, p. 21) to address inconsistencies between collective indigenous rights and national sovereignty. For example, the liberal politics of indigeneity that this book considers, and which the Goals may be used to develop, is primarily concerned with how indigenous people do justice to themselves. It does make claims on the state, but these are secondary to the claim to distinctive inclusion on the one hand, and independence and autonomy on the other. Its claim is that just terms of association do not occur only from the general admission that each must act justly towards the other but that these terms of political engagement require a well-developed description of the political capacities that justice demands. These capacities may arise from the universal right to self-determination, but as these are deeply contested rights, they require definite political context for their development, understanding and acceptance. It is therefore instructive to examine the possibility that the ideas implicit in the Goals are broadly consistent with stated indigenous aspirations even though, as the Introduction explained, the Goals make this consistency explicit on just two occasions.

5.5

What Constitutes a Just Order?

Sovereign authority’s distribution in states like Australia, Canada and New Zealand does not reflect a natural or objective politically fair order. It does not reflect the Rawlsian ideal that: In the original position, the principles of justice are decided upon by free and equal citizens who do not know their own social status, class position,

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psychological tendencies, endowments of natural abilities or even their own beliefs about what is good. (Hunter & Jordan, 2009, p. 7)

Nevertheless, this ideal does provide a useful foundation for thinking about what constitutes a just political order based on the Goals’ original principle that nobody is left behind. Beyond this foundation, people presumably understand how and why their freedom and equality is constrained by the social status that colonialism imposes and requires, and they understand how and why their beliefs about what is good are on the periphery of a colonial society. In contrast, the essential foundational principle on which postcolonial or non-colonial societies might emerge is one where indigenous beliefs about what is good are unconstrained in the choices that people make about how they actually live. Indeed, self-determination requires that public policy not place a limit on human aspiration. As Kant (1970) put it: no-one can or ought to decide what the highest degree may be at which mankind may have to stop progressing, and hence how wide a gap may still of necessity remain between the idea and its execution. For this will depend on freedom, which can transcend any limit we care to impose. (p. 1)

Aspiration is the expression of human freedom. Justice may be measured by each person’s capacity to construct, in consort with others, the conditions that are necessary to lead a life of personal value. Human dignity morally justifies human freedom, which is an essential presumption of liberal democracy, and an argument in favour of political arrangements designed to ensure that one’s freedom of thought and aspirations may be expressed with the expectation that they are received with the same respect and reasoned responses as those of any other citizen. Dignity (discussed in Chapter 3) creates the expectation that one’s contributions to public decision-making are not conditioned by one’s place in a hierarchy of human worth. The sites of political power to which one has access may not be the same for every citizen, but each must equally provide citizens with the constituents of the good life. In this sense, freedom is the ability to participate in public life in the language of one’s choosing, the ability to approach questions of public importance from an epistemological framework consistent with one’s worldview and the ability to frame one’s aspirations and realise one’s Goals in consort

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with others. Sharing the sovereign, contests the assumption that the state is a leviathan-like entity controlling people’s lives to limit their capacities to live according to values they have developed for themselves, and which hold personal meaning. The ability to influence the terms of one’s belonging to a political community is an important expression of the right to self-determination and a measure of the extent to which a group shares in public sovereignty. It is a measure of the extent to which public sovereignty is inclusive and ‘grounded in the right of all citizens to shape the society in which they live’ (Clarke, 2006, p. 119). Elsewhere, the United Nations General Assembly has noted ‘the importance of the participation of indigenous peoples on issues of sustainable development’ and ‘the importance of the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples in the context of global, regional, national and sub-national implementation of sustainable development strategies’ (United Nations, 2012, The Future We Want, para. 49). The Declaration is ideally an instrument of political agency, so it is logically consistent with the Indigenous Peoples Major Group for Sustainable Development’s (2020) remark to the High-Level Political Forum on Sustainable Development that: inclusion and empowerment entail legal recognition of their distinct identities; security of tenure of their lands, territories and resources; peace in their territory and enjoyment of the right to self-governance including the customs, traditions, cultures, and livelihoods linked to sustainable resource management practices. (p. 2)

Inclusion also means equal access to ‘basic social services that the state should provide’ (Indigenous Peoples Major Group for Sustainable Development, 2020, p. 2). However, self-determination is a more far-reaching right and aspiration and includes peoples’ capacities to provide such services for themselves, even when state funding is also justified. Independent M¯aori social service providers in New Zealand and the Aboriginal Community Controlled Health Organisations in Australia are important examples of what it may mean to give effect to SDG 16 (Peace, Justice and Strong Institutions). These institutions create space for indigenous agency, for culturally cognisant service delivery, and are generally more effective than services provided by others, especially when these are devoid of cultural context (Lowitja Institute, 2021).

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5.6

Participatory Parity

The absence of just public institutions, from indigenous perspectives, means that the Goals’ realisation in toto are a distant aspiration. If their success is associated with removing the presumptions of colonial hegemony that often distinguish public institutions, one should ask what alternative scope exists within the liberal democratic state for the ‘participatory parity’ (Fraser, 2003) that would allow ‘relative yet relational autonomy between peoples, each of which is autonomous in their jurisdiction’ (Maaka & Fleras, 2005, p. 97)? What are the institutional and cultural values that create space for this kind of differentiation; and how might public policy ‘close the gap’ in indigenous disadvantage, not as an end in itself but as a precondition for a genuinely equal and meaningful citizenship responsive to rights of culture and prior occupancy? To answer these questions, one must consider who decides how the Goals will be developed into specific policy measures, by what processes and against whose criteria. Underlying questions about where power lies and why need to be addressed for the Goals to transcend their egalitarian objectives and find alignment with indigenous accounts of the right to self-determination. Fraser’s (2003) participatory parity argues that all people are entitled to the same opportunities to participate in and influence public decisions and provides guidance on the institutional framework that would allow these questions to be fairly answered. This is because the nature of public participation raises questions about the rules or terms of public deliberation. Must everybody contribute in the same ways according to a set of values and institutional arrangements that the colonial authority has determined, or may liberalism’s essential concern for liberty require that indigenous people participate in public life as indigenous? Might, for example, it be reasonable for indigenous people to work out the nature of liberty for themselves? The argument that liberty is culturally contextualised means that culture is a reasonable, and maybe even essential lens through which one participates. On this basis, equal access to the political conditions that liberty requires and justifies an indigenous demand to speak in parliaments, courts, schools and other public institutions in their own languages and to bring their own modes of reasoning to public life. It is only through such arrangements that people may conceptualise and advance aspirations in respect of education (SDG 4), health (SDG 3), economic growth (SDG 8) and environmental protection (SDGs 6, 7, 13, 14 and 15), for example.

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Participatory parity provides one way of conceptualising what constitutes justice in the ways that people engage with one another to respect the other’s place in the sovereign, and to give effect to the argument that the indigenous place is distinctive and marked by a positive and selfdefined ‘otherness’. On the other hand, liberal democracy does struggle with the proposition that this distinctiveness cannot be expressed by the individual alone and that group rights are preliminary to personal freedom. A liberal theory of indigeneity means that for a political system to uphold fundamental human equality, as an indispensable basis for non-colonial political relationships, it must allow political actors to act differently. For example, citizenship must be differentiated to allow each citizen to approach schooling for their own purposes but with the same expectation of quality. It must be differentiated to allow people to access culturally cognisant health care that is free of discrimination, as foundational to the same opportunity for effective outcomes. The equal right to property ownership may require different forms of land tenure, supported by the same security of tenure. The equal right to political voice may require distinctive political institutions and decision-making bodies and the same right to participate in parliament and the executive and distinctive forms of election, such as the guaranteed M¯aori seats in the New Zealand Parliament (O’Sullivan, 2017). Participatory parity contests the ‘tyranny of the majority’ (Mill, 1869) as a democratic form that will always position indigenous people on the losing side. Participatory parity occurs through citizenship’s meaningful political capacities. It is one of the ways in which citizenship transcends rights to become an expression of personal agency, in response to colonialism, and in reference to culture. Politics may, then, aspire to bringing ‘people as close to good functioning as their natural circumstances permit’ (Nussbaum, 1987, p. 36), which means that politics is ‘not simply the allotment of commodities, but [it is concerned with] making people able to function in certain human ways’ (Nussbaum, 1987, p. 1). Participatory parity means that all and not just some citizens help to work out ‘the conditions under which and the practices through which authority is constituted and legitimated, and what these constitutions and legitimations enable and disable’ (Shaw, 2008, p. 1). When set alongside the right to self-determination, participatory parity means that indigenous people can work out what they want politics to achieve, what they

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want political institutions to look like and how they want them to function. These expectations may need to be balanced to assure the rights of other citizens but not to assure their self-interest. It is, then, a significant constraint on SDG 16’s implementation that there is not an international example of a mechanism through which an indigenous people and the state may work out how to distinguish the legitimate rights of a postsettler population that justice requires indigenous people to admit, and their self-interest, which justice says they should reject. The questions of what justice requires and what politics makes possible perpetually conflict. Justice is neither absolute nor incontestable, but the capacity to attach one’s arguments to internationally sanctioned instruments like the Declaration or statements of political aspiration like the Goals may extend the bounds of political possibility. They may offer more expansive accounts of justice, and although the political claim to selfdetermination predates both the Declaration and the Goals, each provides an intellectual framework to which one may attach and advance such arguments. They provide new and internationally sanctioned reference points to contextualise and develop one’s political advocacy. Wood (2020) argues that it is significant that there is an increasing critical mass of indigenous people conversant with international law, which creates a more even negotiating position with the state. The capacity to engage with the state on its own terms, challenge it as a member of the executive and to contest its accounts of power in the liberal language of citizenship and sovereignty is facilitated by both the Declaration and the Goals. When the two instruments are drawn together, they provide important intellectual, philosophical and political frameworks to engage with both the state and the international community in their own languages and on their own terms. There is consequently scope for the Goals to support a theoretical search for: A space within liberal democracies and liberal thought in which… Aboriginal perspectives and philosophies cannot only be heard, but given equal opportunity to shape (and reshape) the forms of power and government acting on them. (Ivison, 2002, p. 1)

The capacity for indigenous people to argue that liberal democracy is, in fact, consistent with the right to self-determination undermines colonial

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presumptions of exclusion but is dependent on the presence of just institutions (SDG 16) and preliminary to the efficacious policy outcomes that concern the remaining Goals, targets and indicators. Juxtaposing the Goals with the Declaration and other theories and instruments of self-determination may reflect Shaw’s (2008) reference to the politics of indigeneity as a responsive attempt ‘to come to terms with how discourses and practices of sovereignty still set the conditions under which Indigenous and other forms of marginal politics occur at all’ (p. 8). On the other hand, the politics of indigeneity (introduced earlier in this chapter) is, in fact, a more ambitious and transformative politics. Its intent is to bring indigenous politics from the margins to points of influence both inside the state and outside it through indigenous decision-making forums. The politics of indigeneity contests the idea of sovereignty as an absolute and hegemonic state power. Sovereignty is nevertheless a statement of power and authority. It is a statement of to whom these attributes belong and why. It is also a statement about how power is exercised, and as Shaw (2008) explained, Hobbes’ foundational expression of the concept provides insight into why indigenous peoples’ democratic exclusion is a prevailing, though not inevitable assumption. The structure of sovereignty that Hobbes produces is enabled and authorized through the production of a shared ontological ground, and identity. This identity, in turn, rests upon the necessary exclusion of Indigenous peoples at several different levels, not least through the explicit marking of Indigenous peoples as “different” as “Other”. What is more crucial in determining the character of contemporary Indigenous politics, however, is that Hobbes renders the construction of this exclusionary identity, the process through which authority is produced and guaranteed, as prepolitical, as necessary and natural rather than contingent and violent. (p. 9)

However, as Asch (2019) proposed: ‘Humans are better than Hobbes describes’ which allows one to argue ‘in favour of the political world constructed on relationality’ (p. 12). Yet, sovereignty remains a useful way to conceptualise power, especially when one does not have it to the extent that one thinks is just. When sovereignty is a power that belongs to the Other it is real and pervasive. When one shares it, because in a liberal democracy, nobody has it absolutely, sovereignty loses the absolute and indivisible character that Hobbes imagines, and the conditions that Hobbes placed on sovereignty may constrain its hegemonic exercise.

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If sovereignty is a power that comes from the people and is exercised on the people’s behalf, it is necessarily relational. Thinking about the claims of indigeneity through a liberal paradigm does require a pragmatic acceptance that power is relative and relational to the power of others. While this involves accommodating the rights of post-settler citizens, there is no moral imperative to yield one’s own rights in favour of post-settler self-interest. When such is imposed by the strength of the non-indigenous voice within the sovereign, the right to self-determination is compromised, and the need for stronger and more just terms of association is exposed. While: ‘Deep disagreement is a condition of politics’ (Ivison, 2017, p. 125), an important test of a political system and the justice of its institutions is whether they are equipped to mediate these disagreements to consider the rights of all and not just some people. For Rawls, legitimacy requires that ‘reasonable disagreement’ is accommodated. While for Williams, legitimacy is acquired when political systems establish terms of cooperation that are acceptable to everybody who is subject to that system (Ivison, 2017, p. 125). However, these ideals are not easily upheld in a complex environment where it does not always suit participants to allow power and reason to coincide. It, therefore, becomes difficult ‘to construct a sufficiently justified collective belief about what is the correct action’ (Ivison, 2017, p. 125). It is political self-interest, not liberal democracy per se, that constrains freedom. There is no inherent liberal demand that anyone ‘should be forced to accept any particular ideal of the good life’ (Kukathas, 1992, p. 107) as a requirement of their participation in public life.

5.7 Differentiated Citizenship and Participation in Public Life Participation and presence are made possible by sharing the sovereign, which means that it is not for the state alone to set political priorities or establish political entitlements (O’Sullivan, 2017). Indigenous conceptions of self-determination are supported by the recourse that exists within normative theories of public administration for non-territorial autonomy. Authority over traditional lands and the protection of geopolitical associations remain at self-determination’s core, but rights to education in one’s own language or to receiving culturally cognisant health care, transcend the geographic and are fundamentally important constituents of an individual capacity to live a life that one has reason to value.

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Participatory parity, including through measures such as guaranteed seats in parliament, is an expression of differentiated liberal citizenship which presumes that power is widely distributed, and that indigenous actors and institutions are reasonably among the sites of power’s distribution. It recognises that power and sovereignty are not absolute and indivisible and that their distribution is the product of political values and beliefs about how public decisions should be made, by whom and for whom. Differentiated liberal citizenship may be understood as what Murphy (2019) calls a ‘relational’ political strategy (p. 67). It rationalises and provides processes for ensuring that indigenous participants are present wherever public decisions are made through guaranteed parliamentary representation, for example. Murphy (2019) proposes ‘gaining multiple access points to political power, working both inside and outside state institutions at various geopolitical scales, as well as in cooperation and in direct confrontation with state institutions’ (p. 67). Differentiated citizenship is a theoretically well-developed concept (O’Sullivan, 2017). However, translating its presumptions into practical policy requires ongoing consideration of the scope that exists in liberal practice for different means of indigenous participation and modes of belonging to the post-settler state. Differentiated liberal citizenship presumes that isolation, even if it is morally defensible and culturally desirable for some people, limits the scope of an indigenous people’s influence. Political decisions may be made through the intersection of power and reason. However, in the indigenous experience it is rarely reason that holds the greater influence. Power depends on the strength of one’s negotiations with others. When these negotiations are limited by the sheer power of the colonial state, their outcomes are not consistent with the claim to self-determination and some recourse to moral reasoning and policy entrepreneurship is necessary to assert and realise a political claim. However, reason is not necessarily objective, and it is not an abstract process standing apart from culture or political experience. Possibilities for a substantive and politically meaningful differentiated citizenship may be read into the Declaration which upholds independent indigenous authority on the one hand and active participation in the state on the other (United Nations, 2007, article 5). Participation also reflects the political need ‘to know, understand and be part of the systems you want to challenge and change’ (NITV, 2020, knowing the systems you are seeking to change, para. 1), which reflects a politics of human agency.

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Participation for and as agency means admitting that self-determination is incompatible with relying on governments to ‘do justice’ to indigenous people. Liberal democracy’s inclusive capacity proceeds from Aristotle’s view of the citizen as one who deliberates. The question of what it means for the indigenous citizen to deliberate in meaningful ways, with the same capacities as anybody else to influence policy outcomes may draw democracy into projects of counter-colonial significance. A policy framework as broad as the Goals may encourage wider and more comprehensive deliberation because, in deliberation’s absence, the Goals are simply too unwieldy and unmanageable to have any real effect on policy outcomes. However, it is not consistent with indigenous experience to argue that ‘there are more opportunities than ever for citizens to express their views [such that] … the sheer quantitative overabundance overloads policymakers and citizens, making it difficult to detect the signal amid the noise’ (Dryzek et al., 2019, p. 1144). Yet, it is also true that this ‘overload’ has complicated public policy-making and the accompanying ‘decline in stability and argumentative complexity’ (p. 1144) has influenced the indigenous policy sphere. Effective deliberative processes may reduce the number of policy questions that the political system must manage. They may also strengthen public trust in government and give indigenous people confidence that the state works as effectively for them as it does for anybody else. Such confidence is preliminary to entrenched, transparent and obviously noncolonial political arrangements. Deliberative measures may not guarantee these arrangements, but they should be expected to provide an important foundation. For inclusive deliberation to occur in colonial societies like Australia, Canada and New Zealand, political systems must find ways of transcending the possibility that ‘one identity can only be validated or, at worst, constituted by suppression of another’ (Dryzek, 2005, p. 219). Substantive commitment on the state’s part to a non-colonial political order is thus required and indigenous people must accept that such a political order is possible and pragmatically worthwhile. While deliberation is tested in divided societies, it has no widespread theoretical contribution to make to just and orderly government if it cannot pass that test. Its success, against these criteria, depends on just how willing people are to enter a political process committed to

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reasoned consideration of another perspective. Deliberation will necessarily fail if prejudiced positions grounded in assumptions of a racial hierarchy of human worth are brought to the deliberative forum because these perspectives are inherently unreasonable and cannot be accepted by those to whom such assumptions are directed. On the other hand, prejudice grounded in ignorance may be confronted if participants are open to acquiring new knowledge and a reasoned consideration of another’s perspective. The problem is that ‘mutual acceptance of reasonableness is exactly what is lacking in divided societies’ (Dryzek, 2005, p. 219). One must then consider whether it is possible to set out procedural requirements for reason as a process that one should follow when contributing to public debate, and as a process for considering the views of others. These processes must be attentive to different ways of thinking and different forms of public expression. Attempting a normative account of reasoned deliberation, from one cultural perspective or another, will necessarily exclude some people. Indeed, colonialism’s unreasonableness is grounded in exclusion as its necessary intent. Furthermore, it is not necessary for the term normative to refer to a single ‘set of rules and shared expectations’. Instead, it may be understood as a ‘cluster of values, beliefs and legitimation ‘narratives’’, which pluralises the concept of ‘normative orders’ (Ivison, 2017, p. 123). Plural ‘because they are historically constituted’ and because they are also subject to modification and evolution (Ivison, 2017, p. 123). For indigenous politics, this may mean that there is no need to assimilate into an assumed culturally neutral common way of participating in public affairs, but that a reasonable demand may be made by indigenous people to participate in public life as indigenous. For example, in New Zealand, M¯aori members of local governments told Webster and Cheyne (2017) that they wanted ‘an environment that was more conducive to debate and consensus decision-making’ (p. 156). One deliberates as an expression of one’s agency. However, the nature of the deliberative forum and its attentiveness to normative cultural values is a determinant of the level and effectiveness of one’s agency. Involvement in determining the structure and values of public institutions where deliberation occurs is as important as having a voice when those forums make their substantive decisions.

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5.8

Conclusion

Human equality is a relative and relational concept because equality must be measured against something. If no one is to be left behind, equality may reasonably be measured against a shared and inviolable human dignity. By its universality, dignity can be applied in different cultural contexts to emphasise the view that one person’s humanity cannot be more highly esteemed than another’s. This means that, as colonialism requires, the rights of indigenous people may not be subservient or secondary to the self-interest of others. Giving effect to these ideals is a product of how the state is constructed and how its decision-making institutions operate to include or exclude. A just state would accept that substantive indigenous equality requires that the state is not equipped to arbitrarily interfere in indigenous people’s lives and their ability to make decisions for themselves in relation to their own affairs. It would accept that a further condition of the participatory parity that differentiated citizenship requires is the construction of public institutions in ways that presume and require substantive indigenous contributions and influence over the decisions that they make. Indeed, the SDGs’ concern for just institutions requires that there is some conceptual and empirical test of what constitutes a just institution, for this is preliminary to indigenous people being able to say that the state works in their favour to the same extent as it works in other people’s interests. The following chapter considers some of the ways in which M¯aori membership of the New Zealand Parliament and executive may contribute to this aspiration and some of the ways in which a First Nations Voice to the Australian Parliament may be expected to contribute. The book’s subsequent chapters consider some of the ways in which indigenous people’s try to make the state work in their favour with respect to good health and well-being (Chapter 7), education (Chapter 8) and economic growth (Chapter 9). These examples of indigenous peoples doing justice to themselves are considered against the ways in which states both support and inhibit these measures. The next chapter begins these discussions with the proposition that just institutions are accountable to indigenous citizens as much as they are accountable to anybody else.

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References Asch, M. (2019). UNDRIP, Treaty Federalism, and self-determination. Review of Constitutional Studies, 24, 1. Brash, D. (2004). Nationhood. An address to the Orewa Rotary Club. http:// www.national.org.nz/speech_article.aspx?ArticleID=1614. Accessed 24 April 2004. Clarke, J. (2006). Desegregating the indigenous rights agenda. Australian Journal of Legal Philosophy, 31, 119–126. Coulthard, G. S. (2007). Subjects of empire: Indigenous peoples and the ‘politics of recognition’ in Canada. Contemporary Political Theory, 6, 437–460. Courchene, D. (2017). A time to change. https://www.turtlelodge.org/ 2017/05/a-time-to-change-a-presentation-on-behalf-of-the-giigewigamigelders-council-and-traditional-healing-centre-dave-courchene-april-23-2017/. Accessed 6 August 2022. Dryzek, J. S. (2005). Deliberative democracy in divided societies. Political Theory, 33, 218–242. Dryzek, J. S., Bächtiger, A., Chambers, S., Cohen, J., Druckman, J. N., Felicetti, A., et al. (2019). The crisis of democracy and the science of deliberation. Science, 363(6432), 1144–1146. Fraser, N. (2003). Rethinking recognition: Overcoming displacement and reification in cultural politics. In B. Hobson (Ed.), Recognition struggles and social movements: Contested identities, agency and power (pp. 21–32). Cambridge University Press. Hunter, B., & Jordan, K. (2009). Explaining social exclusion: Towards social inclusion for indigenous Australians: Social justice discussion papers. University of Melbourne. Indigenous Peoples Major Group for Sustainable Development. (2020). Policy brief on Sustainable Development Goals and Post-2015 Development Agenda: A working draft. https://sustainabledevelopment.un.org/content/documents/ 6797IPMG%20Policy%20Brief%20Working%20Draft%202015.pdf. Accessed 6 August 2022. Ivison, D. (2017). Pluralising political legitimacy. Postcolonial Studies, 20(1), 118–130. Ivison, D., Patton, P., & Sanders, W. (2000). Political theory and the rights of indigenous peoples. Cambridge University Press. Ivison, D. (2002). Postcolonial Liberalism: Cambridge University Press Iwi Chairs’ Forum. (2016). The report of Matike Mai Aotearoa—The independent working group on constitutional transformation. http://www.converge. org.nz/pma/MatikeMaiAotearoaReport.pdf Jackson, S. (2018). Indigenous peoples and water justice in a globalizing world. In Oxford handbook on water politics and policy (pp. 120–141). Oxford University Press.

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Kant, I. (1970). Kant’s political writings. Cambridge University Press. Kenrick, J. (2006). The concept of indigeneity—Discussion of Alan Barnard’s ‘Kalahari revisionism, Vienna and the ‘indigenous peoples’ debate’. Social Anthropology, 14(1), 19–21. Kukathas, C. (1992). Are there any cultural rights? Political Theory, 20(1), 105– 139. Kymlicka, W. (1995). Multicultural citizenship. Oxford University Press. Lowitja Institute. (2021). Close the Gap report—2021—Leadership and legacy through crises: Keeping our mob safe. https://www.lowitja.org.au/page/ser vices/resources/Cultural-and-social-determinants/culture-for-health-and-wel lbeing/close-the-gap-report-2021. Accessed 6 August 2022. Maaka, R., & Fleras, A. (2005). The politics of indigeneity: Challenging the state in Canada and Aotearoa New Zealand. University of Otago Press. Mill, J. S. (1869). On liberty. http://www.bartleby.com/130/1.html. Accessed 27 April 2003. Murphy, M. (2019). Indigenous peoples and the struggle for self-determination: A relational strategy. Canadian Journal of Human Rights, 8, 67. NITV. (2020). Pat Turner delivers the Dr Charles Perkins memorial oration keynote speech. https://www.sbs.com.au/nitv/article/2020/11/18/pat-tur ner-delivers-dr-charles-perkins-memorial-oration-keynote-speech. Accessed 9 August 2022. Nussbaum, M. C. (1987). Nature, function, and capability: Aristotle on political distribution. World Institute for Development Economics Research of the United Nations University Helsinki, Finland. O’Sullivan, D. (2007). Beyond biculturalism. Huia Publishers. O’Sullivan, D. (2014). M¯aori self-determination and a liberal theory of indigeneity. In M. Woons (Ed.), Restoring indigenous self-determination (p. 64). e-International Relations. O’Sullivan, D. (2017). Indigeneity: A politics of potential—Australia, Fiji and New Zealand. Policy Press. O’Sullivan, D. (2020a). Can colonialism be reversed? The UN’s Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples provides some answers. The Conversation. https://theconversation.com/can-colonialism-be-reversed-the-uns-dec laration-on-the-rights-of-indigenous-peoples-provides-some-answers-147017 O’Sullivan, D. (2020b). ‘We are all here to stay’: Citizenship, sovereignty and the UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples. ANU Press. O’Sullivan, D. (2021). Sharing the sovereign: Indigenous peoples, recognition, treaties and the state. Palgrave Macmillan. Shaw, K. (2008). Indigeneity and political theory: Sovereignty and the limits of the political. Routledge. United Nations. (2007). Universal Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples. http://www.un.org/esa/socdev/unpfii/documents/DRIPS_en.pdf

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United Nations. (2012). The future we want. https://www.un.org/ga/search/ view_doc.asp?symbol=A/RES/66/288&Lang=E. Accessed 8 August 2022. Waitangi Tribunal. (2010). Te reo M¯ aori [Prepublication copy of Chapter 5 of Ko Aotearoa t¯enei] (Wai 262). Wellington. Waldron, J. (2002, December 5). Indigeneity? First peoples and last occupancy. 2002 Quentin Baxter Memorial Lecture, Victoria University of Wellington. Webster, K., & Cheyne, C. (2017). Creating treaty-based local governance in New Zealand: M¯aori and P¯akeh¯a views. K¯ otuitui: New Zealand Journal of Social Sciences Online, 12(2), 146–164. Wood, A. (2020). Indigenous self-determination in Australia: Histories and historiography. In L. Rademaker & T. Rowse (Eds.), Self-determination under international law and some possibilities for Australia’s indigenous peoples. Australian National University Press. Young, I. (1989). Polity and group difference: A critique of the ideal of universal citizenship. Ethics, 99(2), 250–274.

CHAPTER 6

Participation and Presence

6.1

Introduction

Just institutions are, according to SDG 16, accountable institutions. Traditionally, colonial societies do not, by definition, attend in any significant way to the idea that public agencies should be accountable to indigenous people. Yet, it is reasonable for all people to expect that public institutions will work in their favour. When this is not an indigenous people’s common experience, one must work out how to develop, explain and measure effectiveness as a determinant of justice. As introduced in the previous chapter, institutional arrangements to maximise people’s capacities to reason and carefully consider different policy perspectives are important. Also, and in different ways, deliberation is a traditional decision-making form in many indigenous societies. Colonialism has systematically weakened indigenous decision-making forums, but it is also true that they are re-emerging and are consistently positioned by indigenous peoples as important expressions of the right to self-determination. Well-functioning indigenous deliberative institutions exercising their rights to make decisions about their own affairs are important constituents of a non-colonial political order and therefore important constituents of justice itself (SDG 16). ‘The key involves decoupling the deliberative and decisional moments of democracy, locating deliberation in engagement of discourses in the public sphere at a distance from the sovereign state’ (Dryzek, 2005, p. 220). The questions of © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2023 D. O’Sullivan, Indigeneity, Culture and the UN Sustainable Development Goals, Sustainable Development Goals Series, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-99-0581-2_6

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what it means to be an indigenous citizen and of the political capacities that citizenship should embody, should therefore be answered from both inside and outside the state. This chapter’s focus, however, is on examples of what it may mean for the indigenous citizen to exercise a voice of equal value within the state. It analyses M¯aori participation in the New Zealand Parliament and executive from this perspective alongside the Australian proposal for a referendum to entrench a First Nations Voice to Parliament in the Commonwealth Constitution. It examines liberal democracy’s capacity to admit different forms of political participation as a matter of justice because people’s expectations of what democracy should achieve are framed by culture and colonial experience. People may otherwise be left behind by unjust institutions and political systems. The fairness and effectiveness of an indigenous people’s participation in the public life of the state are determinants of the legitimacy that it chooses to attach, or not attach, to the state. A determinant of the extent to which the state is seen as an institution that continues to subjugate as a colonial entity or provides opportunities for people to participate fairly and meaningfully in the development of the society in which they live and is capable, therefore, of being seen as an institution of noncolonial possibility. From a M¯aori perspective, Te Tiriti o Waitangi makes the New Zealand state morally legitimate. Moral legitimacy is preliminary to the conclusion of treaties being contemplated in some parts of Australia through which indigenous nations may find reason to recognise the state. Recognising the state is an ambitious and perhaps, for some people, unlikely task. However, achieving it is a requirement of leaving nobody behind and this book’s overarching purpose is to examine how the Goals do not, but may be developed, to contribute to this ambition.

6.2

¯ Maori in Parliament

Te Tiriti o Waitangi promised that M¯aori would enjoy the ‘rights and privileges of British subjects’. Subjecthood is a concept that in 2023 has evolved and continues to evolve, as New Zealand citizenship. The question of what it means to be a M¯aori citizen, and the political capacities that this status entails are important. From a liberal democratic perspective, one may argue that citizenship entails the right to vote and seek public office. However, this right does not guarantee that one’s people, aspirations and perspectives will not most often be on the losing side in any democratic contest. M¯aori may seek election to Parliament or a

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local government but, as a minority, M¯aori candidates will always have to secure most of their support from non-M¯aori voters. From some perspectives, this is a reasonable outcome. If the majority decides it does not want to hear distinct M¯aori voices, it is entitled to impose that exclusionary view. Democracy is and should be the ‘tyranny of the majority’ (Mill, 1869). An alternative perspective is that liberal democracy’s potential to provide ‘one person, one voice of equal value’ not simply ‘one person, one vote of equal value’ should be pursued in the interests of a more fully democratic and inclusive society. As the previous chapter’s discussion of participatory parity argued, it is reasonable for democratic equality to allow for difference, which democracy is well-equipped to mediate rather than suppress. For M¯aori, to whom Te Tiriti guarantees the right to culture, it is reasonable to expect that cultural values may be used to evaluate the merits of one candidate for public office over another. For M¯aori candidates, it is reasonable to make one’s case to voters through a cultural lens that makes sense and that people wish to protect and develop. It is also reasonable for M¯aori voters to expect their representatives to advance policies that respond to colonial context. Colonialism is not the everyday context in which other voters form their political values, experience political decisions, and develop their political aspirations. Culture and colonialism are the lenses through which M¯aori voters commonly develop their political priorities and through which they may reasonably wish to evaluate the merits of one candidate over another. It is important for people’s confidence in the political system that they may say that even if they disagree with a policy decision, they have at least had the same opportunity to influence it as other citizens. They have been meaningfully present, and their extant rights of indigeneity have not been transgressed. People are, in contrast, left further behind if political systems and public decision-making processes mean that they are almost always on the losing side in a political contest. Electoral systems and how they are designed to include and exclude are important determinants of how effectively the rights of self-determination may be exercised. The extent to which an electoral system supports indigenous peoples’ capacities for self-determination is a test of its consistency with SDG 16 (Peace, Justice and Strong Institutions). It is important to create deliberative ‘venues that are not simply another form of engagement for the elite’ (Dryzek et al., 2019, p. 1146). The most secure and potentially transformative of such institutions is

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a broadly representative parliament ensuring scope for a diversity of indigenous perspectives. In 1996, New Zealand replaced its First Past the Post electoral system with a form of proportional representation (mixed member proportional). Diversifying the parliament was one of the reasons for the change, which occurred at the same time as a change to the practice of fixing the number of guaranteed M¯aori seats in Parliament at four, regardless of the size of the House of Representatives or the relative size of the M¯aori population. The number of seats would, from now on, be determined by the number of M¯aori citizens choosing to register to vote on the M¯aori electoral roll vis-à-vis the general roll—the roll from which any citizen may vote (Xanthaki & O’Sullivan, 2009). Since 1996, the number of M¯aori seats has progressively risen to seven in a Parliament of 120 members. At the same time, political parties have usually selected sufficient M¯aori candidates on their party lists to ensure that the total M¯aori membership of the Parliament is at least proportionate to the M¯aori share of the population. M¯aori people may also be elected to represent general constituencies, and at the 2020 election at least six M¯aori people were so elected. Twenty-five M¯aori members were elected in total (Te Ara, 2021). Neither Te Tiriti o Waitangi nor the Declaration demand that M¯aori people enjoy guaranteed representation in Parliament, but the argument in their favour is consistent with both instruments and is one way of giving effect to SDG targets 16.6 to: ‘Develop effective, accountable and transparent institutions at all levels’ and 16.7 to: ‘Ensure responsive, inclusive, participatory and representative decision-making at all levels’ (United Nations, 2015). To this end, for example, the New Zealand Parliament has repealed provisions of the Local Government Act 2002 which mitigate against M¯aori representation on city, district and regional councils. In New Zealand, councils determine how their members will be elected. They may increase or decrease the number of electoral districts (wards) and in most cases there was no mechanism for voters to overturn these decisions. The exception was that if a council proposed to establish distinctive and guaranteed M¯aori representation by way of a ward in which only M¯aori people could vote, citizens could petition the council to overturn the decision. If this petition was signed by 5% or more of the voters in the local government area, a referendum could be held to affirm or overturn the decision. In 2020, in response to the most recent example of such a petition reaching the 5% threshold, the Minister of Local Government argued that the law was discriminatory and that: ‘The process of

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establishing a ward should be the same for both M¯aori and general wards’ (Mahuta, 2021a). Guaranteed M¯aori representation in local government would, for example, be consistent with the provision for M¯aori seats in Parliament which have been in place since 1867 and which remain an important contributor to the New Zealand Parliament as a potentially just institution (SDG 16).

6.3

The Politics of Presence

The politics of presence means that it is not just the ideas held by a potential representative in public office that are important. Personal backgrounds and experiences are also determinants of how one approaches the representative task. Ideas are important and when these are not exclusively culturally framed or formed from colonial experience, it may not matter who prosecutes the idea. However, ideas alone do not respond to the characteristics of exclusion (O’Sullivan, 2017). Exclusion may be the product of political ideas, but it is also the lived experience of members of the groups who are excluded. Immediate political priorities may be shaped by those experiences and distinctive perspectives on the purposes of schooling, the nature of primary healthcare services and the colonial coercion that the criminal justice system may exert, occur at the intersection of political thought and political experience. Responses that are not considered from cultural or colonial perspectives may simply perpetuate colonial subjugation by ensuring that indigenous people remain beyond the sovereign; beyond the public to whom reasoned democratic procedures belong. Indigenous people’s access to meaningful participation is a constituent of legitimacy. For a decision cannot be legitimate if some people are not admitted, in terms that they accept as culturally valid, into a decision-making forum. Legitimacy arises when people freely recognise the political process to which they are subject presumably because they or others who share their values, have helped to construct it. Legitimacy is important because: ‘If there is no available normative authority, then either collective decision-making is impossible, or all political decisions are illegitimate’ (Ivison, 2017, p. 127). Furthermore, in 2020, five M¯aori ministers were appointed to the 20-member cabinet, so the proportion of M¯aori ministers is more than proportionate to the M¯aori share of the total population. Three of these ministers represent M¯aori constituencies. The scope of their potential influence across government encompasses portfolios including M¯aori development, justice, children, education, defence,

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foreign affairs, health, conservation, arts and culture, emergency management and local government. However, a broader consideration may be the impact of these ministers’ presence on the culture of Cabinet and general working of government. Will the Cabinet and, indeed, the parliament with its more than proportionate M¯aori presence begin to operate, to some extent, in more obviously M¯aori ways? Will M¯aori members of parliament increasingly seek to hold M¯aori ministers to account through questions in the M¯aori language? Will members of parliament routinely and unapologetically frame their contributions to public debate according to M¯aori epistemologies, as Nanaia Mahuta did in her first major speech as Foreign Minister in 2020, for example? Would these developments make parliament more effectively accountable to M¯aori and therefore a more just institution? Mahuta is New Zealand’s second M¯aori Foreign Minister but the first to hold a M¯aori seat in Parliament. She is also the first to argue that there are distinctive and unapologetic M¯aori perspectives to be brought to New Zealand foreign policy. In her first major speech as Foreign Minister, she did not refer to the Goals but showed there was a significant intellectual consistency between them and her policy priorities, which she said reflected a ‘values-based’ approach. Mahuta said that these priorities and values would include: • an international rules based order, which gives all countries a voice and provides a framework that promotes stability; • keeping New Zealand safe, promoting regional stability; • international conditions and connections that aid our prosperity, including supply chain resilience; and, • global action on sustainability issues such as climate change where solutions depend on international cooperation. (Mahuta, 2021b, Inaugural Foreign Policy Speech to Diplomatic Corps, Te Tiriti and Foreign Policy para. 11)

Significantly, Mahuta said that Te Tiriti o Waitangi ‘confirms our enduring commitment to the importance of international rules and institutions’ (Mahuta, 2021b, Inaugural Foreign Policy Speech to Diplomatic Corps, Te Tiriti and Foreign Policy para. 14). The M¯aori values that Mahuta (2021b) set out as guiding New Zealand foreign policy are clearly consistent with the Goals: • manaaki—kindness or the reciprocity of goodwill; • whanaunga—our connectedness or shared sense of humanity;

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• mahi tahi and kotahitanga—collective benefits and shared aspiration; and, • kaitiaki—protectors and stewards of our intergenerational wellbeing. (Inaugural Foreign Policy Speech to Diplomatic Corps, A Values-based Approach—Aotearoa-New Zealand para. 2)

Mahuta’s relational approach to foreign policy is also consistent with the Goals: ‘Each of these values when expressed in a relationship gives a sense that everything is connected and purposeful’ (Mahuta, Inaugural Foreign Policy Speech to Diplomatic Corps, A Values-based Approach—AotearoaNew Zealand, 2021b, para. 3). So, too, are her policy commitments to: human rights, democracy, the international rule of law, and nuclear disarmament; removing barriers to trade and investment to raise incomes, create employment, and promote innovation, increase productivity, tackle inequality and injustice through our development programme and our advocacy. (Mahuta, Inaugural Foreign Policy Speech to Diplomatic Corps, A Values-based Approach – International Institutions and Rules, 2021b, para. 8)

Mahuta continued with the observation that: ‘As an Indigenous Foreign Minister… I believe that diplomacy is intergenerational in its intent, we put people, planet, peace and prosperity for all at the centre. This approach sits at the corner of my ambition to lead a different approach’ (Mahuta, Inaugural Foreign Policy Speech to Diplomatic Corps, Relationships, 2021b, para. 19). Mahuta showed that the Goals’ aspirations are not new. They are, in fact, embedded in M¯aori culture and M¯aori views about the purposes of political activity. The question is, then, do they enhance the pursuit of established aspirations by providing usefully different ways of expressing such aspirations or are the ideas so clear and well established that they add nothing to indigenous political thought or political strategy? For New Zealand, these questions arise with reference to Mahuta’s (2021b) further argument that: the time has come to ensure a more inclusive approach to indigenous issues being a feature of foreign policy. This will see economic, social, environmental and cultural benefits to countries willing to step up to this opportunity. We must be deliberate on this otherwise civil unrest, poverty and social deprivation are likely to emerge – it does not have to be

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this way. (Mahuta, Inaugural Foreign Policy Speech to Diplomatic Corps, Relationships, para. 16)

Mahuta mentioned the Goals only in passing, and it is clear that the alliance of common aspirations with her policy priorities is convenient but coincidental. New Zealand’s policy priorities have been developed independently and with reference to values and ideas that well predate the Goals. The ideas are not new to Mahuta and there is an alternative philosophical depth to the speech that explains why they are unlikely ever to be more than a political framework to which indigenous aspirations might be attached, but only when it is politically expedient. This does not, however, mean that they may never influence indigenous political thought and strategy, but it does perhaps explain why they do not have the populist appeal evident in the ways that the Goals are approached by some other political actors.

6.4

The Uluru Statement from the Heart

In 2015, the Australian Prime Minister and Leader of the Opposition appointed a Referendum Council to propose terms for the Constitutional recognition of indigenous peoples. The Council led a deliberative process to seek indigenous agreement on the form that recognition should take. This process provides an important case study of how a state-established deliberative forum could work in favour of indigenous self-determination even though its recommendations were initially contested by the state. Following the essential deliberative characteristics of ‘civility and argumentative complexity’ (Dryzek et al., 2019), the Council’s recommendations, set out in the Uluru Statement from the Heart , were firstly to hold a referendum to amend the Commonwealth Constitution to establish a representative First Nations Voice to Parliament and, secondly, to establish a makarrata or truth telling commission to oversee measures and instruments of reconciliation that could include treaties (Referendum Council, 2017). Given the threshold required to amend the Commonwealth Constitution—a majority of votes in a majority of states as well as a national plurality—modest recommendations were expected. This was the context in which the Liberal/National coalition government (2013– 2022) dismissed the Voice to Parliament without giving the argument due consideration and without reasoned objection. It demonstrated an unwillingness to think broadly, respectfully and in depth or detail about

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the complexities of indigenous policy failure and the justice of indigenous defined responses. Immediately, dismissing the Voice indicated there was no government inclination to expose the idea to deliberative consideration. Nor to test the proposal against what people thought after entering a deliberative process of considering the arguments in favour alongside a more nuanced and less emotively charged presentation of the arguments against. Declining to facilitate considered debate was important because deliberation’s potential is to bring people together by exposing them to perspectives they may not otherwise consider. ‘In contrast to knee-jerk responses to partisan and populist cues, deliberation leads judgements to become more considered and more consistent with values that individuals hold after reflection’ (Dryzek et al., 2019, p. 1145). Taking a definitive policy position before considering different arguments diminished the proponents’ capacity to influence public debate and help shape the institutions that develop public policy in their own society. Deliberative opportunities may not occur by chance. Deliberation must be planned for and broadly accepted as a desirable component of public decision-making. This is why the adoption of the proposed Voice heavily depends on how effectively its proponents prosecute the argument that this is a just arrangement because it will make democracy work better. In contrast with the views of its predecessor, the Albanese Government, formed in 2022, will legislate to hold a referendum and support an affirmative vote, believing that enshrining a Voice in the Constitution will contribute to national reconciliation and strengthen the state’s accountability to indigenous people (Burney, 2022). The Uluru Statement observed that: Our Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander tribes were the first sovereign Nations of the Australian continent and its adjacent islands, and possessed it under our own laws and customs.… With substantive constitutional change and structural reform, we believe this ancient sovereignty can shine through as a fuller expression of Australia’s nationhood. (Referendum Council, 2017, para. 1)

In this context, sovereignty is not used to describe an absolute and controlling power over others. It is a statement of independent political identity, an identity which the Uluru Statement proposed as a constituent of Australian nationhood. From this perspective, one can see an expectation that the state is capable of legitimacy and trust. Yet also the acceptance that:

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Proportionally, we are the most incarcerated people on the planet. We are not an innately criminal people. Our children are alienated from their families at unprecedented rates. This cannot be because we have no love for them. And our youth languish in detention in obscene numbers. They should be our hope and future. These dimensions of our crisis tell plainly the structural nature of our problem. This is the torment of our powerlessness. We seek constitutional reforms to empower our people and take a rightful place in our own country. When we have power over our destiny our children will flourish… and their culture will be a gift to their country. (Referendum Council, 2017, paras. 5–7)

This statement reflects a desire for an inclusive state and, also a clear expectation that such inclusion depends on different political structures and ways of managing political relationships. The Statement ‘prefigures a possible re-founding of Australia’. Its concepts of ‘voice, history, truth telling, agreement making, legitimacy and justice’ (Ivison, 2017, p. xiv) imagine the reinterpretation of liberal democracy’s normative foundations. It supports the presumption that public policy should work for all and not just some people and the Voice may be structured as an important instrument of policy integration. Its significance could be strengthened through a formal relationship with the bureaucracy, so that its ideas at the higher conceptual level of the policy-making process may inform policy development and implementation. Its value may also be enhanced if it has the power to commission policy evaluation. Ivison (2017) argued that debate over constitutional recognition ‘presupposes that we have the conceptual and institutional resources’ to address the political questions that recognition’s proponents think that a post-settler liberal state like Australia needs to consider for its moral legitimacy. It is true that liberalism’s ‘conceptual scheme helps to hold these injustices in place’ (p. 118), so that indigenous recognition of the state requires significant concession and the only way it can be made just is if the state itself is reconfigured to reflect indigenous people among its distinctive constituents. Indigenous people must be able to influence the state to work in their favour. However, one of the tests of the Goals’ capacity for pragmatic alignment with the Declaration is whether, in consort, the two may draw out liberalism’s potential to contest structural

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injustices in the first instance and, in the second, to help construct a noncolonial polity. Ivison (2017) argued that the ‘jury is still out’ (p. 118) on these questions. Alternatively, liberalism’s capacity is clearly inclusive and capable of admitting the indigenous right to self-determination in substantive and meaningful ways (O’Sullivan, 2017, 2020, 2021). Its potential lies in its inherent pluralism. As Ivison (2017) argues, liberalism ‘is a complex, shifting and historically contingent cluster of concepts, conceptions and theories’ (p. 118). The guaranteed M¯aori seats in the New Zealand Parliament show that liberal democracy may admit distinctive indigenous presence if people so chose. The M¯aori seats demonstrate plurality’s legitimacy and lay the foundation for its further expression in public life. The Voice would not discount the cultural foundations of Australia’s established public institutions. Instead, it proposes differentiating how political voices may be expressed. Whether liberalism reaches its inclusive potential or its alternative potential for colonial subjugation is a matter of political choice. Considering liberalism’s alternative possibilities draws out choice as a matter of political values and shows that while colonialism cannot be reversed it is not a political system that inevitably continues. Liberalism does not establish colonialism’s moral superiority. It may be drawn on to support the proposition that the right to self-determination belongs to all and not just to some people. However, developing and prosecuting this argument reflects personal values. It is instructive to consider Ivison’s (2017) arguments to move the debate beyond recognition to ‘justification’ (p. 118). He argued that a deeper theory of justice is required to answer questions of how a postsettler political system can work fairly. How can political authority be legitimate where there is deep disagreement about normative facts and what John Rawls referred to as ‘reasonable pluralism’ about the right and the good? Moreover, how can individuals and groups who suffer from historical injustice affirm their membership of a political community in such a way that political authority can be considered legitimate? (Ivison, 2017, p. 119)

The second question is one that treaty negotiations in Australia will bring to the fore. Treaties are instruments of mutual recognition meaning that a party cannot agree to conclude a treaty unless it regards the other as legitimate. A party is not legitimate simply because it is present and here to stay. If the state wishes to secure the moral legitimacy that a treaty

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confers, there must be reasons for indigenous people to agree, beyond the pragmatic concession that the colonial project is so well advanced that indigenous people are not in a position to reject the state’s ongoing presence. Colonialism’s initial injustice endures and is compounded by new and continuous affronts to indigenous dignity, independence and political authority. Countering colonialism means ‘establish[ing] the conditions under which cross-cultural normative frameworks within which to justify, legitimate and transform the exercise of political power and settler colonial states might emerge’ (Ivison, 2017, p. 119). Establishing these conditions is important to filling the gap in the Goals’ political value to indigenous peoples that Watene and Yap (2015) have identified—that of culture. Nevertheless, the Uluru Statement proposes that choosing a noncolonial future is both possible and worthwhile. Indeed, debates about the substance of the Statement’s recommendations are debates about the limits and possibilities of that future as much as they are theoretical debates about the limits and possibilities of liberal democracy and state sovereignty. It was the argument that liberal democracy presumes no right to distinctive expression and participation that Australian Prime Ministers Malcolm Turnbull and Scott Morrison used to try to foreclose debate on the Voice. The argument that justice is served by people having to adopt a culturally homogenous perspective before being able to participate in the public life of the state, is inconsistent with the Declaration that Australia has accepted as an aspirational instrument (Macklin, 2009). The Declaration and, potentially, the Goals contest the popular but not necessary or inevitable liberal perspective that Kymlicka (1996) describes as a limit on indigenous political capacity. The view that: ‘ethnic identity, like religion is something which people should be free to express in their private life, but which is not the concern of the state… It is not the place of public agencies to attach legal identities or disabilities to cultural membership or ethnic identity’ (p. 4). An alternative perspective, which the implementation of the Goals may need to consider, is that in the absence of genuinely culturally neutral public institutions, there must be other ways of working out how each person’s share in the public sovereign may be equally expressed. All people approach public life from a cultural perspective. Presuming otherwise means that some citizens’ voices are more likely to hold influence than others. The assumption of neutrality makes a minority population’s indigeneity a democratic disability.

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Although rejecting a constitutionally entrenched Voice to Parliament, the Morrison government proposed that a representative body could be established by legislation to provide advice to the Parliament and Government (Commonwealth of Australia, 2020). The Indigenous Voice Co-Design Process’ interim report stated a ‘desire’ to ensure that indigenous peoples’ ‘distinct perspectives, aspirations and needs are heard’ and that their advice may be provided to inform public decisions (Commonwealth of Australia, 2020, p. 22). The Voice may still have been ‘unique and empowering’ as the report proposed, and the suggestion that the Voice would provide ‘a forum for people to bring ideas or problems to government’ (Commonwealth of Australia, 2020, p. 23) was an admission that existing forms of representative democracy do not work. However, it also set the expectation that governments, not indigenous entities, are the primary problem solvers. It is important to consider whether the advice that the Voice is empowered to offer may encompass deep public scrutiny, and whether it may propose new legislation, or the amendment or repeal of existing legislation. Substantive deliberative capacity is not simply the capacity to respond to what the parliament or government determines is important. Responsive capacities already exist through the right to make submissions to parliamentary inquiries or lobby members of parliament, for example. The indigenous opportunity for ‘a greater say in the legislation, policies, programs and service delivery that affect them’ (Commonwealth of Australia, 2020, p. 1) is important, but it is not clear whether this is sufficient to ensure deliberative capacities of the scope or character that would allow democracy to work to its fullest inclusive and representative potential. If democracy is not structured to work in this way, indigenous people will be entitled to ask whether the state works justly and whether they would want to give it the recognition that a treaty would require. The Voice is intended to recognise that Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander cultures ‘hold a unique place in our nation’s story’ (Commonwealth of Australia, 2021, p. 2) and provide a mechanism for them ‘to have a say on how to improve their lives’ (Commonwealth of Australia, 2021, p. 5). The idea that people should have a say in how to improve their lives rejects colonial subjugation, but it does not on its own secure the ideals of self-determination nor the rights enunciated in the Declaration. For example, the discussion paper’s proposed Voice could: ‘provide advice and input on decisions, laws, policies, programmes and services that are important to Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander

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people’ (Commonwealth of Australia, 2021, p. 3b). However, ‘input’ is a weak and vacuous concept. The question of the deliberative capacities that indigenous people are reasonably entitled to enjoy arguably extends beyond ‘input’, which is not a word or concept that the Uluru Statement from the Heart , the Declaration or Te Tiriti o Waitangi use in their variously more expansive presumptions about the scope and character of indigenous deliberative capacity. A voice inside the bureaucracy is nevertheless important. If principles of reasoned and culturally respectful deliberation are adopted, a voice could improve policy outcomes. However, the discussion paper’s unwritten assumption is that the bureaucracy is not indigenous, and that indigenous people are brought in as outside advisers. Akin to the consultants that the bureaucracy draws upon to fill gaps in its knowledge and decision-making capacities across all areas of government. Leaving nobody behind means that the government will need to address the co-design report’s inattention to institutional measures for ensuring that indigenous values and priorities are reflected in policy decisions. Nevertheless, and significantly, the report proposed that the Voice could prioritise for itself the matters on which it wished to offer advice (Commonwealth of Australia, 2020). Entrenching the Voice rather than establishing it by Act of Parliament would reduce this capacity’s vulnerability to change. It is important that a government of the day may not simply decide that it does not want to hear advice on certain matters. While these matters could still be raised through news media, this would demonstrate conflict between the government and the Voice on what the body is for and what it should achieve. The conflict could simply reflect an assertion of colonial power that the original Uluru proposal was intended to mitigate. Accountability to indigenous people requires that all advice is made public and that, as far as possible, all deliberations occur in public and provide a mechanism for the direct exchange of ideas between members of Parliament and members of the Voice. Measures beyond the ordinary right of a citizen to communicate with a member of Parliament would be the outcome of a robust act of recognition; the recognition by each that the other has a legitimate political status and that each is equally entitled to contribute to working out what that status means for just terms of association between the two parties. It is important that this scope is retained and not restricted by the discussion paper’s further observation that ‘the Australian Parliament and Government expected [only] to consult the National Voice on proposed laws’ (Commonwealth of Australia, 2020,

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p. 8). It is with these considerations in mind that one might consider the Albanese Government’s (2022–) proposal to put the following question to a referendum: A Proposed Law: to alter the Constitution to recognise the First Peoples of Australia by establishing an Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Voice. Do you approve this proposed alteration? If agreed to the following would be added the Constitution: In recognition of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples as the First Peoples of Australia: 1. There shall be a body, to be called the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Voice; 2. The Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Voice may make representations to the Parliament and the Executive Government of the Commonwealth on matters relating to Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples ; 3. The Parliament shall, subject to this Constitution, have power to make laws with respect to matters relating to the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Voice, including its composition, functions, powers and procedures. (Albanese, 2023, paras. 3–4 and 12)

Under these provisions, the Regional Voices that the co-design discussion paper raised would be extra-constitutional. Although the co-design discussion paper is a Commonwealth initiative, it envisaged a national voice being complemented by between 25 and 35 local and regional voices (Commonwealth of Australia, 2020). They would enter partnerships with state, territory and local governments with the potential to support improvements to policy-making and policy delivery. They may support the integration and policy coordination that the Goals require. However, the absence of decision-making authority means that indigenous people are likely to remain subjects of policy rather than its agents.

6.5

Regional Voices, Recognition, Treaties and Legitimacy

The Albanese Government (2022–) has rejected its predecessor’s decoupling of the Voice from the Uluru Statement’s recommendation for a makarrata or truth telling process that would allow ‘coming together after

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a struggle’ (Referendum Council, 2017 para. 10) through agreement making (Burney, 2022). Among other considerations, makarrata could provide opportunities to work out the more detailed terms of enduring indigenous recognition. Recognition means that the state and indigenous nations would admit the other’s political legitimacy, and thus capacity to function as a political community with collective powers to make decisions consistent with their conceptions of the good life (O’Sullivan, 2021). The discussion paper’s proposals do not offer recognition. They offer participation but not leadership. They offer administrative influence but not political authority. They confirm subjecthood, offset by a peripheral concession to the right to offer advice to decision-makers. The conditions for influence through reason are not robustly established. The success of the Voice may depend partly on whether its final structure is established to address these limitations. A further question that the discussion paper leaves outstanding is where does one find the indigenous right to make decisions? The National Voice could be able to engage early on with the Australian Government in the development of relevant policies and laws. It could provide both formal and informal advice. This would allow for a partnership approach. The national Voice could also be able to engage with the Australian Parliament when it is considering relevant laws and provide formal advice. (Commonwealth of Australia, 2020, p. 8)

The Voice itself does not need to have decision-making powers, but some authoritative body must have such powers, such as in the form of the Indigenous Health Purchasing Authority, which was considered but rejected by the Rudd Government (2007–2010) in 2010 (National Health and Hospitals Reform Commission, 2009). Indeed, the distribution of deliberative and decision-making powers across institutions supports contestable advice, protects against bureaucratic capture, or capture by vested interests. The distribution of decision-making power also broadens the pool of citizens actively leading different aspects of the democratic process. The Voice would not necessarily address the argument for indigenous policy to be indigenous led and it is not yet clear whether the Voice’s overarching objectives will be set by indigenous citizens. However, the Victorian First Peoples’ Assembly in Australia is considering exactly that question of how and by whom the nature of

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indigenous policy leadership will be worked out. This question informs the Assembly’s development of its expectations of a treaty or treaties between First Nations and the state of Victoria. The Assembly is considering how First Nations voices are best expressed to ‘address the corrosive legacy of invasion, improve the lives of the people, and allow everyone in Victoria to create a future together as equals’ (First Peoples’ Assembly of Victoria, 2021, para. 4). For example, should it argue that treaties provide for guaranteed representation in the Victorian Parliament, a permanent representative body with decision-making authority or, perhaps, both? These questions presume that the state may admit more than one site of decision-making authority if it so chooses. Treaties necessarily involve each party recognising the other’s legitimate presence and in the present Victorian case would involve indigenous nations recognising the government’s right to govern. However, the right to self-determination means that this is not an unconditional or unconstrained right. It is not a right to do harm. In New Zealand, for example, claims to the Waitangi Tribunal show how and why M¯aori people understand these conditions and constraints (discussed in Chapter Eight in relation to health and the care and protection of children and in Chapter Nine in relation to education). Furthermore, ‘citizenship is not the endless repetition of the same formula... An instrument controlled by the hegemonic class or the dialectical overcoming of antagonistic forces’ (Tully, 2014, p. 6). Treaties may, then, reinforce the idea that state sovereignty is conditional and inclusive, with contestable and movable boundaries (O’Sullivan, 2021) so that: ‘Indigenous peoples are not simply a litmus test of our thinking about... but represent a deeper challenge to the way we conceptualise notions of citizenship, sovereignty, democracy and freedom in the first place – and indeed the nature of political philosophy itself’ (Ivison, 2011, p. 131). An indigenous nation’s capacity to manage its relationships with the state indicates its self-determining capacity. Managing that relationship to ensure that the state is neither binary opponent nor partner but a body whose authority derives from the consent and participation of all and not just some citizens, provides a path towards leaving nobody behind. It also provides a path beyond the inherent conflict that occurs when indigenous peoples have reason to see the state as an institution to which they do not belong. Ensuring that the state cannot maintain an exclusive ethnic character is surely an objective of treaty-making and preliminary to an indigenous nation accepting the legitimacy of the state. An entity,

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perhaps, that reflects and contributes to the freedom and equal political standing of an indigenous nation and its members, where freedom is ‘the ability to participate in the development of the laws and norms of justice that describe and regulate human relationships’ (O’Sullivan, 2021, p. 57). Understanding the state as a just and non-colonial institution, distinguished by meaningful indigenous presence, may also reflect Rousseau’s (1968) remark that ‘the general will is an institution in which each necessarily submits himself to the same conditions which he imposes on others; this admirable harmony of interest in justice gives to social deliberations a quality of equity’ (p. 58). Ultimately, it is reasonable for indigenous people contemplating treaties with the state to insist on equal human worth as an essential starting point with substantive presence its immediate and enduring expression.

6.6

Conclusion

Liberal democracy is capable of different forms and different purposes. Its potential to support the idea that indigenous peoples should be among those who are not left behind is clear, but neither inevitable nor secure. M¯aori participation in the New Zealand Parliament and executive is a well-developed example of the inclusivity and opportunities for indigenous influence that liberal democracy may support. But presence alone does not transform the colonial state and the present level of M¯aori participation in the executive is too recent to test an enduring effect on how government works. In Australia, the idea of a First Nations Voice to Parliament was only accepted as one worth pursuing after a change of government in May 2022. The form it will take is still under discussion and while it is likely to secure authoritative indigenous contributions to public discourse, it will continue to be to other points in the policy process that indigenous people will have to turn for decision-making authority. These points are few and insecure and will be discussed in Chapters Eight and Nine, while Chapter Seven refers to a report of a Senate committee inquiry on the SDGs to show that the Australian policy climate has not, since their promulgation, been especially conducive to their adoption in favour of indigenous people’s political authority and decision-making capacities. On the other hand, the newly formed government does bring a more positive disposition to the general idea of indigenous presence and notwithstanding the Senate committee’s indifference, there are policy measures discussed in Chapters Eight and Nine

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that provide foundations for the Goals’ more obvious alignment with self-determination as a body of political capacities explicitly focussed on ensuring that indigenous people are not left behind. These foundations could be considerably strengthened by treaties which provide indigenous nations with the opportunity to consider what it would take to make the state a non-colonial entity and, therefore, potentially legitimate, and just. Shifting values are also important in Canada and New Zealand and along with other measures of indigenous inclusion as a counterpoint to being left behind, the next chapter discusses each country’s consideration of the Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples within the context of wider national values.

References Albanese, A. (2023). Next steps towards voice referendum: Constitutional Alteration Bill. https://www.pm.gov.au/media/next-step-towards-voice-ref erendum-constitutional-alteration-bill. Accessed 1 April 2023. Burney, L. (2022). Australia is ready to take the next step on the path to reconciliation. https://www.lindaburney.com.au/media-releases/2022/5/27/vrhbiw xhom0o7hnjpo90pdrs69s247. Accessed 9 August 2022. Commonwealth of Australia. (2020). Indigenous voice co-design process interim report to the Australian government. https://nla.gov.au/nla.obj-290387 1481/view. Accessed 9 August 2022. Commonwealth of Australia. (2021). Indigenous Voice: Conversation Guide. Retrieved from https://voice.niaa.gov.au/sites/default/files/2021-02/indige nous-voice-conversation-guide.pdf Dryzek, J. S. (2005). Deliberative democracy in divided societies. Political Theory, 33, 218–242. Dryzek, J. S., Bächtiger, A., Chambers, S., Cohen, J., Druckman, J. N., Felicetti, A., et al. (2019). The crisis of democracy and the science of deliberation. Science, 363(6432), 1144–1146. First Peoples’ Assembly of Victoria. (2021). Big steps taken on the path to treaty in Victoria. https://www.firstpeoplesvic.org/media/big-steps-taken-on-the_ path-to-treaty-in-victoria/. Accessed 9 August 2022. Ivison, D. (2011). “Another world is actual”: Between imperialism and freedom. Political Theory, 39(1), 131–137. Ivison, D. (2017). Pluralising political legitimacy. Postcolonial Studies, 20(1), 118–130. Kymlicka, W. (1996). Multicultural citizenship: A liberal theory of minority rights. Oxford University Press.

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Macklin, J. (2009). Statement on the United Nations declaration on the rights of indigenous peoples. http://www.un.org/esa/socdev/unpfii/documents/Aus tralia_official_statement_endorsement_UNDRIP.pdf. Accessed 14 November 2009. Mahuta, N. (2021a). Government supports councils to Increase M¯ aori representation. https://www.beehive.govt.nz/release/government-supports-councilsincrease-m%C4%81ori-representation. Accessed 9 August 2022. Mahuta, N. (2021b). Inaugural foreign policy speech to diplomatic corps. https://www.beehive.govt.nz/speech/inaugural-foreign-policy-speech-dip lomatic-corps. Accessed 9 August 2022. Mill, J. S. (1869). On liberty. http://www.bartleby.com/130/1.html. Accessed 27 April 2003. Moreton-Robinson, A. (2004). Whiteness, epistemology and indigenous representation. Whitening Race: Essays in Social and Cultural Criticism, 1, 75–88. National Health and Hospitals Reform Commission. (2009). A healthier future for all Australians. Final Report. http://www.health.gov.au/int ernet/nhhrc/publishing.nsf/Content/1AFDEAF1FB76A1D8CA257600000 B5BE2/$File/Final_Report_of_the%20nhhrc_June_2009.pdf. Accessed 4 July 2013. O’Sullivan, D. (2017). Indigeneity: A politics of potential—Australia, Fiji and New Zealand. Policy Press. O’Sullivan, D. (2020). ‘We are all here to stay’: Citizenship, sovereignty and the UN declaration on the rights of indigenous peoples. ANU Press. O’Sullivan, D. (2021). Sharing the sovereign: Indigenous peoples, recognition, treaties and the state. Palgrave Macmillan. Referendum Council. (2017). Uluru statement from the heart. https://www. referendumcouncil.org.au/sites/default/files/2017-05/Uluru_Statement_ From_The_Heart_0.PDF. Accessed 5 January 2020. Rousseau, J.-J. (1968). The social contract (G. Cole, Trans.). EP Dutton & Co. Te Ara: The Encylopedia of New Zealand. (2021). Ethnic diversity of MPs. Accessed 9 August 2022. Tully, J. (2014). On global citizenship. Bloomsbury Academic. United Nations. (2015). Transforming our world: The 2030 agenda for sustainable development. https://sustainabledevelopment.un.org/content/docume nts/21252030%20Agenda%20for%20Sustainable%20Development%20web. pdf. Accessed 5 August 2022. Watene, K., & Yap, M. (2015). Culture and sustainable development: Indigenous contributions. Journal of Global Ethics, 11(1), 51–55. Xanthaki, A., & O’Sullivan, D. (2009). Indigenous participation in elective bodies: The Maori in New Zealand. International Journal on Minority and Group Rights, 16(2), 181–207.

CHAPTER 7

National Values, the Goals and the Right to Self-Determination

7.1

Introduction

Chapter 6 showed the importance of values. This chapter continues to examine this theme. It shows that profound inconsistencies emerge as policy thinking develops on the relationships between values and selfdetermination across Australia, Canada and New Zealand. Intellectual confusion over the concept of national values was, for example, evident in the report of an Australian Senate inquiry into the Goals in 2019 (Parliament of Australia, 2019). The report found that the Goals were consistent with national values but reached this conclusion without reference to indigenous peoples’ rights and aspirations. The implicit assumption was that the Goals could be realised while leaving indigenous peoples behind. Yet, the committee report did highlight the importance of the relationship between philosophical preferences and policy outcomes. This relationship is a theme that the chapter further examines with reference to the Canadian (2018) and New Zealand (2019) Voluntary National Reviews to the United Nations High-Level Political Forum on Sustainable Development. The chapter shows that there are significant gaps between Canada’s rhetorical presentation of itself as a principled advocate in favour of human rights and the truth of a domestic indigenous policy grounded in the unmistakable assertion of colonial authority. Although both British Columbia and Canada have passed legislation to implement the Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples it is not © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2023 D. O’Sullivan, Indigeneity, Culture and the UN Sustainable Development Goals, Sustainable Development Goals Series, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-99-0581-2_7

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clear whether these measures are sufficiently robust or far-reaching to give effect to the Goals—especially Goal 16 (Peace, Justice and Strong Institutions). The New Zealand Review takes a similar self-congratulatory tone to Canada’s and this chapter shows that there are domestic political obstacles to New Zealand developing a response to the Declaration to support its claimed interest in the Goals. The view, supported by Opposition political parties, that implementing the Declaration would compromise the legitimate rights of non-M¯aori citizens is not empirically established, but it is influential and helps set the context for the remaining chapters’ discussions of policy measures that are developing, or could be developed, to support the Goals’ alignment with self-determination in domains such as health (SDG 3), education (SDG 4) and economic growth (SDG 8). The values that stand as alternatives to exclusion raised in these chapters are preliminary to the Goals’ relevance to indigenous political aspirations, including the aspiration of being not left behind.

7.2

Values and the Senate Inquiry

Although Australia endorsed the Goals in 2015, in 2017, the Senate wanted to be satisfied of their benefits and opportunities for Australia and that their costs would not be unreasonably burdensome. A committee of the Senate was established to inquire and, although beyond its terms of reference, determined that it would also consider the Goals’ consistency with Australian national values (Parliament of Australia, 2019). In 2017, the Liberal/National party coalition government did not hold a majority in the Senate, the bicameral legislature’s House of Review. The Inquiry into the Sustainable Development Goals was conducted by the Foreign Affairs, Defence and Trade Committee, comprising two government and four opposition senators. There is no agreed definition of national values, yet the committee found that whatever these values may be, they were consistent with the Goals. No considered explanation of this finding was provided. Most significantly, the committee did not test its finding of consistency against any specific policy or prevailing political philosophy. Nor did the committee consider whether these national values encompassed indigenous rights of self-determination (Parliament of Australia, 2019). It did, however, uncritically accept general observations such as that of the Australian Human Rights Commission (2019), which submitted that:

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The Goals provide a significant opportunity for government, business and civil society to align their efforts to achieve better human rights outcomes for all Australians. This includes by focusing on measures to address existing inequalities in Australia – be they on the basis of gender, race, indigenous status, geographical location or other status. (p. 7)

The Inquiry was told that in these respects there could be significant benefits for indigenous peoples and that the benefits of reduced inequality and enhanced environmental sustainability would widely accrue. The committee found that the Goals would provide a ‘framework for longterm planning’ which could ‘improve decision-making’ (Parliament of Australia, 2019, p. 18). The committee found they would also provide a ‘planning tool’ for ‘ensuring policy consistency not only over time but also within different policy domains’ (Parliament of Australia, 2019, p. 19). The committee’s questions about the Goals’ consistency with national values were asked against the backdrop of the vagueness and vacuousness of the only current official statement of national values—the test required of prospective citizens under the Australian Citizenship Act 2007 —which bear no substantive relationship with the claims and capacities of selfdetermination. The test’s values questions may include: • Why is it important that all Australian citizens vote to elect the state and federal parliament? • Should people in Australia make an effort to learn English? • In Australia, can you encourage violence against a person or group of people if you have been insulted? • Should people tolerate one another where they find that they disagree? • In Australia, are people free to choose who they marry or not marry? • In Australia, is it acceptable for a husband to be violent towards his wife if she has disobeyed or disrespected him? • Do you agree that men and women should be provided equality of opportunity when pursuing their Goals and interests? • Should people’s freedom of speech and freedom of expression be respected in Australia? (Australian Government, 2020, p. 46) The committee’s focus on values does, however, raise the connection between philosophical disposition and policy outcomes as an important

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one. The ambition for nobody to be left behind should, for example, create a logical connection between the Goals and rights and capacities of self-determination. Furthermore, the Goals should logically provide a framework for contesting those political values and policy positions that constrain self-determination. However, the two government members of the committee dissented from its report because, in their views, Australia had already fully implemented the Goals. So effectively, they argued that Australia provides the best international benchmark for assessing other states’ implementation (Parliament of Australia, 2019). From this perspective, there is no rationale for questioning contemporary priorities. Prevailing philosophical presumptions need not be critiqued and there is no policy setting that indigenous people might reasonably want to contest. On the other hand, might the Goals’ philosophical presumptions require responding to the UN Special Rapporteur on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (2017), who observed that Australian public policies do not duly respect the rights to self-determination and effective participation; contribute to the failure to deliver on the [Closing the Gap] targets in the areas of health, education and employment; and fuel the escalating and critical incarceration and child removal rates of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islanders. (p. 1)

From this perspective, the United Nations Association of Australia (2019) was wrong to tell the committee that ‘only the branding name of the SDGs is new for Australia’ (pp. 4–5). The International Women’s Development Agency (2019) was similarly wrong to submit that the Goals are consistent with Australian values because they support principles of cooperation, a fair go, gender equality and being a good neighbour. Determining how these might, in truth, constitute national values means that their relationship with specific policy measures must be examined. A framework might then be established for evaluating Australia’s first Voluntary National Review to the UN High-level Political Forum on Sustainable Development. The National Review, in 2018, remarked that: The Goals reflect things that Australians value highly and seek to protect, like a clean and safe environment, access to opportunity and services, human rights, strong and accessible institutions, inclusive economies, diverse and supportive communities and our Aboriginal and Torres Strait

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Islander cultures and heritage. Our support for political, economic, social and religious freedoms is underpinned by our commitment to promote liberal democracy, the rule of law and the rules-based international order. (Australian Government, 2018, p. 6)

On behalf of the government, the Minister for International Development and the Pacific told the Inquiry that ‘because the SDGs are so consistent with our national values, many of the priorities we are pursuing form part and parcel of the Australian Government’s agenda both here and abroad’ (Australian Government, 2018, p. 7). The two government senators extended this argument by suggesting the government’s commitment to overseas aid as an example of the relationship between national values and the Goals. They proposed health, education, agriculture, water, the environment, the economy and gender equality policies as further examples (Australian Government, 2018, p. 55). However, the question of whether the Goals are being ‘implemented’ is one of philosophical judgement as much as empirical objectivity. Is it, for example, an overstatement of their case for the government senators to ‘firmly contend that Australia as the most free, democratic and prosperous nation in the world should be considered as the gold-standard in terms of all the Goals’ (Australian Government, 2018, p. 155)? The government senators viewed the Goals as aspirationally noteworthy, but not to the extent that they should interfere with other priorities. The Goals should not fundamentally change policy directions in areas like indigenous self-determination, poverty reduction or environmental protection. The key political question was how to translate aspirations that are only conditionally accepted into substantive policy measures. But also, how to translate these aspirations into enduring and underlying policy presumptions able to enhance the power of selfdetermination. Instead, the right to self-determination as it is set out in the Declaration, and given effect through a liberal theory of indigeneity, provides a coherent set of values that position indigenous peoples to determine if and how the Goals may support their broader political aspirations. There is a strong connection between values and policy outcomes, but one needs to be able to define those values and distinguish them from policy-making processes grounded in exclusion. The UN Special Rapporteur on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (2017) argues that, from its well thought out philosophical disposition, Australia rejects policies consistent with what one might reasonably call an

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international ‘gold-standard’ in the rights of indigenous peoples. Alternatively, as the Institute for Human Security and Social Change at La Trobe University (2019) argued, Australia could if it wished, refer to the Goals to establish a different international reputation for itself. how issues of immigration, refugee and indigenous rights, trade treaties and climate change are treated domestically effect in important ways the soft power, legitimacy and influence Australia takes into its international relations and its voice in fora such as ASEAN and the United Nations. (p. 2)

7.3 Canada: Human Rights Rhetoric and Racist Public Policy Like Australia’s, the Voluntary National Reviews for Canada (2018) and New Zealand (2019) show that indigenous peoples are yet to see if the Goals are beneficial. Their addition to self-determination’s existing possibilities and contribution to dismantling obstacles to its realisation are peripheral to prevailing policy practice. The Reviews show that in these societies there has not been a single moment of ‘profound institutional transformation’ (Strakosch, 2019, p. 114), but that indigenous peoples use policy to support incremental change and that tensions among policy, colonialism and self-determination exist simply because indigenous political communities ‘refuse to stop being themselves’ (Simpson, 2014, p. 2). The Canadian Review (Government of Canada, 2018) noted Canada’s particular commitment to ‘leaving no one behind’ (p. 2). Indeed, a federal minister has been appointed to support Canada’s implementation of the Goals. This appointment is unparalleled in Australia or New Zealand and is supported by a seven-member Cabinet committee which includes the ministers of Crown-Indigenous Relations and Northern Affairs and Indigenous Services. The responsibilities of the committee’s remaining five ministers provides an insight into Canada’s understanding of the possibilities and scope for coordination across government, and into the policy domains that it perceives as the most relevant to the Goals. These ministers are responsible for International Development and La Francophonie, Innovation, Science and Economic Development, Environment and Climate Change, the Status of Women, and Employment, Workforce Development and Labour (Government of Canada, 2018).

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Canada says that its ‘effort to advance the rights of Indigenous peoples are rooted in the UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples: to promote and protect Indigenous rights, to create prosperity and to foster sustainable development’ (Government of Canada, 2018, p. 12). Though in truth there was a significant philosophical distance between, for example, Canada’s view of the right to free, prior and informed consent and the rights of children in state care and the Review’s rhetorical assertion that: The Government of Canada believes strongly that Indigenous peoples have the right to participate in the decisions that affect them at all levels: before, throughout and after the development of policies, programs and projects. That is why Canada advocates for meaningful inclusion and enhanced participation of Indigenous peoples in multilateral, regional and national organizations and processes. (Government of Canada, 2018, p. 12)

The Review argued that Canada is especially committed to First Nations’ participation in policy development related to clean water, housing and child and family services. It also claimed a commitment to sustainable public funding for First Nations’ communities. Canada explained that it proposed to take ‘concrete actions to reduce poverty, advance gender equality in the empowerment of women and girls, narrow the socio-economic gaps that exist between different groups, foster inclusion and celebrate diversity’ (p. 2). The Review also explained that the government has disestablished the Department of Indigenous and Northern Affairs Canada because it was a ‘colonial structure’ inconsistent with Canada’s contemporary philosophical presumptions. The Review reflects at least a rhetorical rejection of the colonial values implicit in the Prime Minister Stephen Harper’s remark in 2006: ‘I know it’s unfashionable to refer to colonialism in anything other than negative terms. And certainly, no part of the world is unscarred by the excesses of empires. But in the Canadian context, the actions of the British Empire were largely benign and occasionally brilliant’ (Harper, 2006). The Prime Minister Justin Trudeau spoke from the same perspective in 2013: ‘there are places around the world where, because of our history, where we can intervene, where we can be present on the ground in a much more helpful and constructive way than other countries with Imperialist or colonial baggage’ (Trudeau, 2013). Also, in 2013, the Canadian government’s strategy of denial was evident in the Speech from the Throne to open the

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new parliamentary session. The political strategy appeared to be to create an illusion of terra nullius akin to that which was used to rationalise the initial occupation of Australia from 1788: we draw inspiration from our founders, leaders of courage and audacity. Nearly 150 years ago, they looked beyond narrow self-interest. They faced down incredible challenges – geographic, military and economic. They were undaunted. They dared to seize the moment that history offered. Pioneers, then few in number, reached across a vast continent. They forged an independent country where none would otherwise have existed. (Parliament of Canada, 2013, para. 15)

This was a politics of erasure. A denial of indigenous presence, and an explanation for Midzain-Gobin and Smith’s (2020) argument that creating a myth of Canada as a non-colonial power is possible through a ‘specific framing of domestic sovereignty’ (p. 479). The construction of sovereignty as an oppressive authority allows the colonial project to continue, evolve and develop new forms of dispossession. These dismissals of colonial history preclude considering the colonial present and are not supported by the historical record, most recently and prominently set out by the national Truth and Reconciliation Commission, which made 94 potentially transformative policy recommendations in favour of a non-colonial present (Government of Canada, 2015). Despite their struggles to come to terms with their colonial past and acknowledge their colonial present, it would not be instructive for Australia or New Zealand to look for policy lessons on the assumption that Canada is unmarked by ‘imperialist or colonial baggage’ (Trudeau, 2013). It is, in fact, the myth of the modern settler state as postcolonial that allows colonialism to reproduce itself through the illusion of inclusion. An illusion recently interrupted by the stories exposed by the National Inquiry into Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women and Girls (2019), contemporary examples of racism in health care (PhillipsBeck et al., 2020) and child protection (Blackstock et al., 2020) and the failure of the Trudeau Government’s nation-to-nation view of selfdetermination, which Lightfoot (2018) summarises as part of: ‘a troubling gap between Trudeau’s vision and rhetoric and the policy realities on the ground, creating an unnecessary risk to Canada’s human rights reputation and leadership in the international community’ (p. 165).

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From different foundational values, the 2018 Voluntary National Review explained that the new Department of Indigenous Services Canada ‘aims to… Facilitate a path to self-determination for all Indigenous peoples, allowing them to control service delivery for their respective peoples’ (Government of Canada, 2018, p. 11). The new Department of Crown-Indigenous Relations and Northern Affairs has the restitutive purpose of ‘helping Indigenous peoples to rebuild and reconstitute their nations’ and building capacity ‘that supports implementation of their vision of self-determination’ (Government of Canada, 2018, p. 11). There is, however, a strong disregard for indigenous people in the remark that: ‘Canada firmly believes that promoting gender equality and empowering women and girls is the most effective way’ to ‘eradicate poverty and build a more peaceful, more inclusive and more prosperous world’ (Government of Canada, 2018, p. 2). As a group, 12% of Canadian women live in poverty (Statistics Canada—Women in Canada: A Genderbased Statistical Report, seventh edition, 2018, p. 133), while for First Nations’ people the figure is 25% (The Borgen Project, 2013). There is an order of priority consistent with the Trudeau Government’s established approach to indigenous self-determination, which persists even though Canada reversed its opposition to the Declaration in 2016 and as Canada acknowledged colonialism as a factor contributing to relative indigenous poverty (Government of Canada, 2018), ironically also arguing that its contributions to poverty elimination elsewhere are grounded in ‘targeting the root causes of poverty: inequality and exclusion’ (Government of Canada, 2018, p. 17). Indeed, inconsistency is a distinguishing feature of Canadian indigenous policy, with its 2018 National Review acknowledging that: ‘Social exclusion based on racism, lack of equity in funding, disproportionate presence in the justice system and food insecurity in remote communities are some of the key issues affecting indigenous peoples that speak to persistent gaps and meeting their needs through Canada’s social protection system’ (Government of Canada, 2018, p. 19). There may well be gaps in meeting indigenous needs through the national social protection system. However, these failures of distributive justice are not the principal causes of poverty. Indeed, as the Review noted, poverty reduction involves ‘recognizing the unique experience of poverty among Indigenous people, supporting autonomy and empowerment’ (Government of Canada, 2018, p. 23). But on the other hand, the Review’s focus on policy development ‘with and for indigenous people’

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(Government of Canada, 2018, p. 23) does not admit indigenous policy leadership as both a matter of justice and a likely determinant of effective outcomes. The Canadian Review, like Australia’s and to a lesser extent New Zealand’s, shows that while there is isolated attention to the Goals in these jurisdictions, policy is not routinely developed from the coherent and integrated perspective that the Goals imagine. They draw out policy possibilities, though not definite policy commitments. The Government of Canada (2018) argued that the Goals provide ‘Canada and the world with a historic opportunity to positively shape how societies of tomorrow grow and develop sustainably and inclusively to the shared benefit of all’ (p. 2). The Canadian Review (2018) also proposed ‘reconciliation with indigenous peoples’ (p. 11) as a requirement for the Goals’ implementation. The Review discussed the theme of ‘reconciliation with indigenous peoples’ over two-and-a-half pages, providing a noteworthy contrast with the Australian Review, which makes a small number of peripheral remarks but says nothing of significance about indigenous peoples. The Canadian Review (2018) recognised that it is because of colonialism that many indigenous people do not enjoy the same standard of living or quality of life as other citizens. It noted that the enduring consequences of the residential schools’ system, where children forcibly removed from their families were placed to alienate them from their families and cultures, is an important example of colonialism’s ongoing impact. As a response to colonialism, the Goals provide a context for thinking about reconciliation as an alternative paradigm, while the Declaration sets out the political authority that might enable indigenous peoples to pursue policy objectives consistent with the right to selfdetermination. However, the breadth of the policy expectations that the Goals establish may be beyond the scope of nation-to-nation relationships alone. They require attention to the spaces that indigenous people wish to assume within the Canadian state to help influence and develop those policy expectations. Space that from some perspectives is foreclosed by the Recognition and Implementation of Rights Framework that the Review (2018) suggested should instead ‘make the recognition and implementation of rights the basis for all relations between Indigenous peoples and the federal government’ (p. 11). The Framework is intended to ‘lay the foundation for real and lasting change on issues that matter most’ (Government of Canada, 2018, p. 4),

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and complement the ‘further steps’ that Canada is taking to bring its laws and policies into better alignment with the Declaration (Government of Canada, 2018, p. 4). However, the Assembly of First Nations (2018) argued that the Framework asserts a lesser body of political capacities by undermining treaties, which it says should be honoured as instruments of international law, and by undermining self-determination as an inherent right that predates contact with colonial powers. Specifically, the Assembly argued that the Framework undermines the ideal of nation-to-nation relationships by: i. Openly rejecting free, prior, and informed consent (FPIC) as a guiding principle of the relationship between the Crown and First Nations. This is made evident by Principles Respecting the Government of Canada’s Relationship with Indigenous Peoples (Ten Principles) document which states that the Crown will aim to secure FPIC. ii. Calling for the infringement of inherent and unextinguished rights and jurisdictions of First Nations. The Ten Principles document clearly states that infringement of Aboriginal rights will continue unabated in situations where Canadian courts find it “justified” or where it is found to be in the best interest of the nation. iii. Setting the parameters of First Nations inherent rights, Treaties and the international right of self-determination by enforcing the Canadian constitutional framework as the only vehicle to exercise our rights. (p. 2) From this perspective rights are limited, and rather than being inherent, they are recognised by the state’s benevolence. At the very least, good faith requires a serious attempt to address these tensions before presenting the Framework to the international community as a human rights instrument in favour of First Nations’ aspirations. How much capacity then exists within the liberal state for the more expansive self-determination that indigenous peoples seek? This question and its possible answers raise, again, the importance of political values—values of counter-colonial significance such as those implicit in the Declaration, which British Columbia and Canada, despite persistently overstating their commitment to indigenous rights, have passed legislation committing themselves to implement (discussed below).

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Self-determination is also supported by the opportunities available to people outside the state and outside the indigenous nation. Interestingly, for example, and unlike Australia and New Zealand, the Canadian Voluntary National Review referred to the relationship between ‘a stronger and more inclusive middle class’ and the distribution of the benefits of a strong national economy (Government of Canada, 2018, p. 9). Increasing the size of the indigenous middle class is a significant variable in raising indigenous people’s collective political influence. Financial security provides a foundation for participation and is associated with better health across generations. Establishing strong policy responses to the connection between indigenous prosperity and national economic growth is consequently important. It is also important to establish policy connections between SDG 8 (Decent Work Economic Growth) and the complexities of growth’s determinants for indigenous peoples, which juxtaposing the Goals with the Declaration may support.

7.4

Implementing the Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples: British Columbia

In 2019, British Columbia passed legislation committing the province to implementing the Declaration. The legislation requires the government to report regularly to the legislature and allow flexibility for British Columbia to make agreements with indigenous governments and provide a framework for decision-making. (Legislative Assembly of British Columbia, 2019). The contrast between this approach to self-determination and those which prevail in Australia and New Zealand is that British Columbia recognises First Nations as distinct and independent political entities. As such, they are formally recognised sites of political authority. It is from this status that British Columbia imagines that it will achieve its ‘overarching priority’ (O’Sullivan, 2019, First Nations voice, para. 3) of including First Nations in public decision-making. The province maintains that inclusion is especially important in relation to economic development and natural resource usage (Parliament of British Columbia, 2019). For the Canadian Association for Mineral Exploration, the law brings ‘clarity and certainty for investment in British Columbia’ (O’Sullivan, First Nations voice, para. 4), while for the Federal Minister of Indigenous Relations and Reconciliation the Act ‘is about ending discrimination and conflict—and instead ensuring more economic justice and fairness’ (O’Sullivan, 2019 First Nations voice, para. 5). The Assembly of First Nations’ regional chief

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proposed that the legislation is ‘about coming together as governments, as people seeking to find common ground’ (O’Sullivan, 2019, First Nations voice, para. 6). The International Work Group for Indigenous Affairs (2020) argued that the Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples Act 2019 ‘will be far-reaching, covering a range of policy areas including: Children and Families, Fisheries and Aquaculture, Agriculture and Ranching, Forestry, Environmental Assessment, Mining and more’ (p. 570). An annual report prepared in ‘consultation and co-operation with Indigenous Peoples’ will be presented to the provincial legislature (British Columbia, 2022, p. 29). The Action Plan contains 89 ‘specific actions’ covering four themes. These are: self-determination and inherent right to self-government, land title and rights of indigenous peoples, ending indigenous specific racism and discrimination, and social, cultural and economic well-being (British Columbia, 2022). The Plan is a comprehensive policy statement concerned with the distribution of public resources. For the most part, however, it is not concerned with the distribution of political authority. Its intended contribution to leaving nobody behind flows from a comprehensive interpretation of what it means for British Columbia to do justice to First Nations’ people, but a limited account of what it means for First Nations’ people to do justice to themselves. There are measures to support institutions of self-government, but the scope of their authority is unclear as policies akin to New Zealand’s partnership or Australia’s co-design are privileged. Nevertheless, potentially transformative opportunities arise from action 1.5, which proposes to: ‘Co-develop and implement new distinctions-based policy frameworks for resource revenue-sharing and other fiscal mechanisms with Indigenous Peoples’ (British Columbia, 2022). There are also measures to support First Nations’ leadership in education and health care which may help to lay the foundations for a substantive and enduring contribution to selfdetermination. On the other hand, the legislation is limited by its focus on state leadership and lack of clarity on what space it envisages for First Nations’ contributions to policy-making. It is similar to the Goals in this respect. The Goals do not, for example, make it explicit that indigenous contributions to their implementation requires political spaces for leadership and influence. It is not simply the Goals’ failure to reflect cultural values as Yap and Watene (2019) suggest, but also their failure to reflect culture and colonial context as lenses through which indigenous people

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may conceptualise leadership and determine the policy objectives that they wish to pursue. Canada passed legislation to follow British Columbia’s in 2021. The Government argued that its endorsement of the Declaration, in 2016, was ‘without qualification’ (Government of Canada, 2016, Building a Brighter Future. Building a Better Canada, para. 3). It explained that the Act’s purpose ‘is to affirm the Declaration as a universal, international, human rights instrument with application in Canadian law’ (Parliament of Canada, Bill C-15, 2021, para. 2). The Act requires the Government to: • take all measures necessary to ensure the laws of Canada are consistent with the Declaration • prepare and implement an action plan to achieve the Declaration’s objectives • table an annual report on progress to align the laws of Canada and the action plan. (Parliament of Canada, Bill C-15, 2021, para. 3) The Act provides for the action plan to include measures: • to address injustices, combat prejudices and eliminate all forms of violence and discrimination against Indigenous peoples, including elders, youth, children, persons with disabilities, women, men and gender-diverse and two-spirit persons • to promote mutual respect and understanding, as well as good relations, including through human rights education • related to the monitoring, oversight, follow up, course or remedy or other accountability with respect to the implementation of the Declaration. (Parliament of Canada, Bill C-15, 2021, para. 4) The first of the objectives above could be covered by general human rights legislation. It does not attend to the specific circumstances of indigeneity or colonisation and does not, for example, note culture and prior occupancy as contexts where discrimination against indigenous peoples may occur. Respect, understanding and good relations cannot be legislated, but are the product of political values. The third objective can only derive substance through specificity. Significantly, there is no mention of prior

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occupancy’s extant rights and what these might mean in practical and contemporary terms. Though in contrast, the commitment to ensure that all Canadian legislation is consistent with the Declaration is potentially transformative and, potentially, a significant contributor to Canada’s implementation of the Goals. The Assembly of First Nations (2020) noted that the Federal Bill contained ‘strong language affirming our inherent right to selfdetermination, highlights the urgent need to respect and promote our rights affirmed in Treaties’ (Assembly of First Nations, para. 3). In contrast, members of the Métis Nation in Saskatchewan (2020, www.met isnationsk.com) argued that the legislation lacks mechanisms to ensure that there is accountability to indigenous nations and to ensure that there is indigenous leadership in the legislation’s implementation. The Métis Nation—Saskatchewan argued that the legislation could be strengthened by clarifying the Declaration’s legal function and the national action plan. Significantly, it argued for the appointment of a third party to monitor and report on the national action plan (Métis Nation—Saskatchewan, 2020, www.metisnationsk.com). It was also critical of the government’s consultation process before introducing the legislation. Exclusion does, indeed, remain an expression of colonial power, and the legislation’s longterm significance depends on how the ideal of ensuring its consistency with other legislation is interpreted and implemented. Much will depend on judicial interpretation and Canada’s willingness to ensure that there is indigenous leadership in translating self-determination into practical public policy. These aspirations are not, however, routinely supported in Canadian public policy. Nor are they supported by the Trudeau Government’s struggle to reconcile its rhetorical interest in nation-to-nation relationships with the colonial aspirations evident in the discriminatory policy measures such as those mentioned earlier in this chapter. Its track record in indigenous affairs policy is not generally consistent with the rights and capacities of self-determination. Although the 2021 legislation does not in itself suggest a change in policy direction, it does provide a context and set a framework for transformational change if there is an associated political will. Implementing the Declaration requires clarity and certainty on the scope of its ‘free, prior and informed consent’ provisions (United Nations, 2007, article 32(2)). Rejecting ‘free, prior and informed consent’ is a rejection of equal property rights and the normative liberal insistence on the right to private property. Objections to free, prior and informed

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consent arise from a fundamentally unequal construction of citizenship, rationalised according to Locke’s (1887) theory of labour and on which Britain justified its initial colonisation of Australia, for example. Locke maintained that although individual freedom and choice in managing one’s affairs were essential liberal rights, they were not rights that belonged to everybody. There was, instead, a racially determined hierarchy of human worth providing that: God, when He gave the world in common to all mankind, commanded man also to labour, and the penury of his condition required it of him. God and his reason commanded him to subdue the earth—i.e. improve it for the benefit of life and therein lay out something upon it that was his own, his labour. He that, in obedience to this command of God, subdued, tilled, and sowed any part of it, thereby annexed to it something that was his property, which another had no title to, nor could without injury take from him. (p. 207)

A formal legislative definition that satisfies indigenous interpretations of free, prior and informed consent would provide a certain end to this argument and its legacy. It would also provide certainty to non-indigenous investors whose investment does in many instances make significant contributions to indigenous economic security. Canada’s Oil and Natural Gas Producers (2021) proposed that free, prior and informed consent be defined as: ‘A meaningful consultative process that aims to secure the consent of Indigenous peoples and provides Indigenous communities with a degree of participation and protection corresponding to the degree of impact on the exercise of Aboriginal and Treaty rights’ (p. 4). In contrast, the Canadian Assembly of First Nations has told the United Nations that it is not sufficient for states simply to attempt to secure consent, but that consent must in fact be granted. This is because: Free, prior and informed consent is an integral aspect and expression of Indigenous peoples’ inherent right of self-determination. It is a standard of rigorous human rights protection made necessary by the entrenched patterns of colonialism, racism and other forms of discrimination that have marginalized and dispossessed Indigenous peoples. (Littlechild, 2018, Assembly of First Nations Delivers Strong Statement to UN on Requirement of Free, Prior and Informed Consent, para. 2)

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Like Canada, Australia and New Zealand especially objected to the ‘free, prior and informed consent’ provision when voting against the Declaration in 2007. Although this provision is still not accepted, Australia for example determined in 2009 that it could accept the Declaration’s broader intent as ‘aspirational’. The Minister for Indigenous Affairs explained that it could establish a new relationship ‘between Indigenous and non-Indigenous Australians and move forward towards a new future’. However, that new future is perpetually compromised by the possibility of further land alienation. Australia has not considered implementing the Declaration. Previous governments had no inclination and the Albanese Government’s (2022–) immediate priority is the referendum to entrench a First Nations Voice to Parliament in the Commonwealth Constitution (see Chapter 6). New Zealand’s consideration of the Declaration has been obstructed by controversy as Opposition parties have argued that the government’s consideration has been shrouded in secrecy. While the Minister of M¯aori Development, Willie Jackson, has received a report on consultations with M¯aori citizens containing recommendations on how the Declaration could be implemented, he has declined to make the report public or present it to Cabinet. Jackson, a M¯aori list Member of Parliament, said that he did not support about 20% of the recommendations and that these would cause a public ‘uproar’ (Moir, 2022, para. 8). He indicated that a proposed M¯aori criminal justice system independent of that which applies to other citizens may have been one of the points of contention (Moir, 2022). Public debate on the Declaration has been distinguished by Opposition suggestions that the government’s plan involves diminishing the rights of other citizens (O’Sullivan, 2022). However, no supporting evidence has been presented and the publicly available report of the consultations with M¯aori citizens on an implementation plan mostly included measures to reflect tikanga M¯aori (M¯aori epistemologies) in the provision of public services such as health and education, and in the operation of the criminal justice system. The general principles of M¯aori authority over their own affairs and meaningful participation in government decision-making were advanced. While some people argued that these ambitions needed to be supported by constitutional transformation and this may have been a reference to the Matike Mai recommendations in favour of a bi-national state, argued against in Chapter 5, this was not explicit. The report does

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not make any points that would compromise the legitimate rights of nonM¯aori citizens (Charters, 2019). It does, however, express clear views on what just public institutions would look like. For example, a just education system would advance M¯aori knowledge, including language (a theme developed in Chapter 9), and a just health system (discussed in Chapter 8) would respond to culture and the colonial determinants of health, provide space for M¯aori leadership and reflect M¯aori needs and values. On the other hand, a common view of what a fair criminal justice system would look like, which may have been the point that concerned Jackson, was the ‘establishment of a true M¯aori justice system by M¯aori and for M¯aori based on tikanga that would run in parallel to the western model’ (Te Puni Kokiri, 2022, p. 21). An associated point of likely political contention was the idea that prisons be abolished and ‘replaced by a model more focused on restitution and healing’ (Te Puni Kokiri, 2022, p. 21). This latter argument is, however, for a system that could if people wished, be run as a single national entity concerned with citizens of all ethnicities. The report is otherwise interested only with a M¯aori right to be M¯aori as a foundational human right.

7.5 New Zealand’s Voluntary National Review to the UN High-Level Political Forum on Sustainable Development, 2019 In its Voluntary National Review (2019), New Zealand said it looks forward to the ‘delivery of the Goals’ (New Zealand Government, 2019, p. 9). Many of the Goals’ individual aspirations have long concerned New Zealand governments, and it is unclear that the 17 individual Goals introduce new ways of thinking into policy processes. The Review focussed on each goal as a distinct policy domain, but did not use them, as a whole, to foster an integrated policy framework. Nevertheless, New Zealand maintains that the Goals are an important foreign policy priority and should also influence domestic public policy. It explained the Treaty of Waitangi’s centrality to New Zealand’s view of the Goals. Today the distinct and special status of M¯aori as tangata whenua is of profound importance to New Zealand and fundamental to our identity as a nation. The treaty is recognised as a foundational document of New

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Zealand that has significant constitutional, historical and ongoing importance. It belongs to all New Zealanders and is a source of both individual and collective rights of M¯aori. (New Zealand Government, 2019, p. 7)

‘The Treaty of Waitangi is central to New Zealand’s constitutional arrangements and the government’s obligation of active partnership with M¯aori. This is vital to ensure that our society is inclusive and our institutions are legitimate and accountable’ (New Zealand Government, 2019, p. 109). Partnership is not, however, equipped to ensure legitimacy and accountability with respect to Te Tiriti’s promises of rangatiratanga (independent authority) on the one hand, and citizenship (active participation) on the other. As this book argues, partnership does not affirm the right to self-determination. Nevertheless, the Review explains that the Office of M¯aori-Crown Relations was established in 2018 ‘to increase government capability in engaging and partnering with M¯aori, with the intention of improving shared outcomes such as over-representation in the justice system’ (New Zealand Government, 2019, p. 111). The Review said that ‘partnership would support the Crown’s intention to build a forwardlooking relationship with M¯aori and shift away from the grievance-focused approach of the historical Treaty of Waitangi settlement process’ (p. 112). Justice and reconciliation suggest that the only way of moving away from grievance is to settle the grievance. What happens afterwards is related and important, but still a different part of the reconciliation process. In an important acknowledgement of the relationship between just outcomes and just institutional arrangements the Review argued that: ‘A strong relationship will help ensure that responsive, inclusive, participatory and representative decision-making occurs at all levels’ (New Zealand Government, 2019, p. 112). However, it is unreasonable to expect that the demands of justice will be met through this process if its scope is restricted to partnership in preference to leadership and active participation. From the Review’s perspective, a ‘strong relationship’ means ‘that in areas where M¯aori interests are significant, the Crown and M¯aori will partner to determine the issue and develop solutions together’ (New Zealand Government, 2019, p. 112). Independent bodies with the authority to make decisions are necessary to give substance, beyond biculturalism’s senior/junior partnership, to the Crown’s recognition that ‘it must honour its Treaty of Waitangi obligations and, in partnership with M¯aori, increase the well-being, community connection, health and educational outcomes of M¯aori’ (New

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Zealand Government, 2019, p. 112). However, the Review’s acknowledgement that New Zealand’s national M¯aori Education Strategy, Ka Hikitea, has not been ‘consistently implemented’ (New Zealand Government, 2019, p. 39) is one example of a policy conflict with this ambition. The Government’s solution is ‘better partnerships’ with M¯aori but not the M¯aori leadership that this book defends. In her forward to the Review, Prime Minister Jacinda Arden referred to the Living Standards Framework New Zealand is developing to measure progress towards the Goals. The Framework’s aim is to put ‘sustainable intergenerational well-being at the centre of policy-making and the management of their resources’ (New Zealand Government, 2019, p. 5). Ardern argued that the Framework ‘is innovative and measures and analyses the dynamics of well-being, as well as risk and resilience across a broad range of economic, social and environmental domains’ (New Zealand Government, 2019, p. 5). The Framework is supported by Indicators Aotearoa New Zealand, a statistical measurement tool that, from the Prime Minister’s perspective, ‘goes beyond traditional economic measures such as income and GDP and includes wellbeing and stainable development’ (New Zealand Government, 2019 p. 5). The Indicators are being developed but the themes that they will address are broadly consistent with the Goals and include, for example, land, health, ecosystems, economic standard of living, work, governance, climate, water and sanitation (Statistics New Zealand, 2022). According to Arden, the Goals ‘cannot be achieved by governments alone’ (New Zealand Government, 2019, p. 5). However, the contribution that M¯aori entities may make to achieving them, or what roles M¯aori ministers and Te Puni Kokiri, the Ministry of M¯aori Development are playing in New Zealand’s implementation, remains unclear. Te Puni Kokiri and the Office of Crown-M¯aori Relations are intended to support policy coherence as a general objective, but their effectiveness is relative to the power of other state sector agencies, their relative status within the bureaucracy, and the Goals’ relative priority vis-à-vis these agencies other responsibilities. This remains even as it is straightforward to align the Goals with common M¯aori understanding of self-determination. For indigenous peoples, colonial societies are founded on violence and are always and necessarily incapable of achieving indigenous trust and transparency. It was against this background that the New Zealand Review introduced its discussion of SDG 16 (Peace, Justice and Strong Institutions) with the obvious but important remark that: ‘We know that people,

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places and economies thrive when a country is free from violence and when trust and transparency are high’ (New Zealand Government, 2019, p. 109). SDG 16’s significance to self-determination is that it is antithetical to colonialism and presumes that political processes should proceed according to fundamentally different values. Colonialism is not a single act of aggression. It is an ongoing political system and set of values that the Goals contest. This is why exploring alignment between the Goals and the Declaration is a potentially transformative strategy. On the other hand, the Goals’ non-colonial presumptions and possibilities are, perhaps, part of what made them unattractive to Australia under the Coalition government, but which may inform the different policy direction that the Albanese Government (2022–) has foreshadowed (Albanese, 2022).

7.6

Conclusion

This chapter examined relationships between values and policy outcomes. The relationship was evident in the Australian Senate inquiry report which found that the Goals are consistent with national values, even though those values were not defined but by their omission, appeared to exclude the rights and aspirations of indigenous peoples. The absence of meaningful self-determination and paucity of policy measures to make people’s lives better provided no obstacle to some members of the committee proposing that Australia’s implementation of the Goals was so complete to provide an international benchmark to which the rest of the world should aspire. In Canada, legislation to implement the Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples provides significant state recognition of indigenous peoples’ distinctive presence. Acts of the Canadian and British Columbian parliaments show an interest in extending at least some conception of justice to indigenous people who are recognised as distinct political communities. However, these Acts of Parliament and British Columbia’s implementation Action Plan provide minimal scope for independent indigenous leadership and occur in a political environment that in many other historical and contemporary respects is hostile to the claims of self-determination. There is a significant dissonance between Canada’s self-congratulatory presentation of itself to the international community as a leader in human rights and the truth of the indigenous people’s location on the margins of Canadian public life. Meanwhile, the chapter shows New Zealand also presenting a view of itself to the world that

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lacks critical self-awareness and although that country’s recognition of the indigenous right to self-determination is usually more substantive than either Australia’s or Canada’s, with the previous chapter providing important examples of M¯aori influence in parliament and the executive, it is also true that New Zealand’s work on implementing the Declaration risks leaving M¯aori behind as the government works out how to respond to the empirically untested fear that the Declaration is injurious to the rights of non-M¯aori citizens. However, as the book’s remaining chapters show, the obstacles to self-determination that this chapter has raised are not always insurmountable. There are values informing many of the contributions to public debate holding that the recognition of culture, through a distinctive indigenous presence in public policy-making, can be transformative. They potentially bring hope to the ambition that the Goals may have some relevance to indigenous peoples.

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Blackstock, C., Bamblett, M., & Black, C. (2020). Indigenous ontology, international law and the application of the convention to the over-representation of indigenous children in out of home care in Canada and Australia. Child Abuse & Neglect, 110, 104587. British Columbia. (2022). Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples Act Action Plan 2022–2027. https://www2.gov.bc.ca/assets/gov/government/ ministries-organizations/ministries/indigenous-relations-reconciliation/declar ation_act_action_plan.pdf. Accessed 27 September 2022. Canada’s Oil and Natural Gas Producers. (2021). CAPP Submission to the Standing Committee on Indigenous and Northern Affairs Bill C-15: An Act respecting the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples. https://www.ourcommons.ca/Content/Committee/432/INAN/ Brief/BR11247217/br-external/CanadianAssociationOfPetroleumProduc ers-e.pdf. Accessed 27 September 2022. Charters, C., Kingdon-Bebb, K., Olsen, T., Ormsby, W., Owen, E., Pryor, J., Ruru, R., Solomon, N., & Williams, G. (2019). He Puapua: Report of the working group on a plan to realise the UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples in Aotearoa/New Zealand. Te Puni Kokiri. Government of Canada. (2015). Canada’s Residential Schools: The final report of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada. https://publications. gc.ca/site/eng/9.807830/publication.html. Accessed 12 August 2022. Government of Canada. (2018). Canada’s Implementation of the 2030 Agenda for Sustainable Development. https://sustainabledevelopment.un.org/con tent/documents/20312Canada_ENGLISH_18122_Canadas_Voluntary_Nat ional_ReviewENv7.pdf. Accessed 5 August 2022. Harper, S. (2006). In Ibbitson, J. Empire Strikes Back in Harper’s Rhetoric. The Globe and Mail. https://www.theglobeandmail.com/news/national/empirestrikes-back-in-harpers-rhetoric/article1106773/. Institute for Human Security and Social Change La Trobe University. (2019). Submission to the Senate Foreign Affairs, Defence and Trade Committee Inquiry into the United Nations Sustainable Development Goals (SDG). Canberra: Parliament of Australia. https://www.aph.gov.au/Parliamentary_B usiness/Committees/Senate/Foreign_Affairs_Defence_and_Trade/SDGs/ Submissions. Accessed 24 December 2020. International Women’s Development Agency. (2019). Submission to the Senate Foreign Affairs, Defence and Trade Committee Inquiry into the United Nations Sustainable Development Goals (SDG). https://www.aph.gov.au/ Parliamentary_Business/Committees/Senate/Foreign_Affairs_Defence_and_ Trade/SDGs/Submissions. Accessed 12 August 2022. International Work Group for Indigenous Affairs. (2020). The Indigenous World 2020. https://www.iwgia.org/en/aotearoa-new-zealand/3641-iw-2020-aot earoa-new-zealand.html. Accessed 6 August 2020.

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Legislative Assembly of British Columbia. (2019). Bill 41 – 2019 Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples Act. https://www.leg.bc.ca/parliamen tary-business/legislation-debates-proceedings/41st-parliament/4th-session/ bills/first-reading/gov41-1. Accessed 27 September 2022. Lightfoot, S. (2018). A Promise too Far? The Justin Trudeau government and Indigenous rights. Justin Trudeau and Canadian Foreign Policy (pp. 165– 185). Springer. Locke, J. (1887). Locke on civil government. George Routledge and Sons. Midzain-Gobin, L., & Smith, H. A. (2020). Debunking the myth of Canada as a non-colonial power. American Review of Canadian Studies, 50(4), 479–497. Moir, J. (2022). Jackson not ‘comfortable’ with co-governance draft. https:// www.newsroom.co.nz/jackson-not-comfortable-with-co-governance-draft. Accessed 20 August 2022. National Inquiry into Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women and Girls. (2019). Reclaiming power and place: The final report of the national inquiry into missing and murdered indigenous women and girls. https://www. mmiwg-ffada.ca/. Accessed 12 August 2022. New Zealand Government. (2019). He Waka Eke Noa towards a better future, together: New Zealand’s progress towards the SDGs - 2019. https://hlpf.un.org/sites/default/files/vnrs/2021/23333New_Zea land_Voluntary_National_Review_2019_Final.pdf. Accessed 5 August 2022. O’Sullivan, D. (2019). What NZ and Australia Can Learn from British Columbia’s Implementation of Indigenous Rights. https://theconversat ion.com/what-nz-and-australia-can-learn-from-british-columbias-implement ation-of-indigenous-rights-128221. Accessed 20 August 2022. O’Sullivan, D. (2022). Separatist or radically inclusive? What NZ’s He Puapua report really says about the Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples. The Conversation. https://theconversation.com/separatist-or-radically-inclus ive-what-nzs-he-puapua-report-really-says-about-the-declaration-on-the-rig hts-of-indigenous-peoples-163719. Accessed 27 September 2022. Parliament of Australia. (2019). Report of the Senate Foreign Affairs, Defence and Trade Committee Inquiry into the United Nations Sustainable Development Goals (SDG). Canberra: Parliament of Australia. https://www.aph. gov.au/Parliamentary_Business/Committees/Senate/Foreign_Affairs_Def ence_and_Trade/SDGs/Report. Accessed 12 August 2022. Parliament of Canada. (2013). Speech from the Throne to open the Second Session Forty First Parliament of Canada. https://lop.parl.ca/sites/ParlInfo/ default/en_CA/Parliament/throneSpeech/speech412. Accessed 12 August 2022. Parliament of Canada. (2021). An Act Respecting the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples. Retrieved from https://www.parl. ca/LegisInfo/en/bill/43-2/c-15

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Phillips-Beck, W., Eni, R., Lavoie, J. G., Avery Kinew, K., Kyoon Achan, G., & Katz, A. (2020). Confronting racism within the Canadian healthcare system: Systemic exclusion of first nations from quality and consistent care. International Journal of Environmental Research and Public Health, 17 (22), 8343. Simpson, A. (2014). Mohawk interruptus: Political life across the borders of settler states. Duke University Press. Statistics New Zealand (2022). Well-being Data for New Zealanders. https:// statisticsnz.shinyapps.io/wellbeingindicators/?page=alignment&subpage=ali gningcurrent. Accessed 21 October 2022. Strakosch, E. (2019). The technical is political: Settler colonialism and the Australian indigenous policy system. Australian Journal of Political Science, 54(1), 114–130. Te Puni Kokiri. (2022). United Nations Declaration on the rights of Indigenous Peoples: key themes from M¯aori targeted engagement Retrieved from https://www.tpk.govt.nz/docs/tpk-undrip-keythemesm%C4%81oritarg etedengagement-april2022v2.pdf The Borgen Project. (2013). Indigenous poverty in Canada. https://borgenpro ject.org/indigenous-poverty-in-canada/. Accessed 20 August 2022. The United Nations Association of Australia. (2019). Submission to the Senate Foreign Affairs, Defence and Trade Committee Inquiry into the United Nations Sustainable Development Goals (SDG). Canberra: Parliament of Australia. Trudeau, P. (2013). In Koring, P. Trudeau Makes his First Visit to Washington. The Globe and Mail. https://www.theglobeandmail.com/news/politics/tru deau-joins-madeleine-albright-julia-gillard-in-progressive-washington-panel/ article15054554/ United Nations. (2017). Report of the Special Rapporteur on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples on her Visit to Australia. New York: United Nations. https://documents-dds-ny.un.org/doc/UNDOC/GEN/ G17/234/24/PDF/G1723424.pdf?OpenElement. Accessed 24 December 2020. Yap, M.L.-M., & Watene, K. (2019). The Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs) and indigenous peoples: Another missed opportunity? Journal of Human Development and Capabilities, 20(4), 451–467.

CHAPTER 8

Self-Determination, Participation and Leadership

8.1

Introduction

Just institutions (SDG 16) do not occur by chance. They arise from the political values that people hold, and in the present context, they arise from the tension between colonialism and the effectiveness of indigenous people’s resistance. For example, in New Zealand, the Waitangi Tribunal (2019) found that ineffective health policy outcomes were the product of racism. Like the Tribunal, a parliamentary select committee report (New Zealand Parliament, 2020) also found that just responses were likely to be found in an independent M¯aori Health Authority. This Authority was established to ensure that M¯aori experts would make decisions about the allocation of contestable funds to M¯aori primary health service providers. The Authority, which the government established in 2022, is part of an incremental movement towards the greater presence of indigenous peoples’ epistemologies in the policy process, which is also gradually occurring in Australia. This chapter provides further examples from both jurisdictions. Subject to political will, the Whanau Ora Commissioning Agencies in New Zealand, and the revised National Agreement on Closing the Gap in Australia, may lay the foundation for significant departures from the more common practice of exclusion. The role of values in policy discourse, which was extensively discussed in the previous chapter, is drawn out through these and other examples. Firstly, with reference to the values and practices of state child care and © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2023 D. O’Sullivan, Indigeneity, Culture and the UN Sustainable Development Goals, Sustainable Development Goals Series, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-99-0581-2_8

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protection and the tensions that emerge from this policy domain as a site of colonial contest. Child care and protection is a site of such contest because it is also a site of sustained policy failure. The separation of children from their families is also a major source of cultural disruption as the state denies an indigenous nation’s right and responsibility for its children while showing its own incapacity to provide such care and protection. Secondly, policy evaluation is a constituent of a wider policy process that will conceal, understate, or expose these tensions and which proceeds after a value judgement has been made on whether and to what extent an indigenous people might be included. This chapter’s analysis of the contemporary Indigenous Evaluation Strategy in Australia shows that the strategy is significant because it presumes indigenous inclusion. It notes the potential for a Voice to Parliament to add to the evaluative process. However, it is the chapter’s detailed description of Critical Tiriti Analysis (CTA), an original methodology I developed with Came and McCreanor (Came et al., 2020) that shows policy evaluation’s transformative potential and depth of non-colonial possibility. Public agencies including the Auckland Regional Public Health Service, the Pharmacy and Nursing and Midwifery Councils, the Accident Compensation Corporation, the Ministry for the Environment and the Ministry of Justice are applying CTA to their work. Furthermore, the chapter draws out some of the ways in which Te Tiriti o Waitangi imagines just public institutions and how CTA’s general presumptions about how policy may be justly made could be transferable to other jurisdictions.

8.2

¯ The Maori Health Authority

New Zealand told the UN High-Level Political Forum on Sustainable Development that it was particularly concerned with ‘achieving equity; child well-being; mental health; and primary healthcare’. It argued that improvements in these areas required ‘a set of health system enhancements’ (New Zealand Government, 2019, p. 31), which may over time support Goal 3’s (Good Health and Well-being) intent to ‘ensure healthy lives and promote well-being for all at all ages’ (United Nations, 2015). Ideally, this goal would give effect to instruments like the Declaration of Alma-Ata (World Health Organization, 1978), which affirmed health as a human right. Goal 3 also recognises the World Health Organization’s view that good health is not only the absence of disease or infirmity, ‘but is a state of complete physical, mental and social well-being’ (World Health

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Organization, 1978, p. 1). The Declaration of Alma-Ata contextualises the policy implications of these internationally sanctioned understandings of good health: Indigenous peoples have the right, without discrimination, to the improvement of their economic and social conditions, including, inter alia, in the areas of education, employment, vocational training and retraining, housing, sanitation, health and social security. (World Health Organization, 1978, article 21 (1))

A national health system’s effectiveness may also be measured with reference to equity of outcomes. Wong et al., (2016, p. 1) argue that this requires policy-makers to ask: ‘What does an equitable health system look like?’ For example, universal health coverage means that all people have access to the services that they need (Wong et al., 2016). However, what this means in context for an indigenous people is a question occupying New Zealand policy-makers as they develop the independent M¯aori Health Authority that was established in 2022. In Australia, in 2009, a National Health and Hospitals Reform Commission established by the Rudd Government (2007–2010) recommended a similar entity: Services would be purchased from Aboriginal Community Controlled Health Services, mainstream primary health care services and hospitals, and other services. The authority would ensure that all purchased services meet set criteria including clinical standards, cultural appropriateness, appropriately trained workforce, data collection and performance reporting against identified targets such as the national Indigenous health equality targets. (National Health & Hospitals Reform Commission, 2009)

The recommendation was not accepted, but the Commission’s reasoning provides insight into what might be expected of a similar entity in New Zealand. The New Zealand Authority will be empowered to purchase primary healthcare services according to culturally informed M¯aori interpretations of need. The M¯aori ability to define need for themselves is significant because although New Zealand is meeting ‘a large number of Goal 3’s targets’ (New Zealand Government, 2019, p. 31), it is not meeting these equally well across population groups. M¯aori remain left behind with a life expectancy differential that is slowly decreasing but remains about 7.5 years less than that of other citizens (Statistics New Zealand, 2021).

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The question of what a public health system should aspire to achieve is not just a matter for clinical consideration but of moral philosophy: by keeping people close to normal functioning, healthcare preserves for people the ability to participate in the political, social, and economic life of their society. It sustains them as fully participating citizens – normal collaborators and competitors – in all spheres of social life. (Daniels, 2001, p. 3)

This argument is especially relevant in New Zealand where the Waitangi Tribunal (2019) has found that inequities in health outcomes are partly attributable to racism, which occurs at both the systemic level and in the personal prejudices of health workers. The Tribunal drew an explicit connection between the Crown’s failure to honour Te Tiriti o Waitangi and poor M¯aori health outcomes to show that New Zealand is ill-equipped to support SDG 3 through institutions that work justly for M¯aori citizens. The report’s two most significant recommendations are that the Crown and M¯aori claimants devise a methodology to determine the extent of the underfunding of M¯aori health service providers. The Tribunal found that underfunding was prevalent, a breach of the treaty and a contributor to relatively poor M¯aori health outcomes. One example, on which the Waitangi Tribunal made recommendations, was the different remuneration between nurses employed by District Health Boards and M¯aori health providers. The independent M¯aori Health Authority that the Tribunal recommended should, it said, become the main funder of M¯aori primary health services. Its members would be predominantly M¯aori and able to consider bids for contestable funding. Beyond the functions that were established for the Authority in 2021, it would also be useful to empower it to interpret M¯aori health needs with reference to M¯aori priorities in other policy domains. For example, relationships between access to land and natural resources and good health (see, for example, the relationship between land alienation and food insecurity discussed in Chapter 4). Also, relationships between effective education (SDG 4) and good health and relationships between M¯aori defined conceptions of good health and wellbeing (SDG 3) and the ability to maximise the benefits of work (SDG 8). M¯aori will ideally be at the centre of decisions about how the state should support M¯aori primary health care and will ideally be positioned

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to assess what works in M¯aori health and what does not for future funding decisions. The Authority, which exists at the intersection of Goals 3 and 16 (Peace, Justice and Strong Institutions), will ideally work as a public institution structured to allow indigenous people to ‘do justice’ to themselves. Consumer choice in access to primary health care, education and various social services are arguably basic liberal rights and expressions of the right to markets. In New Zealand, this assumption creates an alliance of common aspiration with the claim to self-determination. During the 1980s, for example, governments began to systematically devolve primary health and social service responsibilities to iwi authorities. But they did not, on the other hand, devolve capacities sufficient or proper to the expectations of rangatiratanga. In response, the Goals may provide an integrated context to support further closing of the gap between the policy rhetoric of an independent authority and its substantive realisation. Certainly, the Tribunal intended the Authority to become a just and strong public institution, consistent with SDG 16 and the right to self-determination. The participation of indigenous specialists in policy-making is important. Reasoned deliberation is a process that allows the voice of those specialists to be raised as a matter of course, rather than being raised as concessions to government partners or stakeholders. Entrenching bureaucratic space for indigenous leadership contributes to participatory parity (introduced in Chapter 5) and is an expression and strengthening of the capacities of citizenship, including the capacity to restrain state incursions into the domain of rangatiratanga. Participatory parity counters democratic exclusion as one of the political determinants of health. It positions M¯aori to lead responses to further political determinants such as racism, which the parliamentary select committee inquiry in 2020 found was a significant impediment to good health (New Zealand Parliament, 2020). Independent decision-making positions indigenous people as agents, rather than subjects, of public policy. Allowing people to determine their health priorities and to ensure that they are provided in a culturally preferred manner is consistent with the right to self-determination. Independent funding authorities should ensure that decisions about the services to be provided and by whom they will be provided are consistent with the capacities of self-determination. Independent decision-making means that cultural imperatives may be considered and that service

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providers would have the confidence of indigenous people with the appropriate professional and cultural expertise to make purchasing decisions. M¯aori decision-makers would presumably not approach M¯aori health providers with the prejudiced assumptions that the Tribunal found were common (Waitangi Tribunal, 2019). Nevertheless, the power to discontinue funding to providers that are inadequate, from a M¯aori judgement, is a significant power to influence service provision. In New Zealand, an Authority would satisfy the case for assured M¯aori participation that Came et al. (2020) set out in Critical Tiriti Analysis and which is explained later in this chapter.

8.3 Presence, Exclusion and Racism: The Care and Protection of Children The 2020 parliamentary select committee inquiry found that M¯aori opportunities for good health are compromised by systemic racism. It proposed that the agency, which has become the M¯aori Health Authority, would be accountable to parliament through its minister. However, direct accountability to M¯aori citizens would enhance its contribution to SDG 16 (Peace, Justice and Strong Institutions). For this to occur, executive expectations of how a policy should work must be clear and coincide with M¯aori expectations. Philosophical coherence requires that indigenous people are present at every point in the policy process. This is because participation, as well as representation, is important to what Maaka and Fleras (2005) call indigenising the bureaucracy—a process that includes ensuring indigenous epistemologies are present at every decisionmaking point. Such presence is increasingly, though not uniformly, the case in New Zealand. Their absence from the operation of the state’s child care and protection agency Oranga Tamariki provides a colonial counterpoint. Between 2015 and 2018, the number of M¯aori babies removed from their families by the state increased by 33%. In 2018, 102 babies were removed per 10,000 M¯aori births. The figure for the non-M¯aori population was 24 per 10,000 births (O’Sullivan, 2019). Independent reviews and inquiries have found that racism is a contributing explanatory variable, and compelling arguments have been made to show that the state’s insistence that it can serve M¯aori interests more effectively than M¯aori people is unfounded. This unfounded insistence leads to breaches of Te Tiriti o Waitangi, the Declaration and the Convention on the Rights

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of the Child (United Nations, 1989). Each of these instruments establishes that M¯aori children are the responsibility of M¯aori people. They are taonga and therefore the responsibility of rangatiratanga as Te Tiriti o Waitangi sets out. Institutional arrangements to put these presumptions into practice require that M¯aori people are involved not only in policy development but also in working out the values according to which public institutions operate. However, the Oranga Tamariki case shows a profound clash of values which M¯aori social workers’ presence, as street level bureaucrats, has not mitigated. The presence of M¯aori individuals is not necessarily the same as the presence of M¯aori epistemologies in professional practice. The role indigenous values play in public institutions is a constituent of their just operation (SDG 16). To this end, in 2022, the Minister for Children, who holds a M¯aori seat in parliament, announced ‘a new direction’ for the agency which would include significant M¯aori leadership (Davis, 2022, para. 8). For the minister, the new leadership grounded in substantive M¯aori presence may be consistent with the indigenous Australian lobby group Grandmothers Against Removals’ argument that: ‘states have a responsibility to actively undo the harm that they have perpetrated and continue to perpetrate’ (O’Sullivan, 2019, M¯aori experience is not unique, para. 2). In response, what recourse is there within the Goals to rationalise and develop measures of restitution; how might they help public policy to develop in indigenous people’s favour, because ‘sorry means you don’t do it again’ (Safi, 2014, para. 4)? In the Australian state of Victoria, half the people in youth detention facilities have spent time in the child protection system (McFarlane, 2017). Caring for children ineffectively is a determinant of adult criminal behaviour, yet in Canada, too, a disproportionate number of indigenous children are in state care—7.7% of Canada’s children under the age of 4 years are indigenous, yet they comprise 50% of those in state care. This has resulted in the First Nations Child and Family Caring Society of Canada proposing that the child care and protection system is ‘an agent of colonialism’ (Blackstock et al., 2006, p. 6). Child care and protection remains one of the more significant public policy sites where the state asserts its colonial intent and where indigenous peoples focus on their resistance. Indeed, in 1993, the Draft Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples offered protections against ‘the removal of indigenous children from their families and communities

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under any pretext’ (United Nations, 1993, article 6). States were opposed to the bluntness of this assertion, yet could not eliminate its intent, as the text of the final Declaration is clear: Indigenous peoples have the collective right to live in freedom, peace and security as distinct peoples and shall not be subjected to any act of genocide or any other act of violence, including forcibly removing children of the group to another group. (United Nations, 2007, article 7 (2))

8.4 Indigenising the State: Whanau Ora Commission Agencies The Declaration has been criticised for not embodying an indigenous claim to statehood (Engle, 2011), which would, for example, prevent the removal of children ‘under any pretext’. While the Declaration does not allow indigenous nations to secede from the colonial state, it does allow alternative forms of nationhood to emerge. It does so by recognising that sovereignty is widely dispersed and should be dispersed among indigenous entities outside the state (iwi for example) as well as inside it. New Zealand’s Whanau Ora Commissioning Agencies reflect an attempt at indigenising the state. They are not the sum of indigenous self-determination, but they are a step in its direction and arise from a foundation that differs philosophically from that which is evident in the working of Oranga Tamariki. Whanau Ora Commissioning Agencies are established to support integrated social service delivery. Their purpose is to respond to relationships among poor education, poor housing, low incomes, domestic violence and drug and alcohol misuse as determinants of, among other things, a compromised ability to care for one’s children. The Goals potentially provide a philosophical framework equipped to contribute to integrated policy development in these respects. Oranga Tamariki’s powers and responsibilities might, for example, be transferred to Whanau Ora Commissioning Agencies, which would then conclude agreements with iwi and other M¯aori entities to ensure that culturally legitimate and effective care and protection arrangements are established. On the other hand, such a transfer of responsibilities could be an inconsequential rearrangement of sovereign decision-making authority within the state which does not make the state a non-colonial entity. But it would strengthen M¯aori decision-making capacity, and therefore,

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the state’s capacity to support what culture and rangatiratanga suggest is most properly an iwi responsibility for the care and protection of M¯aori children. The presumption that M¯aori people should be able to use public institutions to protect Tiriti rights lays a foundation for transforming how public policy works. Furthermore, it is consistent with the indigenous Australian health research institute’s—the Lowitja Institute—argument concerning health policy that ‘strength-based approaches’ are most effective at improving indigenous health outcomes (Lowitja Institute, 2021, p. 4). The Institute’s framework for shifting health policy discourse from a deficit to strengths-based approach shares the Goals’ underlying focus on holistic and integrated public policy. It provides examples of how cultural imperatives could be drawn into the SDG health targets. This way, the targets could become explicitly attentive to indigenous people’s policy expectations. The Institute (2021) proposed that a strengths-based approach to well-being would reflect the following attributes: • Asset-based—utilises existing positive attributes, characteristics and resources of a person and/or community. • Resilience—the ability to withstand adverse circumstances through mental, emotional, social and spiritual strength. • Cultural appropriateness—the tailoring of programmes, resources and health care to privilege cultural aspects of Indigeneity. • Social determinants of health and ecological theories—structural factors or conditions that influence health and well-being. • Protective factors—non-physical and non-medical elements that counteract or mitigate the effects of adversity. • Empowerment—focusses on self-determination and abilities rather than limiting factors, such as poor physical health. • Holistic approaches—privilege indigenous ways of knowing and being. • Wellness and well-being—measuring health in a wider range of metrics than physical illness or disease, usually including mental, social, emotional, spiritual and communal wellness. • Strengths-based counselling approaches and positive psychology— prioritises capabilities, talents, competencies, hope, resources, optimism and autonomy of individuals and communities when remedying challenging circumstances.

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• Decolonisation methodology—a broad methodology proactively shifting the Western and European worldview to the indigenous. • Salutogenesis—focusses on assets and origins of health rather than the deficits of ill-health, to shift the pathologising paradigm. (p. 10) The Institute argued that in 2020, the COVID-19 infection rates among indigenous Australians were six times lower than that of the national population. This outcome was achieved despite significant co-morbidities making indigenous populations more susceptible to the disease. The Institute attributed this rare example of policy success to indigenous leadership and pandemic management strategies that were ‘collective, culturally appropriate and localised’ (p. 4). The Institute (2021) argued that the lower indigenous incidence of COVID-19 showed that: ‘When control is in our hands, when we can exercise autonomy, we succeed’ (p. 5). However, the Institute did concede that further evaluation of what worked and why would usefully inform further policy development. Robust evaluation does not ordinarily distinguish indigenous public policy (Australian National Audit Office, 2017). Its absence is among the political determinants of entrenched policy failure. Policy evaluation is, however, an essential constituent of a just political institution, necessary to inform future policy-making and affirm what works in indigenous policy. The Institute’s (2021) argument is not then a simple matter of making health policy work more effectively. It reflects the values that governments bring to questions of what they want to know about policy efficacy, and which policies they want to know about and which they do not. The Institute’s (2021) further recommendations show the integrated nature of indigenous health policy priorities and that there is at least a foundation for intellectual alignment with the Goals. For example, the report recommended increasing the indigenous health workforce and focussing on local solutions to local problems, strengthening indigenous peoples’ access to ‘place-based data’ to inform these solutions, introducing flexibility into the funding of indigenous public services and responding to the ‘climate emergency’ through supporting adaptation plans, community-based emergency management, housing infrastructure ‘particularly in remote communities, to manage extreme heat conditions and other extreme weather events due to the climate crisis to mitigate negative health effects’ (p. 7). The report also recommended strategies to assure food and water security, including, in regional and remote communities, ‘the rising cost of food, and the potential impact on food and

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pharmaceutical supplies due to a loss of flora and fauna’. It sought public support for indigenous cultural knowledge and argued that indigenous ‘land management and conservation practices are embedded into national climate change mitigation efforts’ (p. 7). The report argued for indigenous leadership in Australia’s response to climate change including its implementation of the Paris Agreement. Protection of environmental and heritage sites, with reference to their cultural significance and importance as cultural determinants of health, is supported alongside ‘community-led social and emotional wellbeing initiatives that address the social and cultural determinants of health’ (p. 8). The report argued that these determinants include ‘truthtelling and healing processes to strengthen the resilience of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people and youth and to stop the ongoing impacts of racism and intergenerational trauma’ and ensuring that all health services are ‘culturally safe’ which is, by implication, an important constituent of self-determination (p. 8). Whanau Ora devolves responsibility for funding social services to the M¯aori-led Whanau Ora Commissioning Agencies. It makes the whanau the centre of social service delivery and presumes that M¯aori people will develop measures to define and enhance well-being. Whanau Ora recognises a holistic relationship between collective and individual well-being. It combines egalitarian resource distribution with the idea that need is determined by whanau, not the state, and is thus responsive to culturally contextualised aspirations. For example, New Zealand’s Voluntary National Review to the High-Level Political Forum on Sustainable Development explained Whanau Ora’s centrality to poverty reduction. The Review described Whanau Ora as a community driven program designed to support a holistic approach to improving the well-being of M¯aori and all New Zealanders. The approach supports whanau to achieve their aspirations by placing them at the centre of decision-making and giving them greater control of the services they need. (New Zealand Government, 2019, p. 21)

Whanau Ora’s definition of well-being provides a sense of what selfdetermination may mean in practical terms—a state where whanau are: self-managing and empowered leaders; living healthy lifestyles;

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participating fully in society; participating confidently in Te Ao M¯aori (the M¯aori world); economically secure and successfully involved in wealth creation; cohesive, resilient and nurturing; and responsible stewards of their living and natural environments. (Te Puni Kokiri, 2016, p. 8)

Whanau Ora exemplifies the shift in policy language that Kawharu (2015) observed, where over the previous 10 years, a focus on ‘gaps’ and ‘disparities’ has diminished in favour of ‘more positive-centred language that is about realising potential’ (p. 47). Through its coordinated approach to social policy delivery, Whanau Ora reflects the Goals by providing an institutional framework for their further integration into public policy. Measures like Whanau Ora aim to strengthen M¯aori political institutions with decision-making authority and are intended to arrest cultural alienation. They recognise M¯aori as policy agents while also recognising that culture is a constituent of agency. People understand culture as helping to define well-being and it is partly in this context that the success of New Zealand’s Child Poverty Reduction Act 2018 should be evaluated. Progress towards its targets must be reported to parliament, and its overarching intent is to halve child poverty within 10 years (New Zealand Government, 2019). Progress, so far, is slow and based on egalitarian redistribution rather than a systemic and systematic focus on poverty’s structural and sometimes politically contextualised causes. Poverty constrains self-determination, but eliminating that constraint is not simply a matter of distributive justice. It is a matter of addressing the ways in which poverty diminishes political opportunities and is, indeed, potentially caused by unjust political arrangements. Although its services are government funded, Whanau Ora is the antithesis of government-led policy delivery. It responds to the government’s concession that: Government health and social services for M¯aori have not typically been designed to take a whanau centred approach, focusing instead on individuals and single-issue problems. As a result, delivery of services to whanau has often been fragmented, lacking integration and coordination across agencies and social service providers, and unable to address complexities where several problems coexist. (Te Puni Kokiri, 2015, p. 9)

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Whanau Ora’s conceptual foundation is clear and has been developed to provide significant changes to how services are delivered and the outcomes that they are expected to support. However, culture’s absence from the SDG targets is again drawn out when one considers Whanau Ora’s broadly focussed and integrated intended outcomes. The outcomes are: Wh¯anau are self-managing and empowered leaders More wh¯anau develop pathways to independence, including from government assistance and intervention in their wh¯anau life. Wh¯anau are knowledgeable about the capability that exists in their wh¯anau network, and begin to tap into it. Wh¯anau decision-making and planning is informed by timely access to personal information and data which is held about them by government or other agencies. Wh¯anau are aware of their interests in assets held in common and knowledgeable about their rights and responsibilities in regards to those assets. Wh¯anau are planning for emergencies, and taking appropriate action such as having insurance and plans for asset replacement. Wh¯anau are leading healthy lifestyles Increased number of wh¯anau are setting and achieving personal health goals for their physical, emotional, spiritual and mental well-being. Increased number of wh¯anau are improving their knowledge and practice in healthy eating and physical activity. Wh¯anau are managing chronic health conditions, including eczema, asthma and diabetes. And know when and how to access support to manage their conditions. Wh¯anau are participating fully in society Rangatahi M¯aori are achieving NCEA [senior secondary school National Certificate of Educational Attainment] level 2 as a minimum qualification and increasing numbers are achieving level 3. Increased number of tamariki and mokopuna are enrolled in and attending early childhood education. Increased number of wh¯anau entering tertiary education or other advanced areas of learning and leaving with qualifications. Increased number of wh¯anau exercising their right to vote in national and local council elections. Increased number of wh¯anau engaged in sport and/or clubs or other community groups, including kapa haka and waka ama. Wh¯anau are choosing the services they wish to access, on the basis of good information. Wh¯anau are confident to access services and advocate

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in their own right. Successfully rehabilitate and reintegrate wh¯anau who have had contact with the corrections system back into communities. (Te Puni Kokiri, 2016, p. 50)

Whanau Ora works with public agencies to integrate their support for whanau self-determination. It supports M¯aori health clinics, early childhood education, mental health and housing services, for example. It does so within M¯aori cultural contexts, contributing to the aspiration for just institutions, by ensuring a cultural connection between the service providing institution and the people it is established to serve. Its commissioning model is focussed on outcomes.

8.5 Reforming Public Policy: An Australian Example In contrast, exclusion has been considered and consistent in Australian public policy. In fact, in 2020, the Prime Minister acknowledged systematic exclusion as a significant factor explaining sustained policy failure. Despite the best of intentions; investments in new programs; and bipartisan goodwill, Closing the Gap has never really been a partnership with Indigenous people. We perpetuated an ingrained way of thinking, passed down over two centuries and more, and it was the belief that we knew better than our Indigenous peoples. We don’t. We also thought we understood their problems better than they did. We don’t. They live them. We must see the gap we wish to close, not from our viewpoint, but from the viewpoint of indigenous Australians before we can hope to close it, and make a real difference. And that is the change we are now making, together with indigenous Australians through this [National Agreement] process. (Morrison, 2020, paras. 23–28)

Pat Turner, the Chief Executive of the National Aboriginal Community Controlled Health Organisation, argued that the Prime Minister’s concession meant that: ‘For the first time… a genuine acknowledgement of why the Closing the Gap outcomes seem steeped in failure’ (Turner, 2019, para. 3). Exclusion was the national value that was to be contested in

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favour of a deliberative approach to policy-making. Yet, while shifts in rhetoric may be matched with changes in policy appearance, Strakosch (2019) shows that substantive change was not necessarily to be expected. Under the new National Agreement on Closing the Gap (Australian Government, 2020a), the Commonwealth, state and territory governments agreed to work with the Coalition of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Peak Organisations to develop and evaluate new policy measures across 16 domains. The Coalition of Peaks is a coalition of more than 80 indigenous community-controlled organisations that collaborate to influence public policy. The Agreement outlined four ‘priority reform areas for joint national action’ (Closing the Gap in Partnership, 2020a, p. 5). They are: ‘formal partnerships and shared decision-making’ (5), ‘building the communitycontrolled sector’ (8), ‘transforming government organisations’ (11) and ‘shared access to data at a regional level’ (13). The Agreement included measures to raise indigenous life expectancy and secure improvements in health and educational outcomes, employment, economic participation and community development, housing, reducing rates of imprisonment and domestic violence, the number of children placed under state care and advancing cultural and linguistic security (Closing the Gap in Partnership, 2020a). These objectives are broadly consistent with the Goals. For example, Goals 1 (No Poverty), 2 (Zero Hunger), 6 (Clean Water and Sanitation), 8 (Decent Work and Economic Growth), 10 (Reduced Inequality), 13 (Climate Action) and 15 (Life on Land). Alongside other policy measures, these Goals support and are supported, at least, by Goals 3 (Good Health and Well-being) and 4 (Quality Education). Although Turner (2019) spoke of the Agreement as a partnership, the negotiation process was, in fact, one of active participation. The ongoing political imperative is to entrench that participation. To this end, the Joint Council on Closing the Gap was the first institutionalised opportunity for indigenous leadership to set national policy targets. The Council includes 12 appointees of the Coalition of Peaks, Commonwealth, State and Territory ministers, and a representative of the Australian Local Government Association. Potentially, the Council provides the institutional arrangements and policy direction for an integrated and coordinated approach to policy-making that is consistent with the Goals. The Agreement reflected the Commonwealth Government’s view that, at least at a rhetorical level, it should set higher expectations for policy success. This expectation

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created an opportunity for the policy entrepreneurship that the Coalition of Peaks pursued. The priorities that the Agreement set out presume a philosophical change to public policy-making. For example, integration is required across policy domains and agencies, with special attention to indigenous civil society (e.g. Aboriginal Community Controlled Health Organisations) as a political space where self-determination might occur. These priorities provide an alternative and potentially transformative framework for policy evaluation. They also underlie the Productivity Commission’s Indigenous Evaluation Strategy. The Indigenous Evaluation Strategy (Australian Government, 2020b) is a ‘whole-of-government framework’ for government agencies to use in their policy evaluations. From the government’s perspective, its distinctive characteristic was that it ‘put Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people at its centre’ (p. 2). The Strategy claimed to support the shift in underlying philosophy informing the revised National Agreement on Closing the Gap (Australian Government, 2020a). One of the Strategy’s further assumptions was that cultural epistemologies are relevant to how policy goals and modes of implementation are perceived and how different policy objectives are prioritised (Commonwealth of Australia, 2020). However, in noting its ‘whole of government’ approach to the social and cultural determinants of health, the Strategy did not refer to health’s underlying political determinants. In emphasising inclusion, the Strategy acknowledged accountability as an important constituent of the evaluation process and the need for ‘incentives for agencies to improve the quality of evaluations’ (Commonwealth of Australia, 2020, p. 3). The Strategy’s reference to the right to self-determination reflected a significant development in the philosophical approach to indigenous public policy. Most significantly, for Australia, the Strategy referred to the Declaration as a guiding instrument. Establishing an Indigenous Evaluation Council to provide the Strategy with ‘leadership and oversight’ (Commonwealth of Australia, 2020, p. 3) is also a departure from exclusion as a normative policy practice. The Strategy claimed that accountability to the community is among evaluation’s purposes. To this end, it introduced mechanisms presuming that accountability to indigenous communities is a legitimate aspiration and expectation. In this respect, the Strategy reflected a significant evolution in public policy thought. It reflected an important philosophical step towards non-colonial political relationships to argue that evaluation’s

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purposes include building ‘trust in government’. Evaluation contributes to trust if it is used to make use of what is known about what works and if it includes the perspectives of people immediately affected by a policy decision (Commonwealth of Australia, 2020, p. 4). Progress towards self-determination requires systematic and structured attempts to develop what is already known about what works in indigenous public policy. The Strategy was developed because very little is, in fact, known about the impact of different policy measures and therefore about how policy could be more effective (Commonwealth Australia, 2020). The Strategy noted that evaluation is often an ‘afterthought’, not integrated into policy design and often asks the wrong questions, explicitly because indigenous people are not involved in developing the questions that should be asked (Commonwealth of Australia, 2020, p. 3). The Strategy gives an explicit account of why policy integration and coherence do not presently distinguish the Australian experience: there is currently no Australian Government-wide approach to priority setting for evaluations of policies and programs affecting Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people. And while policy makers agree that evidence is critical for good policies, many admit that in practice they do not rely heavily on evidence, or past experiences, when formulating or modifying policies and programs. (Commonwealth of Australia, 2020, p. 3)

Simply put, one cannot use evidence if it is not available in a form that is easily understood and when the broader policy environment may not suit the identification and replication of effective public policy. The National Agreement does reflect a new way of policy-making, but it is not secure and was inconsistent with the Morrison Government’s (2018–2022) broader philosophical objection to self-determination. The Agreement was an important but fragile development that may be purposefully built upon following the change in government in 2022. As Turner (2019) argued: ‘it is early days, and the months and years ahead will be testing times’ (Taking real control, para. 26). This is because: ‘Lasting change can only come when it is embedded in the culture of organisations and traditionally Australian governments are slow to adapt’ (Turner, 2019, Taking real control para. 29). It is nevertheless true, as Turner noted, that having an indigenous presence in the policy development process makes a difference. The 2020 Agreement was substantially different from earlier versions of the Closing the Gap policy. On the

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other hand, the indigenous presence is not guaranteed, and there was no broadly accepted moral precept in indigenous policy-making that indigenous policy should be responsive to indigenous needs, as indigenous people define them. As Turner (2019) argued, ‘the picture of reform is far from over’ (Taking real control, para. 33). The Voice, truth telling and treaties are, she argued, missing elements. These are, however, missing elements that the Albanese Government (2022–) has indicated it will address. The Strategy’s ‘overarching principle’ is radical and far-reaching: ‘Centring Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people, perspectives, priorities and knowledges’ (Commonwealth of Australia, 2020, p. 8). In other words, for the first time, there will be scope for indigenous people to determine what is important and why. An overarching principle supported by the ideal that evaluation should be ‘credible, useful, ethical and transparent’ (Commonwealth of Australia, 2020, p. 8). Principles provide frameworks for thinking about how policy efficacy may be judged. For example, a framework for rationalising the different kind of politics that is implicit in the Victorian Aboriginal Community Controlled Health Organisation’s (2019) argument that: In order to be effective, the evaluation strategy must honour and adopt Aboriginal perspectives and approaches to health, wellbeing and policy development.… Aboriginal communities are well positioned to inform policy changes as they are at the forefront of issues in their Communities. In order to achieve effective evaluation and long term outcomes, we must place Aboriginal People and leadership at the centre of an [Indigenous Evaluation Strategy]. (p. 11)

Nevertheless, the right to be involved could be interpreted as a necessary transitional step towards leadership. The Strategy assumes that government agencies will routinely consider the impacts of their policies on indigenous people (Commonwealth of Australia, 2020), and proposes that: ‘Evaluations are undertaken in the areas, and address the issues, that are most important to Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people’ (Commonwealth of Australia, 2020, p. 10). However, in its remark that indigenous people will only ‘have the opportunity to decide how they want to be involved in evaluations’ (Commonwealth of Australia, 2020, p. 10), the Strategy appears to assume that it will not be indigenous people who lead and develop these evaluations.

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The separation of indigenous citizens from policy leadership is also implicit in the observation that evaluation should ‘answer the questions that policy-makers and Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people want answered’ (Commonwealth of Australia, 2020, p. 12) as though the policy-maker and the Aboriginal or Torres Strait Islander person could not be the same citizen. A different set of possibilities is, however, noted in the suggestion that credibility is more likely when indigenous people and organisations are ‘engaged, partner or lead in the interpretation of findings’ (Commonwealth of Australia, 2020, p. 12). On the surface, the Strategy does no more than state the obvious about the purposes that evaluation should serve and the processes it should follow. However, it makes these observations in the context of colonialism’s long, deliberate and systematic exclusion of indigenous people and values from policy consideration. The Strategy does not prescribe specific evaluation techniques or models, but it does insist that the chosen approaches: – are rigorous and fit for purpose – answer the questions that policy-makers and Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people want answered – suit the context in which the policy or programme is operating, the size and importance of the policy or programme, and the time frame and resources available for evaluation. (Commonwealth of Australia, 2020, p. 12) The Strategy shows that participation at the parliamentary and executive levels of government is important and that, conversely, the absence of appropriate people and perspectives from the evaluative process contributes to policy failure. As a matter of accountability, it is important that evaluations are published for independent indigenous scrutiny. A constitutionally entrenched Voice to Parliament could play a particular and public role in such scrutiny. It could thus contribute to indigenous people’s confidence in public policy’s capacity to work in their favour. Indeed, the Strategy says that indigenous people are entitled to confidence that evaluation works, implying that policy should be developed to serve indigenous citizens as much as it serves anybody else. Indigenous people are not, then, the policy subjects of an oppressive state in the ways that Strakosch (2019) described.

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As well as political will, institutional capacity may be an obstacle to effective evaluation, which has not traditionally been a priority because, as Strakosch (2019) showed, policy’s purpose has been to secure indigenous subjecthood. Its contemporary alignment with self-determination is recent, contested and insecure. Nevertheless, the Strategy brings substance to the policy rhetoric established by the revised Closing the Gap targets in 2020, by introducing an alternative discourse into public policy-making. It may help to advance institutional values supportive of indigenous agency as an Australian value. Effective evaluation presupposes people can say what they want policy to achieve. Agreement on the deliberative processes allowing this to occur remains elusive. Meaningful evaluation cannot usefully be incorporated into public agencies’ ‘core business’ as the Strategy proposes, until broader institutional cultures and purposes are developed in ways that indigenous citizens find useful and defensible. Yet, the Strategy proposes that evaluation is the responsibility of the agency developing and implementing a policy. On the other hand, as a mark of evaluation’s potential influence across the Commonwealth public sector, an Office of Indigenous Policy Evaluation is to be established to provide ‘centralised leadership, support, coordination and oversight’ (Commonwealth of Australia, 2020, p. 20). The Office will be supported by an Indigenous Evaluation Council, whose membership will be indigenous. This is a significant proposal because it presumes substantive indigenous participation at the highest decision-making point, where significant oversight of the entire Commonwealth public sector may occur. The Office and Council are intended to monitor and coordinate whole of government priorities (Commonwealth of Australia, 2020). Transparent policy processes help to achieve accountability. This means that policy should be developed in obvious ways for indigenous citizens. A policy process shrouded in mystery is detached from the people and arguably not intended to serve their interests. In the interests of accountability to indigenous citizens, the Strategy recommended that the Office and the Council publish regular reports, which must be independent (Commonwealth of Australia, 2020). In the interests of independence, the Strategy recommended that the Office is located in an independent statutory authority.

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Policy Evaluation: Critical Tiriti Analysis

The policies and programmes that have the ‘greatest impact’ on people’s lives are the ones that should be evaluated (Commonwealth of Australia, 2020, p. 11). Evaluations should consider not just the policy’s substantive content but the processes of its development and implementation, or as the Strategy put it: ‘how agencies are working with Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people’ (Commonwealth Australia, 2020, p. 11). However, it is a significant philosophical development for the Strategy to insist that ‘evaluation reports describe how Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people engaged, partnered or led during the evaluation process’ (Commonwealth of Australia, 2020, p. 11). This process is paralleled and central to the New Zealand Critical Tiriti Analysis (Came et al., 2020) policy evaluation method, which may be transferable and adaptable for Australian, Canadian, and other contexts. CTA was oringinally developed for health policy evaluation but may, in fact, be applied across policy domains. CTA’s purpose is to evaluate a policy’s consistency with Te Tiriti o Waiatangi. It presumes that integrating Te Tiriti rights of citizenship and rangatiratanga and the Crown’s obligation to provide good government is both just and a contributor to more effective public policy. More effective because the policy will have been developed by M¯aori people, with reference to M¯aori epistemologies and with reference to M¯aori determined expectations of what policy should achieve. CTA proposes that policy analysis should follow a five-step process. This process, which we set out in our development of CTA, is cited here in full to show the depth of Te Tiriti’s policy relevance. Its depth of relevance shows how significant an omission it was for the Goals to frame indigenous peoples as peoples of limited needs and aspirations and without the right of substantive influence over policy development. CTA, in contrast, is a statement of ambition. It embodies principles that may be adaptable and transferable to other jurisdictions and describes potential characteristics of justly functioning public institutions. CTA is a five-phase process, drawing on Te Tiriti’s Preamble, three articles (A1, A2 and A3) and the British Crown’s oral commitment to protect wairuatanga (spiritual beliefs) and religious freedom, given at Te Tiriti’s signing:

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Phase 1—Orientation We propose a first reading of a public policy, using the broad objectives below, to establish if, how, and why, it makes reference to Te Tiriti o Waitangi, the Treaty of Waitangi and/or the Treaty principles. The first reading asks whether the policy: • Addresses M¯aori health [or other public policy] as a Crown responsibility, in ways that M¯aori prefer. For example, with reference to language, cultural epistemologies and stated health priorities. (Preamble, A1, Wairuatanga) • Reflects rangatiratanga, M¯aori citizenship and health equity. (A2 and 3) The absence of references to Te Tiriti, the Treaty of Waitangi and/or the Treaty principles would be read as inattention to M¯aori perspectives and priorities and thereby a breach of Crown obligations. Phase 2—Close Examination A second reading seeks evidence of engagement with all the elements of Te Tiriti. Preamble. In relation to the Preamble, discerning how Tiriti commitments are represented is critical. Health policy should make it explicit that M¯aori are rangatira and citizens, not minority ethnic stakeholders. M¯aori are entitled to equal and distinctive political capabilities and one should ask how M¯aori values and expectations have informed the policy’s development. Is the policy supported by a strong M¯aori evidence base? Kawanatanga. M¯aori engagement in policy development should be visible throughout. M¯aori and/or iwi providers and M¯aori practitioners and scholars have particular cultural expertise they can bring to policymaking. The governance structures of M¯aori health providers often include local hapu and iwi representatives to ensure accountability to communities. Rangatiratanga. Ideally rangatiratanga is embedded into policy development and reflected in structural mechanisms to incorporate diverse M¯aori realities (Durie, 2001). This could include meaningful and expert M¯aori involvement in policy drafting, advisory committees and the participation of kuia and koroua (respected M¯aori elders). M¯aori scholarship should be evident in policy content, for example, in document reference lists. Assessing a document from this perspective is a simple and transparent way of identifying the depth of a policy’s engagement with M¯aori thought and expectations. Policy writers and decision-makers ought to be familiar with M¯aori health scholarship including material found in M¯aori oral traditions. Public investment in

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M¯aori providers and kaupapa M¯aori health programmes can be an indicator of Crown acceptance of tino rangatiratanga in public policy, since it facilitates local decision-making that is by and for M¯aori. Ratima et al. (2015) argue M¯aori control and autonomy are determinants of successful health outcomes. In this respect, it is also significant that clinical evaluations consistently show that culturally tailored interventions are more effective for M¯aori than generic approaches (see Chino & De Bruyn, 2006; Ramsden & Erihe, 1988). A barrier to tino rangatiratanga is the normalisation of institutional racism within the health system (Came & Tudor, 2017). Institutional racism is a pattern of differential access to material resources, social legitimation and political power that disadvantages M¯aori, while advantaging others (Came, 2014). For example, the disproportionate auditing of M¯aori Health providers (Came et al., 2017). Naming institutional racism is a key step towards eliminating its influence. The original He Korowai Oranga (King & Turia, 2002) identifies institutional racism as a crucial determinant of M¯aori health, but the updated version has removed references to racism. Oritetanga. CTA leads policy-makers and policy systems to a position that where disparities exist, and pathways towards equity can be developed particularly through M¯aori defining policy intent. CTA considers both historic and contemporary determinants of health (Kiro, 2000; Robson, 2007) and explicit statements about how equitable outcomes will be achieved. Chin et al. (2018), in their recent review of health equity, argued that good intentions and ad hoc approaches will not result in the structural reorientation required to eliminate health inequities. They came to the conclusion that clear targets, commitment to key deliverables, sustained efforts towards M¯aori health workforce recruitment and retention were required. They confirmed that institutional and interpersonal racism in health service delivery also needs to be eliminated, as there is an explicit relationship between the values that policy-makers and health professionals bring to their work and its efficacy for some groups of people relative to others (O’Sullivan, 2015). Wairuatanga. Demonstrated policy recognition of M¯aori custom and wairuatanga may reflect whether M¯aori have distinctively influenced its development. It may also indicate the exercise of rangatiratanga in the policy development process. Wairua is a manifestation of custom, an expression of spirituality and a descriptor of psychological well-being. It is an example of what it means to receive health services as M¯aori.

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Wairuatanga articulates M¯aori expectations of the health system because ‘without a spiritual awareness and a mauri (spirit of vitality) an individual or collective cannot be healthy and is more prone to illness or misfortune’ (Durie, 1998). Durie’s (1998) te Whare Tapa Wha (four walls of the wharenui) health model represents interrelated dimensions of M¯aori health—hinengaro (mental health), wairua (spiritual health), whanau (family health) and tinana (physical health). These themes are widely repeated health policy (Mark & Lyons, 2010; Marsden, 2003; Ramsden & Erihe, 1988). Wairua is a complex set of physical and metaphysical relationships. It is a spiritual communion between human beings and the environment (Durie, 1985). It is one’s mauri, one’s life force or the very essence of one’s being. It may include karakia—prayer or incantation reflected in everyday cultural practice. It may entail connections to people, place and spirit (Barnes et al., 2017) and may be seen as an example of the World Health Organization’s (WHO, 1948) broad conception of health as ‘not merely’ the ‘absence of disease’. Phase 3—Determination Here, we propose a series of indicators of policy development, performance and evaluation that could be ranked on a Likert-type scale for each of the five CTA domains outlined above. Indicator 1 (Preamble)—Elements showing that Te Tiriti is central and M¯aori are equal or lead parties in the policy processes. Indicator 2 (A1)—Mechanisms to ensure equitable M¯aori participation and/or leadership in setting priorities, resourcing, implementing and evaluating the policy. Indicator 3 (A2)—Evidence of M¯aori values influencing and holding authority in the policy processes. Indicator 4 (A3)—Evidence of M¯aori exercising their citizenship as M¯aori in the policy. Indicator 5 (Wairuatanga)—Acknowledgement of the importance of wairua, rongoa and wellness in the policy.

Phase 4—Strengthening Practice The next phase of CTA is to consider how policy processes could be strengthened. CTA ought to critique robustly in respect of a policy’s positive and negative potential. It is important to identify examples of content and processes that give effect to te Tiriti so that successful approaches may

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be transferred across policy domains. Ideally, evaluation requires a longitudinal dimension that produces research-based knowledge on what works and where improvements could be targeted. This is important wherever a policy objective includes enhancing sustainable performance in social, cultural, environmental and economic domains. Ways of making public policy that are consistent with M¯aori expectations may thus be replicated and further contributions made to the indigenisation of the policy process. Indigenising the policy process recognises that policy is not an abstract phenomenon pursuing a neutral and always agreeable conception of the common good. Indigenising the policy process also recognises that policy reflects people’s relative political standing, trade-offs among different interests and perceptions of the role of the state vis-à-vis the individual in pursuing a good life. It balances different perspectives on the role of culture in public policy, the significance that should be attached to prior occupancy and to group rights vis-à-vis the rights of the individual. Policy is an inherently political process where influence can come only with the meaningful presence that CTA assumes as a just reflection of te Tiriti, and also because: ...the only ground for a claim that a policy or decision is just is that it has been arrived at by a public which has truly promoted the free expression of all. (Young, 1989, p. 263)

Phase 5—M¯ aori Final Word Undertaking a CTA requires long-standing, robust, critically and culturally informed engagement with the diversity of M¯aori policy thought and aspirations. M¯aori leadership, engagement, critique or peer review are inherent to holistic CTA which encourages M¯aori to assert authority and validate the CTA (Came et al., 2020, pp. 7–10).

Te Tiriti is not a panacea for the resolution of policy failure, but its presumptions about where, how, by whom and for whom policy decisions are made mean that it provides a framework for contesting presumptions of M¯aori as the Crown’s junior partner in a subservient relationship. If the treaties being contemplated in Australia make equivalent assumptions, they would potentially contribute to a redistribution of power and authority within Australian policy systems. They would also potentially restore authority over their own affairs to indigenous nations in a meaningful and transformative fashion. CTA may be instructive as these possibilities are considered.

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8.7

Conclusion

This chapter has shown that just public institutions do not occur by chance. They are the product of considered political choices and an expression of the values that people hold about the extent to which indigenous people are agents of the public institutions and systems that influence their lives. Alternatively, the extent to which they are beyond the political as subjects of a state to which they are subservient. In Australia, Canada and New Zealand, the care and protection of children at risk remains a site where the state aggressively asserts itself as a colonial force. Yet, the M¯aori Health Authority and Whanau Ora Commissioning Agencies in New Zealand and the revised National Agreement on Closing the Gap and Indigenous Evaluation Strategy in Australia show that there are important examples of philosophical inconsistency in state policy-making and opportunities for indigenous leadership in the creation of just public institutions (SDG 16). The chapter has also shown how the character and purpose that are assigned to policy evaluation measures may strengthen such opportunities. Critical Tiriti Analysis was presented to illustrate this point and show the extent to which evaluation may be a constituent of justice. It was also presented to show the depth of non-colonial possibility within Te Tiriti o Waitangi and that CTA’s general presumptions may be transferable and adaptable to other jurisdictions. In continuing the theme of political values and their contribution to just institutions, the chapter provides a foundation for the following chapter’s consideration of culture as an important, though missing, variable, in SDG 4’s (Quality Education) potential contribution to education as a policy domain that helps ensure that indigenous people are not left behind.

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Ratima, M., Durie, M., & Hond, R. (2015). Maori health promotion: Promoting health in Aotearoa New Zealand. Otago University Press. Robson, B. (2007) Economic determinants of Maori health and disparities. In: Bargh M (ed) Resistance: An Indigenous Response to Neoliberalism. Wellington, New Zealand: Huia, pp. 45–61. Safi, M. (2014). Sorry day rallies call for changes to state child-protection regimes. The Guardian. https://www.theguardian.com/world/2014/ may/26/sorry-day-rallies-call-for-changes-to-state-child-protection-regimes. Accessed 21 August 2022. Statistics New Zealand. (2021). Growth in life expectancy slows. https://www. stats.govt.nz/news/growth-in-life-expectancy-slows/. Accessed 20 August 2022. Strakosch, E. (2019). The technical is political: Settler colonialism and the Australian Indigenous policy system. Australian Journal of Political Science, 54(1), 114–130. Te Puni Kokiri. (2015). Understanding Wh¯anau-centred approaches: Analysis of phase one Wh¯anau Ora research and monitoring results. New Zealand Government. Te Puni Kokiri. (2016). Wh¯anau Ora Annual Summary Report: 1 July 2015– 30 June 2016. https://www.tpk.govt.nz/en/o-matou-mohiotanga/wha nau-ora/whanau-ora-annual-summary-report-1-july-2015-30-ju. Accessed 21 August 2022. Turner, P. (2019). ‘Closing the Gap’. Canberra: National Aboriginal Community Controlled Health Organisation. https://www.naccho.org.au/closingthe-gap-2019-opinion-piece-by-pat-turner/. Accessed 24 December 2020. United Nations. (1989). Convention on the rights of the child. https:// www.ohchr.org/en/instruments-mechanisms/instruments/convention-rig hts-child. Accessed 20 August 2022. United Nations. (1993). Draft United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples. United Nations. http://www.cwis.org/drft9329.html. Accessed 28 January 2001. United Nations. (2007). Declaration on the rights of indigenous peoples. United https://www.un.org/development/desa/indigenouspeoples/wpNations. content/uploads/sites/19/2018/11/UNDRIP_E_web.pdf. Accessed 5 August 2022. United Nations. (2015). Do you know all 17 SDG? https://sdgs.un.org/Goals. Accessed 5 August 2022. Victorian Aboriginal Community Controlled Health Organisation. (2019). Submission to the Productivity Commission Indigenous Evaluation Strategy project, sub. 44.

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Waitangi Tribunal. (2019). Hauora: Report on Stage One of the Health Services and Outcomes Kaupapa Inquiry. https://forms.justice.govt.nz/sea rch/Documents/WT/wt_DOC_152801817/Hauora%20W.pdf. Accessed 12 July 2020. Wong, Y., Allotey, P., & Reidpath, D. (2016). Sustainable development goals, universal health coverage and equity in health systems: The Orang Asli commons approach. Global Health, Epidemiology and Genomics, 1. WHO. (1948). Constitution. World Health Organization. World Health Organization. (1978). Declaration of Alma-Ata. World Health Organization. http://www.who.int/publications/almaata_declaration_en.pdf. Accessed 24 March 2014. Young, I. (1989). Polity and group difference: A critique of the ideal of universal citizenship. Ethics, 99(2), 250–274.

CHAPTER 9

Quality Education

9.1

Introduction

In 2019, New Zealand told the High-Level Political Forum on Sustainable Development’: ‘We want to shape an education system that delivers equitable and excellent outcomes’ (New Zealand Government, 2019, p. 37). However, the education system’s success is mixed (Bishop et al., 2010), especially for M¯aori citizens. Yet it is also true that alongside a long history of relative M¯aori underachievement in schooling (Bishop et al., 2009) and lower participation rates in higher education (Theodore et al., 2016), there are instances of success, just as there are in Australia. This chapter explains success with reference to Bishop and Glynn’s (1999) argument that culture counts and shows how culture’s presence is a counterpoint to the racism that distinguishes many people’s experiences of schooling. The principal educational vulnerability that needs to be addressed may arise from the way people are positioned in a system that long saw itself as an essential contributor to the colonial project. Racism may lead to the denial of culture as a construct through which people learn and through which people decide what they want to learn and how they want to learn. Thinking about vulnerability in this way raises the system’s alternative capacity to support self-determination and recognise that denying that racism occurs silences people and diminishes the truth of their experience (Bodkin-Andrews et al., 2021). © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2023 D. O’Sullivan, Indigeneity, Culture and the UN Sustainable Development Goals, Sustainable Development Goals Series, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-99-0581-2_9

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Public education’s potential as a site of transformation and cultural transmission competes with the state’s reluctance to relinquish colonial authority. There is a tension between the idea that M¯aori want to be able to go to school and achieve as M¯aori, as a broadly accepted statement of principle, and the comprehensive transformation that such a principle imagines and requires. The chapter also discusses equivalent tensions in Australia and shows how these tensions may be conceptually addressed with reference to the Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples. It also shows that there are practical responses available to teachers through their professional agency as street level bureaucrats (Lipskey, 1980) though, in short, Quality Education (SDG 4) remains a complex ambition. The expectation that public schools should help people acquire the knowledge, skills and values to live as indigenous occurs at politics and pedagogy’s intersection. The ways in which people are or are not left behind are demonstrated in the school as much as in any other public institution. The question of what makes the school a just institution is therefore a question of self-determination and preliminary to realising several other Goals to which quality education contributes. For example, SDG 1 (No Poverty), SDG 2 (Zero Hunger), SDG 3 (Good Health and Well-Being), SDG 5 (Gender Equality), SDG 8 (Decent Work and Economic Growth) and SDG 10 (Reduced Inequalities).

9.2

The School as a Site of Self-Determination

In lamenting the quality of school governance in the Northern Territory, Smith (2004) explained how poor education impedes self-determination which, in turn, makes it easier for colonial systems to prevail unchallenged. Grossly inadequate literacy and numeracy levels, and poor health, mean that Indigenous people will continue to remain reliant upon others for important aspects of their community management and decision-making. Poor outcomes in these will continue to substantially impede Indigenous aspirations for self-determination, meaningful participation and effective representation. (p. 14)

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Dependence on others is self-determination’s antithesis. Policies to foster dependence are important colonial strategies. Education for selfdetermination is therefore concerned not just with satisfying individual aspirations but with a collective ability to maintain independent nationhood alongside capacities of influence in public decision-making. These objectives are broadly consistent with New Zealand’s underlying egalitarian commitment to schooling working equally well for everybody. But the concept of equally well cannot be separated from people’s different expectations of schooling. There may, for example, be a M¯aori expectation that schools will help people learn how to live in a M¯aori world and allow them to achieve at school as M¯aori. These are essential points that the Goals do not address, but which are integral to the Declaration (see Article 14 discussed in the Introduction) and are matters of concern for indigenous policy leadership in both Australia and New Zealand. The school is not a culturally neutral institution. In New Zealand, the grounds for assuming that it should be an exclusively P¯akeh¯a institution are challenged by the presumption that M¯aori are entitled to construct and express their citizenship in ways that are consistent with their values and aspirations, and responsive to colonial experience. This entitlement reflects a cultural and philosophical ambition. The space that exists within public institutions for distinctive and culturally grounded citizenship is a matter of self-determination. It is a matter of the scope that exists for M¯aori people to live their public lives as M¯aori, and therefore a determinant of a public institution’s just character. Ultimately, education must hold purpose for the people it serves. Colonialism, however, depends on education not having a purpose that indigenous people find useful. So, it should not be a matter of surprise that the examples of success that this chapter explains are usually led by indigenous teachers, academics and communities; by people whose ambition is to extend the concept of quality education (SDG 4) to their own people in their own cultural contexts. Education therefore provides instructive case studies in the relationship between culture and indigenous leadership. It provides examples of how people perceive that they would not be left behind. It is then clear that whatever success New Zealand may claim in respect of quality education is not the product of a nonM¯aori state doing justice to M¯aori, as the Goals’ exclusive language might presume. The chapter shows that, in contrast, education provides examples of substantive M¯aori participation inside the state and at all levels of the policy process, most especially the school as the point of policy

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delivery, where teachers may exercise what Lipskey (1980) calls the street level bureaucrat’s professional discretion in favour of M¯aori aspirations and culturally contextualised views of what constitutes quality. On the other hand, although professional codes of ethics and legal and policy instruments do not allow for discrimination, the level of discretion that is open to schoolteachers creates significant scope for discrimination to occur. Professional discretion allows decisions to be made about whose education to privilege and whose to understate. Lipskey (1980) calls this the street level bureaucrat’s power to determine how policy is experienced in the classroom—the point of delivery. Discretion means that whatever the substantive content of a policy measure, its effectiveness and how indigenous citizens experience it are not just a matter of the teacher’s professional skill. Ineffective implementation is not necessarily the outcome of poor policy design or misguided intent. It may also be the outcome of inadequate knowledge and skills at the point of implementation and the outcome of street level bureaucrats’ political values conflicting with official policy intent (Lipskey, 1980). Individual agency is important, but there is also a collective agency that influences the operation of the school as a just institution. Agency forged among professional colleagues or between the school and the policy-maker, but also as this chapter shows, agency as the product of relationships between teachers and students and between teachers, families and M¯aori communities. Relationships with indigenous students, families and communities admit culture’s place in the classroom and as a framework through which people learn. Therefore, both complexities and possibilities may be drawn from Briassoulis’ (2005) observation that policy actors belong to diverse relational webs or networks, operate within opportunity spaces structured by higher-level forces and power relations, and interact among them and with the environment, developing relational bonds of various strengths and reach. As reflective beings, human agents are not passively shaped by but they actively shape their social institutions. (p. 51)

Creating spaces for agency is important, but it occurs in a context where colonialism’s considered purpose is to foreclose those spaces, and the process of reclamation is complicated, difficult and contested. For indigenous self-determination, agency is expressed in the strength and reach of these relational bonds. Political institutions and values that support

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maximising their strength and reach are especially important. Partnership and codesign must be transcended in favour of active participation, including high-level leadership in the executive and bureaucracy and the institutions of indigenous civil society. Policy delivery is not an abstract task. It is both intellectual and political and a contest of individual agency. ‘[P]olicy problems and policies are not things that just happen and policy instruments are not applied by themselves’ (Briassoulis, 2005, p. 52). They are the product of human values and human agency, which means that policy development is both a contest of ideas and over which person’s influence will carry the most weight. The Goals suggest policy targets to give effect to the human right to education. But that objective alone does not guarantee implementation. Nor does it give cultural context to implementation, which, as this chapter shows, may also be impeded by the state and therefore undermine its overall policy ‘focus on maximising students’ participation, progress and achievement, responding to the identity, language and culture within their family or whanau [family] context’ (New Zealand Government, 2019, p. 37). With reference to Article 14 of the Declaration, the school functions as a just institution when it is part of a system that ensures that decisions about what indigenous citizens learn, how, why and from whom are made by indigenous citizens—both private and professional. Decision-making occurs through active participation and influence in, for example, school governance, teaching, curriculum development, policymaking and administration. Justice and efficacy require certain, secure and enduring policy arrangements that are consistent with self-determination and, therefore, indigenous led. This ambition provides a conceptual foundation for thinking about how policy and pedagogy should be developed and for which purposes. The Goals may help to develop conceptual ground in this respect. For example, SDG 4’s targets (United Nations, 2015) include: By 2030, ensure that all girls and boys complete free, equitable and quality primary and secondary education leading to relevant and effective learning outcomes. (Target 4.1) By 2030, substantially increase the number of youth and adults who have relevant skills, including technical and vocational skills, for employment, decent jobs and entrepreneurship. (Target 4.4)

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Build and upgrade education facilities that are child, disability and gender sensitive and provide safe, non-violent, inclusive and effective learning environments for all. (Target 4.8)

However, SDG 4 also leaves important matters ill-considered and underdeveloped. As it was noted in the Introduction, Target 4.5 provides one of only two references to indigenous peoples in the 169 targets, with culture and the nature, structure and purposes of just educational institutions not considered. Attending to these omissions is important because the Declaration’s value as an instrument of self-determination depends on its implementation in ways that show that Asch (2019) is wrong to argue that it ‘ultimately legitimises the hegemony of a colonizing state’s power rather than liberation from it’ (p. 4). The revised Closing the Gap targets (see Chapter 8) take important steps beyond the Goals, but not necessarily in ways that emphasise relationships among indigenous leadership, participation and influence and effective outcomes. Four specific policy targets which are nevertheless concerned with agency over vulnerability and their intended outcomes are: Target 3: By 2025, increase the proportion of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander children enrolled in Year Before Full Time Schooling (YBFS) early childhood education to 95 per cent. Outcome: Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander children are engaged in high quality, culturally appropriate early childhood education in their early years. Target 4: By 2031, increase the proportion of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander children assessed as developmentally on track in all five domains of the Australian Early Development Census (AEDC) to 55 per cent. Outcome: Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander children thrive in their early years. Target 5: By 2031, increase the proportion of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people (age 20-24) attaining year 12 or equivalent qualification to 96 per cent. Outcome: Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander students achieve their full learning potential. Target 6: By 2031, increase the proportion of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people aged 25-34 years who have completed tertiary qualifications (Certificate III and above) to 70%.

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Outcome: Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander students reach their full potential through further education pathways. Target 7: By 2031, increase the proportion of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander youth (15-24 years) who are in employment, education or training to 67 per cent. Outcome: Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander youth are engaged and employment or education (Australian Government, Closing the Gap Targets and Outcomes, 2022).

Progress towards these targets is measured against baseline data collected in 2016. Progress towards Target 3 is high in all jurisdictions but the Northern Territory. Progress towards Target 4 is mixed across jurisdictions and going backwards in the Northern Territory, Western Australia and New South Wales. Progress towards Targets 5, 6 and 7 is yet to be measured (Australian Government, Closing the Gap Targets and Outcomes, 2022). Leadership, participation and influence require supportive deliberative arrangements. With schooling as an example, deliberation need not be confined to an assembly, parliament or executive. It may be structured into all levels of public decision-making. Deliberation takes time, but for indigenous peoples, political objectives are not constrained by the timeframes of democratic election cycles. Rather than being concerned only with an immediate policy question, deliberation’s purpose vis-à-vis indigenous self-determination may be to entrench alternative and non-colonial ways of making decisions. From this perspective, one might consider what it could mean to think about the school and its communities as part of a ‘deliberative system’ (Dryzek et al., 2019, p. 1146). Deliberative and democratic arrangements may be more conducive to expressing indigenous voices when democratic functions are distributed across different though interconnected settings (Mansbridge et al., 2012). For example, ‘a major improvement to the deliberative system would involve enhancing moments and sites of listening and reflection and integrating these into political processes’ (Dryzek et al., 2019, p. 1146). Ford’s (2020) examination of whanau [family and community]/school relationships shows how such M¯aori modes of influence may be structured into policy implementation. Bishop et al. (2010) explained the importance of these relationships at a theoretical level. Ford (2020), however, provided a detailed account of how they might develop in practice, what

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they might look like and how there might be a close connection between deliberative arrangements and the operation of a school, as an institution that is made just by the academic attainment that it fosters among M¯aori citizens. Ford (2020) described how these presumptions are expressed in practice in two New Zealand schools with significant M¯aori populations. She provided important examples of respectful, inclusive and meaningful public administration to support the argument that educational disparities may be contested when schools foster ‘respectful’ relationships with M¯aori communities (p. 2). She argued that effective relationships are ‘bidirectional’ (p. 2), which means that the school and community collaborate as sites of respectful deliberation. ‘These relationships enabled the [school] principals to understand the authentic local, pre-colonial iwi histories of the land. This in turn fostered connections between the schools and local M¯aori communities that enabled them to collaboratively respond to the implications of colonisation’ (p. 2). In particular, Ford (2020) found that this engagement process allowed the school to identify instances of injustice, as communities saw them, and respond in ways that were consistent with community expectations. These were, she argued, relationships of participation and potential (p. 227). While much of the regeneration of te ao M¯aori [the M¯aori world] is occurring within communities, school leaders who prioritise relationships with M¯aori communities can work with mana whenua [people of the land] to jointly create opportunities for these epistemologies and ontologies to be recognised, reclaimed and respectfully represented in their schools. These relationships however, are specific and are thus best described as cultural relationships because they are defined on the terms of mana whenua. (p. 236)

Ford (2020) showed how through active deliberation M¯aori families may reconfigure the purposes of schooling and set out what it means for the school to function justly. From this perspective, one sees culture’s centrality to SDG 4 (Quality Education) and the meaningful implementation of its targets. Ford demonstrated a M¯aori expectation for schools to serve as sites of cultural transmission. However, this transmission may only occur if M¯aori determine how that transmission is to take place, and the substantive content of the knowledge to be transmitted. The deliberative process

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that Ford (2020) described is not an abrogation of cultural responsibility to the state, but a statement of expectation of what schooling is for, and how schooling should not be isolated from the community. For example, it may be reasonable for a M¯aori community to expect some aspects of schooling to occur on the marae and under the marae’s leadership. The close relationships between schools and communities that Ford (2020) described provide a mutual reinforcement of the other’s legitimacy. However, historically, neither the school nor M¯aori communities have served mutually agreed purposes. M¯aori culture and values did not belong at school, which was an alien and destructive environment for many. On the other hand, the school’s capacity to transmit M¯aori knowledge, including language and to work in ways that presume that M¯aori may achieve as M¯aori, allow it to correct and compensate for the harm that was once its mandate to impose.

9.3

Culture and the School

The school’s contemporary function is not to separate people from their cultures. The New Zealand Education Review Office draws on M¯aori scholarship to determine the criteria it uses to evaluate schools’ effectiveness for M¯aori students (Education Review Office, 2016). The idea that schools should be effective for M¯aori reflects a significant evolution in educational thought. However, its acceptance by government and the teaching profession is conditional and does not on its own translate into practical policy or pedagogic outcomes. The relationship between policy intent and outcomes needs to be better understood in specific contexts. In Australia, Shultz (2020) put it bluntly: ‘For Aboriginal children in remote regions, there is conflicting evidence about the association between school attendance and educational outcomes because schooling does not consistently contribute to learning and educational outcomes’ (p. 11). Considerable policy thought must, then, be given to the nature of systemic failure. However, as Ford (2020) showed, there is a connection between deliberation at the familial, community, and street levels and policy outcomes. In this instance, Dryzek (2019) is correct: ‘Citizens willingly deliberate when the context is right’ (p. 1146). The context was culturally familiar and important to the people involved and the intended outcomes were matters of agreed concern. Deliberation was a distinguishing feature of the Te Kotahitanga Teacher Professional Development project (Bishop et al., 2010). Its

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description of what constitutes effective teaching for M¯aori citizens was worked out by asking M¯aori teenagers what, from their experiences, constitutes effective teaching. Their responses were analysed and interpreted to develop an Effective Teaching Profile. The Profile became the basis of a comprehensive and widely used teacher professional development programme, which indigenous scholars, teachers and policy actors in Australia (Stronger Smarter Institute, 2017, 2020), Canada (Kitchen et al., 2017) and Malaysia (Abdullah et al., 2013) have shown is transferable to their own contexts. Meanwhile, Bristowe et al. (2015) have shown its transferability to the university context in New Zealand where they demonstrate a series of important cultural determinants of student success. Fredericks et al. (2016) also show the importance of culture to indigenous success in higher education in Australia. The Effective Teaching Profile’s basic presumption is that M¯aori people must be free to be M¯aori at school. They must be able to achieve as M¯aori, which means that they expect schools to be sites of cultural transmission, not assimilation. It is a mark of meaningful and substantive citizenship when people go to school and find that they can say that this place belongs to us as much as it belongs to anybody else. The Profile’s six elements are: 1. Manaakitanga—teachers care for their students as culturally located human beings above all else. 2. Mana motuhake—teachers care for the performance of their students. 3. Nga whakapiringatanga—teachers are able to create a secure, wellmanaged learning environment. 4. Wananga—teachers are able to engage in effective teaching interactions with M¯aori students as M¯aori. 5. Ako—teachers can use strategies that promote effective teaching interactions and relationships with their learners. 6. Kotahitanga—teachers promote, monitor and reflect on outcomes that in turn lead to improvements in educational achievement for M¯aori students (Ministry of Education, 2022). The Effective Teaching Profile shows just how removed the SDG 4 (Quality Education) indicators are from M¯aori teenagers’ expectations

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of their schooling. However, the Profile does inform the additional indicators that are proposed in this book’s Conclusion. Bishop et al. (2010) found that the quality of relationships between teachers and M¯aori students as M¯aori was the primary determinant of educational achievement. Relationships between schools and their students’ families and hapu are also important. The emphasis that people attach to these relationships demonstrates the expectation that the school ought not serve an assimilationist purpose. Instead, the school becomes part of the community serving its expectations. The school should no longer be seen as foreign, as ‘their’ institution in a ‘them’ and ‘us’ binary. Bishop et al. (2010) argued, and the Effective Teaching Profile emphasised, that an essential component of the teacher-student relationship was high teacher expectations of M¯aori achievement. The purpose of schooling is not, as explained by the Director-General of Education in 1931, simply ‘to lead the lad to be a good farmer and the girl to be a good farmer’s wife’ [so that] …. They would then copy ‘the nuclear family of the P¯akeh¯a social order’ (Beeby, in Hill, 2004, p. 182). As the Aboriginal Consultative Group put it, in its own context in Australia, education’s purpose should not be constraining. It should be emancipatory. We see education as the most important strategy for achieving realistic self-determination for the Aboriginal people of Australia. We do not see education as a method of producing an anglicised Aborigine but rather as an instrument creating an informed community with intellectual and technological skills, and harmony with our own cultural values and identity. We wish to be Aboriginal citizens in a changing Australia. (Aboriginal Consultative Group, Education for Aborigines, 1975, pp. 3–5)

Similar ideals were expressed in 1999 in the Coolangatta Statement on Indigenous Peoples’ Rights in Education, a globally endorsed statement under the auspices of the World Conference of Indigenous Peoples in Education. This was a comprehensive statement of ambition which emphasised that ‘Indigenous peoples have the right to be indigenous. They cannot exist as images and reflections of a non-indigenous society’ and that ‘Indigenous education, as a medium for both personal development intellectual empowerment, is critical for the continuance in celebration of indigenous cultures’ (WIPCE Council, 1999).

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More recently, in 2014, and influenced by the Te Kotahitanga project, the indigenous Australian developed professional advocacy organisation, the Stronger Smarter Institute (2014) argued that ‘high expectations relationships’ provide ‘a foundation for quality learning environments’. Alongside a ‘positive sense of cultural identity’ and ‘embracing positive Indigenous leadership’, high expectations relationships provide the three pillars of the Institute’s Stronger Smarter Leadership Program (p. 1). These pillars are intended to counter the presumption that ‘some Indigenous people have been so heavily socialised by this deficit colonial gaze and they have come to accept negative stereotypes as part of their identity’ (Stronger Smarter Institute, 2014, p. 3). High-expectations relationships allow teachers to use their professional discretion to counter the education system’s original assimilationist intent, which ‘conditioned us to have low expectations of Indigenous students’ based on a discourse of indigenous ‘disadvantage’ juxtaposed against the state’s ‘discourse of progress and enlightenment’ (Stronger Smarter Institute, 2014, p. 3). This means that teaching pedagogies are not focussed on helping indigenous people to ‘catch up’ (Stronger Smarter Institute, 2014, p. 3), but led by indigenous people and grounded in indigenous ways of knowing and being. Institutions are not intrinsically just or unjust. They work according to the values and priorities of those who design and work in them. High teacher expectations may begin with a broad philosophical commitment, but as the Te Kotahitanga Effective Teaching Profile shows, translating them into sustained pedagogies is a complex task, requiring deep understanding of how to engage with children and young people in ways that make sense according to their own cultural values and experiences. Understanding what schooling is for from a community’s perspective is also important and was Ford’s (2020) overarching point. For schoolteachers, professional discretion (discussed above) is influenced by professional standards and codes of ethics. The Australian Professional Standards for Teachers make two explicit references to Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people. These refer to teaching strategies and understanding and respect to promote reconciliation. The Stronger Smarter Institute takes a more expansive approach to culturally cognisant professional practice. Its view of what would make the school a just institution requires ‘transformational change’ for students ‘as a different way of thinking about every aspect of the school’ (Stronger Smarter Institute, 2021, para. 4). This requires understanding that

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learning is a cultural and culturally contextualised process, and that effective teaching requires that the teacher helps people to learn as indigenous, and that culture is a determinant of well-being. If culture is not an artefact to be excluded from the classroom, the school loses its assimilationist purpose. This objective alone has the potential to transform teaching practices and institutional modes of operation in favour of indigenous self-determination. The policy measures established to support targets must be consistent with people’s expectations and aspirations. They must also be attentive to the causes of the policy problem they are trying to address. In Australia, increasing indigenous people’s attendance at school might be supposed to be a condition of leaving nobody behind. However, the relationship only becomes causal if the presumed value of school attendance is obvious and substantive—if, for example, attending school leads to meaningful learning. What schools teach, how, by whom and why are outcomes of complex relationships between pedagogy and politics, including the matter of whether a suitable teacher is present when people go to school. Australian secondary schools are commonly unable to attract subject specialists (Shah et al., 2022). This problem is acute in some indigenous communities. A better target may then be that all indigenous children and teenagers are guaranteed fully qualified teachers with appropriate culturally informed subject and pedagogic expertise. This target may be especially ambitious with respect to the New South Wales government’s introduction of an indigenous language syllabus in 2022. The syllabus is designed to support the revival and maintenance of 35 languages and 100 dialects. It will be implemented in association with local communities (Loomes, 2022). Nevertheless, such a target sets aside the deficit presumption that indigenous school achievement is poorer than that of other citizens because indigenous people are less likely to go to school. In its place, it is presumed that there is first and foremost a public obligation to provide schooling. Once this obligation is accepted, one may consider what ought to be schooling’s character. Whose aspirations should it serve, whose values should it transmit and by which processes should these decisions be made? What arrangements should be made to ensure that sufficient indigenous people are employed as schoolteachers and what capacities do they have to use their professional discretion to indigenous people’s

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benefit? What institutional arrangements are in place to ensure that education systems and, indeed, individual schools are publicly accountable to indigenous people for their efficacy? The Rudd Government’s (2007–2010) withdrawing support for bilingual schooling in the Northern Territory, when such schooling was the express indigenous wish, was an example of deliberative exclusion based on the colonial presumption of the state knowing what is best for indigenous people. It is unusual for indigenous people of Australia to be able to receive their schooling in their own language. From this foundation, schooling cannot be fully just and fully respectful of the right to culture. Nor can schooling admit that culture is a vehicle for the transmission of knowledge and for making sense of knowledge at a personal level. When this right is not available, schooling can acquire a foreign character and exclude people from new knowledge. In Australia, schooling in the English language provides access to knowledge beyond one’s own cultural experience and, if it is effective, provides a means of communication with the wider world. As English was once used to colonise, it may instead be used to emancipate. However, these benefits of schooling in the English language do not stand in competition with the benefits of learning in one’s own language and it is the task of a just system to ensure that the right to be indigenous and the right to the tools of participation in a wider world are not brought into conflict. As one elder put it to Liberman (1981): ‘Now we learn all this literacy, we win the country back’ (p. 141). The English language therefore represents a political paradox. It is, on the one hand, an essential instrument of colonial subjugation used to assert cultural superiority. On the other hand, the ability to speak, write and think in English is an ability of extraordinary counter-colonial significance. However, there was a tone of cultural superiority in the Education Minister’s remark that: ‘English is the language of further learning and English is the language of work, and if we want our kids growing up today right across the Northern Territory, right across the nation, to have a chance to do an undergraduate degree, a postgraduate degree, go out and get a good job, then people need to read and write English’ (Gillard, in Robinson, 2008). The presumption was that full participation in society, or the avoidance of being ‘left behind’ as the Goals conceptualise it, requires the uncritical setting aside of one’s culture. In these circumstances, the answer to the question of ‘whose knowledge counts’ (Savage et al., 2014, p. 89) is clear. It is not indigenous knowledge which,

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in turn, answers Sarra’s (2014) rhetorical question ‘who has the greater influence over the perception of who Aboriginal people are and how we behave’ (p. 79)? There is consequently no cultural context or foundation to the political capacities of indigenous people, which means that self-determination is elusive, and the Goals are incapable of helping improve indigenous lives. From this perspective, indigenous people belong on the political margins unless they are able and willing to adopt the language, customs, values and modes of expression of a culture that is not their own and to whose political domination they did not acquiesce. In contrast, and in response, just institutions require a deliberate non-colonial intent. The ultimate political questions are, to whom does the state belong, and to whom is accountability owed? These questions are asked from the perspective that it is now 37 years since Australia ratified the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (United Nations, 1966). The Covenant explicitly established the right to language as a fundamental human right to be protected alongside broader cultural and religious rights (Article 3). The freedom to speak one’s language is also the freedom to think from a distinct cultural perspective. Language rights are therefore constituents of the liberal right to freedom of thought and expression. Furthermore, Simpson (2020) argued that there is a right to receive information in a language that one understands, and it was in fact, the Whitlam Government (1972–1975) that introduced bilingual teaching programmes of various substance and quality. However, education’s value beyond its vocational significance to the individual is not necessarily a recognised, coherent and secure public policy goal. The sociological questions of whose interests education should and does serve do not receive the policy attention they might warrant, arising as they do at the point where the Goals intersect with the Declaration.

9.4

Indigenous Decision-Making

Educational underachievement is not resolved simply by the state becoming better at policy-making or by teachers becoming better at teaching. Indeed, in 2018, the Secretary of Education acknowledged that M¯aori underachievement was partly due to how teachers respond to M¯aori identity, language and culture (Ford, 2020).

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Strengthening spaces of independent indigenous decision-making and culturally respectful sites of deliberation is also important. The M¯aori Health Authority discussed in Chapter 8 is intended as an example as is the system of bilingual and kaupapa M¯aori [M¯aori epistemology] schooling. It has evolved over approximately the past 40 years. Both potentially foster political equality, in terms of the right to make decisions about how one participates in public life and respond to Te Tiriti o Waitangi’s presumptions of independent M¯aori authority and substantively equal culturally framed expressions of the rights and capacities of citizenship. State-funded schools operating according to M¯aori epistemologies are potentially an important illustration of meaningful M¯aori presence and membership of the state helping to disrupt the ‘them’ and ‘us’ binary that may otherwise pervade public administration. Yet, the presumption of the non-M¯aori state knowing best conflicts with this ideal, just as it does with respect to the care and protection of M¯aori children discussed in Chapter 8. For example, in 2013, the Key Government (2008–2016) established charter schools or kura hourua to encourage pedagogic innovation for the benefit of citizens not traditionally well served by the state. Citizens referred to by the Ministry of Education as ‘priority learners’ and including all M¯aori people of school age (Education Review Office, 2021). Kura hourua were state funded but privately owned. Innovation was to be encouraged through greater flexibility over teacher employment and curriculum than state-funded schools otherwise enjoy. Many of these schools served M¯aori people and the space that they created for greater M¯aori independence was important (Waitangi Tribunal, 2018). Their overall success was mixed, but on balance ‘priority learners’’ achievement was greater in these schools. While critics of the charter schools’ model may have been correct to argue that their real purpose was to support the privatisation of public schools, from the perspective of M¯aori selfdetermination, the private versus public debate was a distraction. It left unanswered important questions of the political space that M¯aori should enjoy for making decisions about their own education, in the way that the Declaration anticipates. However, at the 2017 general election, abolishing the charter schools was a key point in the Labour party’s campaign, even though the policy was not supported by some of its M¯aori candidates (Satherley, 2017). The party’s position relied on egalitarian ambition alone, not recognising

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that deficiencies in the system required specific policy responses and selfdetermination demands M¯aori leadership in developing and leading those responses. The Education Minister said: We think all M¯aori students, regardless of what school they go to, are entitled to a quality education, and M¯aori students shouldn’t be forced to leave the public education system and go to private schools in order to have the quality of education they deserve (Newshub, 2018).

From the minister’s viewpoint, the state was a solution to a M¯aori problem. In contrast, Curtis and Tawhiwhirangi (Waitangi Tribunal, 2018) put it to the Waitangi Tribunal that the government had not considered the Treaty of Waitangi in its decision-making and that it ‘has not stated how forcing M¯aori back into the state system will help to advance educational outcomes for M¯aori, rather than perpetuate the inequities currently suffered by M¯aori in state education’ (Fernandes & Redmond 2018, para. 7, in O’Sullivan, 2022, p. 9). The government overstated its case in the argument that charter schools were unnecessary because ‘Our devolved school governance system enables strong community ownership and decision-making’ (New Zealand Government, 2019). New Zealand’s public schools are selfgoverning, but they are required to teach a national curriculum and are publicly evaluated against uniform criteria, which is in some ways a systemic strength, but it does limit the flexibility that self-determination requires. This example showed, once again, the importance of who makes decisions, for whom and why, to the development of public policy that is respectful of indigenous expectations. The right to education in one’s own language and with reference to preferred epistemologies arises from the expectation that schools ought to be sites of transmission of indigenous cultures, and that indigenous people are entitled to determine what, in practice, that means. Targets are not always objective or rational, and when policy systems aspire to ‘quality education’ (SDG 4) they must be attentive to quality’s subjective and various definitions. Quality may only be defined with reference to an activity’s foundational purpose and like education itself, its characteristics and purposes may be culturally contextualised.

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9.5

Conclusion

This chapter shares indigenous actors’ presumptions that indigenous citizens ought to be able to go to school and learn and achieve as indigenous. It is reasonable for indigenous people to expect that schools serve their interests, and this chapter has provided examples of how this expectation is raised in New Zealand and Australia. Raised, especially, by indigenous professional, academic and community actors whose perceptions of what contributes to making the school a just institution are in some ways supported by the state, and in others sharply resisted. The chapter has shown that people’s expectations are not simply a matter of the state doing justice through the fair distribution of public resources, becoming better at policy-making or through teachers becoming better at teaching. Instead, a just education system provides scope for indigenous people to exercise leadership and participate with the expectation that their voices will hold influence. The examples provided in this chapter show the detailed ways in which influence may be exercised to suggest that indigenous ambition transcends the minimal attention that the Goals provide. The Goals’ meaningful contribution to indigenous aspirations would, therefore, benefit from intellectual alignment with the Declaration and the distinctive educational rights that it sets out. In addressing questions of the relationship between indigenous people and the school community, a broader concern about how policy is made, which recurs throughout this book, is also raised. How might the authority of normative indigenous deliberative processes be upheld in relation to their own affairs and how might these processes engage with and influence state decision-making systems? The changing ethnic make-up of the New Zealand Cabinet may, in time, provide an instructive case study at the highest level of government, but the question is also important at points of policy delivery.

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Shah, C., Richardson, P. W., Watt, H. M., & Rice, S. (2022). ‘Out-of-field’ teaching in mathematics: Australian evidence from PISA 2015. In Out-of-field teaching across teaching disciplines and contexts (pp. 71–96). Springer. Simpson, J. (2020). Self-determination with respect to language rights. In L. Rademaker & T. Rowse (Eds.), Indigenous self-determination in Australia: Histories and historiography (pp. 293–313). Australian National University. Smith, D. E. (2004). From Gove to governance: Reshaping indigenous governance in the Northern Territory. Centre for Aboriginal Economic Policy Research, ANU. Stronger Smarter Institute. (2014). High-expectations relationships: A foundation for quality learning environments in all Australian schools. https://strong ersmarter.com.au/wp-content/uploads/2020/07/SSI_position-Paper_HighExpectations-Relationships-2018.pdf. Accessed 22 August 2022. Stronger Smarter Institute. (2017). Implementing the Stronger Smarter Approach: A comprehensive reflection of the characteristics of a Stronger Smarter Approach in action. https://strongersmarter.com.au/wp-content/uploads/ 2020/08/PUB_Stronger-Smarter-Approach-2017_final-3.pdf. Accessed 21 August 2022. Stronger Smarter Institute. (2020). Stronger Smarter: A strength-based approach to Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander education. https://strongersmarter. com.au/wp-content/uploads/2020/08/PUB_strength-based-approaches_f inal_2020.pdf. Accessed 21 August 2022. Stronger Smarter Institute. (2021). Putting an Indigenous lens over the national standards for teachers. https://strongersmarter.com.au/putting-an-indige nous-lens-over-the-national-standards-for-teachers/. Accessed 21 August 2022. Theodore, R., Tustin, K., Kiro, C., Gollop, M., Taumoepeau, M., Taylor, N., et al. (2016). M¯aori University graduates: Indigenous participation in higher education. Higher Education Research & Development, 35(3), 604–618. United Nations. (1966). International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights. https://www.ohchr.org/en/instruments-mechanisms/instruments/ international-covenant-civil-and-political-rights. Accessed 6 August 2022. United Nations. (2015). Transforming our world: The 2030 agenda for sustainable development. https://sustainabledevelopment.un.org/content/docume nts/21252030%20Agenda%20for%20Sustainable%20Development%20web. pdf. Accessed 5 August 2022. Waitangi Tribunal. (2018). Statement of Claim in the matter of a claim called the Partnership School/Kura Hourua Claim by Sir Toby Curtis and Dame Iritatana Tawhiwhirangi for and on behalf of the claimants and M¯ aori generally. https://forms.justice.govt.nz/search/Documents/WT/wt_DOC_ 139924979/Wai%202770%2C%201.1.001.pdf. Accessed 11 July 2020.

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WIPCE Council. (1999). The Coolangatta statement on indigenous peoples’ rights in education. https://wipce.net/coolangatta/#page-content. Accessed 8 December 2022.

CHAPTER 10

Economic Growth

10.1

Introduction

In 2019, New Zealand’s Voluntary National Review to the UN HighLevel Political Forum on Sustainable Development acknowledged that ‘M¯aori are significant owners of land in primary sector assets and drivers of economic activity in New Zealand food production sectors’ (New Zealand Government, 2019, p. 29). M¯aori own 38% of the national fishing quota, and M¯aori businesses account for 30% of land production and 10% of dairy production (New Zealand Government, 2019). Unlike indigenous populations in Australia or Canada, M¯aori people and M¯aori wealth are too big to ignore (Westpac New Zealand, 2014). Nevertheless, it is true that recent developments in Canada and policy debates in Australia similarly recognise the importance of trade to indigenous economic growth and, therefore, indigenous involvement in trade policy development. The Goals presume that the purpose of economic growth is to support human well-being, which this book argues may only be understood with reference to cultural and colonial contexts. The chapter begins by explaining the significance, in this context, of the New Zealand government describing its budgets as well-being budgets—a practice it has followed since 2019. Well-being reinforces the idea that nobody should be left behind. This is an important argument in distributive justice, but this chapter’s concern is for the development of indigenous private enterprise as a constituent of economic growth. In this context, it discusses © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2023 D. O’Sullivan, Indigeneity, Culture and the UN Sustainable Development Goals, Sustainable Development Goals Series, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-99-0581-2_10

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M¯aori environmental interests and analyses recent developments in state procurement policy in Australia and New Zealand, which have been used with some success to develop indigenous private enterprise. The significance of free trade to indigenous well-being in New Zealand and Canada is also discussed to show that the scope of indigenous ambition and possibility is much greater than the Goals suppose. The chapter considers the cultural purposes of work and indigenous enterprise to give context to that ambition. It points out the unique economic opportunities that the relatively young indigenous age profile provides in many jurisdictions and refers to the Australian and New Zealand Voluntary National Reviews to the UN High-Level Political Forum on Sustainable Development to explain how each conceptualises indigenous economic growth. The chapter concludes by explaining how the Indigenous Peoples Economic and Trade Cooperation Arrangement, to which Australia, Canada and New Zealand are parties (Ministry of Foreign Affairs and Trade New Zealand, 2022a), rationalises the juxtaposition of the Goals with the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (United Nations, 2007) as a contribution to ensuring that indigenous peoples are not left behind.

10.2

Growth and Well-Being

The point of economic growth is to support well-being, which, as this book has argued, is a culturally contextualised aspiration. Since 2019, New Zealand has styled its annual budgets as Well-Being Budgets to bring this concept from the Goals explicitly into its highest level of public policy-making. The government explained that: ‘We are therefore taking a new approach. We are redefining what success looks like by putting the well-being of all New Zealanders at the centre of everything we do’ (New Zealand Government, 2019, p. 7). Whether this was simply a rhetorical styling or whether it represents a long-term philosophical turning point is a matter for ongoing observation. As is the matter of whether the record M¯aori membership of the government, since 2020, will foreshadow the growing influence of distinctive M¯aori accounts of well-being (see Chapter 7). Certainly, in 2019, the government allocated NZ $593 million to ‘targeted’ M¯aori investments, which it said was ‘simply unprecedented’ (O’Sullivan, 2019). There was, for example, significant new expenditure to support M¯aori education (Chapter 8) and Whanau Ora (Chapter 7). The associate Minister of Education said that

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additional funding for the Te Kotahitanga teacher professional development programme would ‘boost the capability of the education workforce to better support M¯aori achievement, and transform learning experiences of M¯aori’ (New Zealand Government, 2019). The Whanau Ora minister said that the additional appropriation to his portfolio would ‘support whanau to achieve their aspirations and…play a key role in local decisionmaking’ (New Zealand Government, 2019). Independent reviews had found that Whanau Ora’s integrated and culturally grounded approach to health and social service delivery was effective; noteworthy because although integration is an essential presumption of the Goals, culture is not. There is, however, a long and complex process from ministerial statements, which are partly philosophical and partly rhetorical, to policy implementation that meets these transformative ambitions. Indeed, as concurrent Waitangi Tribunal claims in respect of health (Chapter 7), education (Chapter 8) and the care and protection of children (Chapter 7) show, public appropriations are not the primary condition for M¯aori self-determination. The primary condition is a philosophical one. To what extent is the state willing to set aside its presumption of knowing what is best for M¯aori? What, for example, is the state willing to do to support independent economic opportunities as the ultimate contributor to reduced inequalities (SDG 10)? Public policy does make important concessions to the M¯aori presence, but it is not clear that policy-makers fully understand the full scope of M¯aori economic ambition, and how it is constrained. Prejudice and fear can obscure policy possibilities. For example, as the previous chapter discussed, the government has set limits on M¯aori independent educational aspirations, even as its own record is one of sustained failure. Yet, political equality, expressed through just institutions, is, for M¯aori children, a determinant of no poverty (SDG 1), zero hunger (SDG 2), good health and well-being (SDG 3), and ultimately decent work and economic growth (SDG 8). For M¯aori women and girls, these are also determinants of gender equality (SDG 5), and New Zealand’s response to this goal is, after all, that: ‘We want to achieve gender equality and empower all women and girls so they can contribute to any benefit from growing New Zealand’s prosperity’ (New Zealand Government, 2019, p. 43). However, as New Zealand’s 2019 Voluntary National Review acknowledged, the gender pay gap for M¯aori women is more significant than for other women (New Zealand Government, 2019). A distinctive strategy

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focussed on M¯aori women and attentive to relationships among health, education and labour market discrimination may come before being able to say that M¯aori women are not left behind. M¯aori women are also underrepresented on public and private sector boards and in public office, which means that access to political and commercial decision-making authority is unequally distributed. Low paid and unskilled work explains the disproportionate number of M¯aori women relying on more than one job to derive an income (New Zealand Government, 2019). The Goals provide an integrated framework for thinking about these policy relationships and for thinking about New Zealand’s approach to SDG 8 (Decent Work and Economic Growth) and its aspiration to: ‘Build a productive, sustainable and inclusive economy that delivers for everyone’ (New Zealand Government, 2019, p. 61). The ideal that nobody should be left behind economically counters exclusion as colonialism’s purpose. It is widely acknowledged that national prosperity depends on M¯aori prosperity (Westpac New Zealand, 2014). However, to translate this aspiration into public policy that directly improves people’s lives requires more robust and considered attention to M¯aori self-determination and its relationship with the determinants of economic growth. The Review did, however, accept that M¯aori material inequality should be addressed. It argued that: ‘The Crown-M¯aori Strategy for M¯aori Economic Development (He Kai Kei Aku Ringa Providing food by my own hands ) provides a blueprint for a productive, innovative and export-oriented M¯aori economy that will support better paying jobs and higher living standards’ (New Zealand Government, 2019, p. 73). Providing food by my own hands is an assertive and unmistakable statement of self-determination with the simple but far-reaching objective of ‘lifting per-capita income and improving export performance’ (M¯aori Economic Development Panel, 2012, p. 4). The New Zealand Review rejected wage restraint policies on the presumption that holding a job is not on its own sufficient to provide long-term prosperity. The aspiration for ‘decent work’ not just work per se presumes that the purpose of work is not just to satisfy immediate material needs, but that work should contribute more broadly to human dignity and social cohesion, including distinctive M¯aori cultural aspirations, which, as this chapter will show, is a distinctive priority for M¯aori business owners as it is for indigenous business owners in other jurisdictions.

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The New Zealand Review was especially concerned with raising the incomes of the bottom 20% of income earners. These workers are disproportionately M¯aori. Furthermore, 60% of M¯aori incomes are in the bottom 40% (New Zealand Government, 2019). This is partly due to low skill levels and labour market discrimination but also to the M¯aori age structure, which, like indigenous populations internationally, is distinguished by demographic profiles much younger than state averages. Forty-five per cent of the world’s 370 million indigenous people are aged between 15 and 30 years (International Work Group for Indigenous Affairs, 2021). This age profile does, however, create opportunities for what Jackson (2011) calls a demographic dividend of significant opportunity, provided there is concentrated policy focus on education (SDG 4) and broader policies for economic growth (SDG 8). The M¯aori age structure means that educational attainment will increase to some extent because M¯aori people are disproportionately of the age where qualifications are most commonly attained. Furthermore, incomes will rise simply as people get older and more experienced in the workforce. However, the connection between these opportunities and an economic dividend is not automatic. It is essential that M¯aori contribute proportionately as workers and income earners (Jackson, 2011). As this chapter argues, there are relationships between culture and the economic benefits of work and: ‘The importance of recognising and proactively investing in the dividend years for M¯aori in order to transform them to economic windfalls cannot be overemphasised’ (Jackson, 2011, p. 70). The same potential dividend is available in Australia and Canada, but neither are obviously successful at pursuing it.

10.3

Environmental Management

The M¯aori natural resource base is economically important. Its management alongside environmental imperatives makes it a policy domain to which the Goals could potentially make a distinctive contribution. New Zealand’s 2019 Review noted the government’s concern for ‘increasing M¯aori presence, capability and productivity in these [primary] sectors’ and acknowledges that the Treaty of Waitangi promises M¯aori a distinctive role in resource management (New Zealand Government, 2019, p. 25). The Review cited iwi-led initiatives to protect ecosystems and described the regulatory environment as internationally unique for its foundation

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in ‘participatory democracy’ (New Zealand Government, 2019, p. 49)— a deliberative process that could be aligned with SDG 16 and provide for meaningful M¯aori policy leadership. It is a significant acknowledgement of reasoned deliberation, as a policy-making process, to argue that: ‘Another key goal is to create a system in which well-informed communities are able to meaningfully engage both in integrated catchment planning and the management of water services’ (New Zealand Government, 2019, p. 49). Given agriculture’s importance to the M¯aori economy, and that it is also a significant contributor to carbon emissions, there must be the protection of the M¯aori interest through meaningful participation in ensuring that ‘our transition to a low-emissions economy is just’ (New Zealand Government, 2019, p. 65). The implications for M¯aori land use and the impact on sectors of the labour market in which M¯aori are disproportionately employed are important considerations. M¯aori will need to be meaningfully present if New Zealand is to realise its commitment to ‘making decisions that show global leadership, and enable the transition to a low-emissions economy’ (p. 27). The Review did, however, commit New Zealand to ensuring that M¯aori land is protected from the impacts of climate change and argued that legislation such as the Te Ture Whenua M¯ aori Act (New Zealand Government, 2019) ensures that M¯aori perspectives and interests are drawn into environmental planning decisions. However, the Waitangi Tribunal (2018) has found instances of prejudice in the Crown’s environmental management. Similarly, the level of M¯aori involvement in primary production and its economic value means that M¯aori are significant participants in the determinants of SDG 12 (Sustainable Consumption and Production). Yet, they do not feature in this part of the Review (New Zealand Government, 2019). Nor are M¯aori mentioned in its consideration of SDG 17 (Partnerships for the Goals), which focusses on New Zealand’s international relationships. The shallowness and superficiality of the Review’s introduction to SDG 15 (Life on Land) is striking: ‘With New Zealand’s many unique species and ecosystems, guardianship or kaitiaki is in our nature and at the heart of what it means to be a Kiwi’ (New Zealand Government, 2019, p. 103). Kiwi is a colloquial term for New Zealander which M¯aori rarely use to describe themselves and which is more commonly used with an assimilationist undertone. On the other hand, the Review said that ‘M¯aori

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enjoy a special relationship with the environment and exercise kaitiakitanga, or stewardship, over the natural environment’ which is, the Review argued, important in relation to SDG 13 (Climate Action) (New Zealand Government, 2019, p. 91). Given the relative size of the M¯aori fishing industry (discussed below) and the continuous importance of SDG 14’s focus on ‘Life below Water’, it is curious to omit M¯aori from the Review’s discussion of this Goal. Meanwhile, the level of M¯aori engagement in agriculture and forestry, and the intertwining of M¯aori identity with place and the personification of the physical environment make SDG 15 (Life on Land) a Goal of particular interest. Indeed, how M¯aori conceptualise the physical environment underpins M¯aori thought in relation to the other Goals. How and why land is used and protected, in M¯aori thought, helps to explain M¯aori political aspirations and is preliminary to understanding the foundations of M¯aori culture and identity.

10.4 The Australian National Review to the UN High-Level Political Forum on Sustainable Development, 2018 In comparison, the Australian Review to the High-Level Political Forum on Sustainable Development (2018) listed ‘our Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander cultures and heritage’ as among ‘the things that Australians value highly and seek to protect’ (p. 6). However, it noted Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people as ‘at risk of being left behind due to lingering barriers to their participation in the workforce and difficulties in accessing services’ (p. 6). In some respects, the Review positioned indigenous people as disadvantaged and requiring assistance as beneficiaries of egalitarian redistribution. It referred to the National Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Health Plan and Closing the Gap in Indigenous Disadvantage in ways that understood people as subjects requiring ‘services’, rather than as citizens whose political capacities are constrained by colonial values. For example, values that do not respond to prior occupancy as a distinct context reasonably informing how one thinks about equality and just institutions. The Review did, however, note that there was policy significance to the concept of ‘caring for country’ because it ‘incorporates not just environmental and landscape management, but also the socio-political,

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cultural, economic, and physical and emotional well-being of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples’ (p. 10). It noted the importance of public sector indigenous procurement policies to developing the indigenous private sector. These policies support many of the Goals, and similar policy measures are being considered in New Zealand. However, the Australian Review does not acknowledge the depth of indigenous exclusion from public life. Exclusion is the single most significant of the complex and entrenched obstacles to a more effective public policy consistent with achieving the Goals. Altman (2018) described the report as ‘highly selective’ in its treatment of indigenous disadvantage and its causes. Indeed, he continued that ‘at times’ the Review ‘reads like Australian government propaganda for international consumption rather than serious reporting’ (p. 20). This is why a robust indigenous-led evaluative method is required if indigenous people wish to use the Goals as one of the frameworks for achieving the rights and capacities of self-determination. Indigenous peoples’ relative absence is a profound comment on Australian values, and when the New Zealand Review is set alongside the Australian Senate Inquiry report’s concern for ill-defined national values (see Chapter 6), one sees the shallowness of Australia’s approach. The comparison shows that conceptually deeper foundations may help Australia consider how the Goals should or should not influence its policy thinking.

10.5 Economic Growth and Government Procurement Policy On the other hand, support for indigenous economic growth through government procurement policy is a distinguishing feature of Australia’s support for SDG 8 (Decent Work and Economic Growth). Economic independence is an essential constituent of self-determination, but also a measure of how self-determination is experienced in people’s everyday lives. For example, indigenous business ownership should support higher levels of indigenous employment. Procurement policy may also be one of the ways in which the state provides restitution for the economic effects of land alienation, as the Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples does allow alternatives to the return of land (United Nations, 2007, art. 28). The argument is not that procurement policy provides a complete and just alternative but that in some circumstances it may contribute.

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The Commonwealth Indigenous Procurement Policy is intended to promote indigenous economic participation through entrepreneurship and business development and therefore support economic growth (Australian Government, 2020). The policy sets annual targets for the number and value of contracts to be let to indigenous-owned enterprises. The targets are applied to the Commonwealth as a whole as well as individual ministerial portfolios. There are two simple but potentially far-reaching measures of the policy’s success. Firstly, whether there is an increase in the number of indigenous-owned enterprises in receipt of Commonwealth contracts and, secondly, whether there is an increase in their number and value (Australian Government, 2020). An indigenous enterprise is one that is at least 50% indigenous owned. The policy stipulates minimum indigenous participation rates for contracts at or above $7.5 million that are let to non-indigenous businesses. From its inception in 2015 until 2018, PwC (2019) found that the policy increased the number and value of contracts to indigenous businesses, and created demand for indigenous business, and by extension, for indigenous labour. From 2015 until February 2019, the procurement policy saw 11,933 contracts let to 1,473 indigenous businesses worth more than $1.83 billion (PwC, 2019). The Commonwealth Procurement Policy is supported by similar state government policies. In 2019, the Prime Minister described the Procurement Policy as a ‘game changer’ in indigenous economic development policy (Australian Government, 2019, p. 89). There is independent evidence of the policy’s success (Deloitte, 2022; University of Melbourne, 2020). In 2016, there were 11,900 indigenous businesses making a collective contribution to the national economy of between $2.2 billion and $6.6 billion (PwC, 2019). The Commonwealth policy progressively increases its target, by value of contracts, from 1% of the value of all Commonwealth contracts in 2019–2020 to 3% in 2027–2028. Three per cent corresponds with the indigenous share of the national population. Depending on other restitutive measures, and their value, there may be an argument for increasing this target to a level that exceeds proportionality. Colonialism’s harm is profound; so too must be the scale of restitution required to ensure that nobody is left behind. Indigenous businesses enjoy competitive advantage in bush foods and medicines, aspects of land and water management, tourism, and arts and recreation (PwC, 2019). Surveys indicate that people’s motivations for

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establishing a private business are closely linked to ‘a self-determination agenda’ with particular focus on the benefits that are expected to accrue to the business owner’s family and community (PwC, 2019, p. 3). One of the ways in which indigenous businesses make such contributions is through the greater likelihood that they will employ indigenous workers. There is a significant social as well as economic return that the policy could be expected to support. PwC (2019) argued that the policy is, however, undermined by the practice of ‘black cladding’, whereby ‘large corporations enter into disingenuous partnership with Indigenous businesses and over-represent the involvement and control Indigenous businesses have in order to appear more attractive in tender selection processes’ (p. 5). PwC argued that the policy’s success would be better measured by the total value rather than the number of contracts let. On the other hand, the value of measuring the number of contracts is that it indicates how widely the policies’ benefits are shared. In 2019, the Commonwealth modified the policy to undermine ‘black cladding’ and the progressive 3% target was introduced in 2019 to promote the letting of more high value contracts. PwC (2019) argued that policies to support the private sector to adopt indigenous procurement practices should be developed. It also found that the policy was not implemented with equal efficacy across government agencies. For example, indigenous participation in the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade’s overseas aid programme remains low, although it has developed from a base of almost nothing in 2015 to around $1 million of the Department’s total external procurement budget of around $4 billion in 2020 (Forrester & Reeve, 2020). These early successes in overseas aid show that there are opportunities for ‘bringing indigenous perspectives to global challenges’, which Graham (2018) has foreshadowed. However, Graham (2018) also argued that indigenous people are invariably left behind in overseas aid programmes when neither donors nor recipients consider indigenous peoples’ specific needs. On the other hand, she argues that the growth in the number of indigenous businesses is one way of assisting aid programmes to focus more deliberately on their specific needs. This is because: ‘Business provides the tools and opportunities for Indigenous communities to fund and self-determine their own development, based on their priorities and entirely independent of government’ (para. 6). Independence from government is self-determination’s ultimate measure and, in contrast, creating dependence on government is an important colonial strategy to

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undermine indigenous agency. People who are well educated, in good health, and enjoy material security are better equipped to resist colonial power. The University of Melbourne’s Indigenous Preferential Procurement Programs Research Group (2020) argues that the policy’s ongoing success may be enhanced through targeted and culturally cognisant education programmes and research informed evaluation. It may also be enhanced by ensuring that information on international best practice is collected and analysed. The Group also argues that coordinated effort should be made to create long-term partnerships between procurers and suppliers. The results of the Indigenous Procurement Policy have been ‘overwhelmingly impressive’ (University of Melbourne, 2020, p. 3). One of the key characteristics of the policy’s success was Commonwealth suppliers’ willingness to let repeat contracts to the same indigenous businesses, allowing them to develop capacity, establish reputations and provide secure employment, thus supporting the development of ‘an entrepreneurial Indigenous middle class’ (University of Melbourne, 2020, p. 4). In 2020, the New Zealand government introduced new procurement rules to support supplier diversity. The following year Cabinet agreed on the comprehensive application of these rules to support M¯aori business (Ministry of Business, Innovation and Employment, 2021). Government agencies to which the rule applies are required to aim initially for at least 5% of their contracts being awarded to M¯aori businesses. However, this target compares with a M¯aori population of approximately 17% of the total. The Minister for Regional and Economic Development (2021) explained the target’s relationship with the broader government objectives of improving national living standards and increasing M¯aori employment (Ministry of Business, Innovation and Employment, 2021). The government intends to establish a broker to connect buyers and suppliers—a proposal drawn from Canada where although indigenous procurement policies have been in place for 24 years, they have not achieved their potential arguably because there is no formal mechanism for connecting buyers with suppliers and supporting ongoing relationship development (Ministry of Business, Innovation and Employment, 2021). The Minister for Regional and Economic Development argued that the procurement policy is an important contributor to New Zealand’s postCOVID-19 economic recovery. M¯aori businesses are more inclined to

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employ M¯aori staff, with 43% of their combined workforce being M¯aori, which is three times the rate for non-M¯aori-owned businesses (Ministry of Business, Innovation and Employment, 2021). The Minister explained that the procurement policy supports the Crown’s obligation under Te Tiriti o Waitangi ‘to achieve equal outcomes and develop a system based on indigenous values and knowledge’ (Ministry of Business, Innovation and Employment, 2021, p. 4). The policy’s intent includes increasing the ‘social good’ or ‘public value’ that government procurement achieves, where ‘value’ does not mean the ‘lowest price’. The broader value is that: ‘We can use procurement to positively impact the economic, environmental, social and cultural well-being of the communities and world we live in’ (Ministry of Business, Innovation and Employment, 2021, p. 10).

10.6

Free Trade and Economic Growth

In its 2019 Voluntary National Review, the New Zealand Government claimed a commitment to ensuring that ‘all New Zealanders benefit from growth’ (New Zealand Government, 2019, p. 9). It particularly noted that M¯aori have not benefitted equally, but its commitment to ensuring that this example of inequality is reversed needs to be contextualised. It is especially important to show that there are policy and institutional arrangements to ensure that M¯aori do not simply benefit from that growth but contribute to it and lead it in their own ways and for their own purposes. The protection of domestic treaty rights in international trade agreements is important. Indigenous peoples across jurisdictions have resisted agreements that undermine their authority to make decisions about the natural environment and protection of intellectual property (Bargh, 2007). Provisions to ensure that the benefits of free trade are shared are also important. So, there are both defensive and positive M¯aori interests in free trade that are paralleled for indigenous peoples in Canada (Goff, 2021) and elsewhere. A measure of an agreement’s contribution to the ideal of nobody being left behind is an indigenous nation’s ability to describe and quantify an agreement’s benefit for themselves. It was from this perspective that the Waitangi Tribunal (2021) found that the Crown had not adequately protected M¯aori interests in its negotiation of the Comprehensive and Progressive Agreement for Trans-Pacific Partnership, which was agreed

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with 11 Pacific rim states in 2018. Ngata (2019) explained that with respect to free trade agreements generally: Our overarching concern is the singular truth that, as sovereign people and Treaty partners, we expect to be present and negotiate directly in relation to international trade relationships, as well as any agreements that have scope to influence laws upon our lands, waters, and people. Consultation is not good enough… (para. 2)

The argument for policy leadership is especially important given the scale of the M¯aori economy’s exposure to export industries, and in its 2021 report, the Tribunal found that there had been major improvements in the negotiating process since the Trans-Pacific Partnership three years earlier. Trade is a policy domain where justice and pragmatism intersect. It is a ‘gateway’ to reconciliation’s economic dimension (Goff, 2021, p. 1). For example, the New Zealand-United Kingdom Free Trade Agreement, concluded in 2022, prioritised tariff reductions in several areas of particular interest to M¯aori business. These included honey, seafood, and horticultural goods (Ministry of Foreign Affairs & Trade, 2022b). Like the British Agreement, the New Zealand-European Union Free Trade Agreement, also concluded in 2022, contained a M¯aori trade and economic cooperation chapter and saw significant tariff reductions across the primary industries in which M¯aori businesses operate (Ministry of Foreign Affairs & Trade, 2022c). Te Taumata, a body established to lead M¯aori engagement in trade policy, following dissatisfaction over the Trans-Pacific Partnership and which pointed out that one in four M¯aori jobs (almost 50,000 people) are created by international trade, argued that the European Agreement was a ‘huge milestone’ for M¯aori (Te Taumata, 2022, para. 1). Te Taumata (2022) acknowledged that in this Agreement ministers and negotiators ‘never lost sight of the importance to protect and promote M¯aori interests’ (para. 5). Canada claims that its Progressive Trade Agenda is intended to satisfy public expectations that the benefits of free trade are widely distributed. Indeed, as Goff (2021) explained, the Agenda responds to what she calls a backlash against free trade. Indigenous peoples are, at least rhetorically, its major focus. In 2019, the Minister of International Trade Diversification remarked that: ‘Indigenous businesses are growing at a faster rate than other businesses in Canada and are more than twice as likely as all small businesses to export’ (Government of Canada, 2019a, para. 6).

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In 2020, indigenous business contributed more than $30 billion to the Canadian economy and some forecasts suggest that this could increase to $100 billion over the next five years (McKay, 2020). Furthermore: The myriad ways that Indigenous peoples are implicated in the promotion of Canadian prosperity through trade necessitates an integration of Indigenous perspectives across the trade policy-making process as a critical component of reconciliation. (Goff, 2021, p. 4)

Nevertheless, as the Chief Executive of the Royal Bank of Canada put it: ‘When more than 1.5 million people are pushed to the periphery of economic life, we cannot expect Canada to thrive and prosper’ (McKay, 2020, para. 1). As well as being a matter of justice, it is therefore also a matter of pragmatism to respond to entrenched poverty and its disproportionate prevalence among First Nations’ people. For some, ‘there is simply no income ladder to climb’ and an estimated consequence is a $36 billion reduction in GDP (McKay, 2020), which the Goals will not address with subsistence farming as their only reference to indigenous economic growth. Indigenous aspirations are bigger than this and leaving nobody behind requires greater ambition. The Canadian Constitution prevents free trade agreements undermining Canada’s obligations to indigenous peoples (legislation.gov.uk, 2022). However, this does not imply a positive obligation to promote indigenous-led trade. That requires negotiation and philosophical commitment on Canada’s part and is facilitated by an Indigenous Working Group established by Global Affairs Canada in 2017. The Assembly of First Nations (2019) described participation in the Working Group as ‘a step towards achieving the promise of Article 19 of the Declaration’ (Resolution No. 37/2019), which requires states to consult and cooperate with indigenous peoples before making decisions that affect their interests. The Assembly did, however, argue that participation should be further strengthened to suggest that its expectations extend beyond consultation. The Assembly also argued for this and future free trade agreements to compulsorily commit Canada to 5% procurement for First Nations businesses (Assembly of First Nations, 2019). The United States-Mexico-Canada Agreement (USMCA), which came into force in 2020, allows Canada to protect certain indigenous interests, maintain government procurement policies and provide duty-free trade for indigenous textile and apparel goods (Government of Canada, 2019b). The USMCA commits the parties to stronger collaboration

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to promote indigenous-owned small and medium-sized businesses. The Assembly of First Nations (2019) described it as Canada’s first trade agreement ‘to begin engaging with First Nations’ having ‘potential to further support the First Nations’ economy and can be a step towards achieving economic reconciliation consistent with the UN Declaration’ (Resolution No. 37/2019) and its affirmation of the indigenous right to participate in decisions that affect them. In 2022, the Australian Government’s Indigenous Land and Sea Corporation published a discussion paper ‘Indigenous-led trade, export and investment’ (Australian Government, 2022). The paper assumed scope to strengthen indigenous trade as an activity in which indigenous nations have engaged for thousands of years. It proposed strategies to expand on recent developments such as the number of indigenous companies in Australia increasing by 72% between 2006 and 2016 (Australian Government, 2022) and the success of the Commonwealth procurement policies discussed earlier in this chapter. Indeed, in the 2020/2021 financial year, Commonwealth procurement was worth $1.09 billion (Australian Government, 2022). However, the paper’s proposals show that indigenous involvement in trade policy development and trade per se is presently inadequate. These proposals are similar to those strategies already developing in Canada and New Zealand. They concern the • • • •

protection of indigenous knowledge; commercialisation on agreed terms; investment flows to indigenous-owned enterprises; support for indigenous small and medium-sized enterprises (SMEs) as exporters; • Free Trade Agreements (FTAs) that advance national interests and Indigenous Australian enterprises and industry development. (Australian Government, 2022, p. 1) These would be supported by: 1. Indigenous inclusions into FTAs, which may include protections of indigenous knowledges and items in Geographic Indications. 2. Greater indigenous access to foreign direct investment. 3. Support for more indigenous companies as exporters (Australian Government, 2022, p. 1).

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Indigenous cooperation across jurisdictions is a further site of development to show, once again, a scale of indigenous ambition, and thus conception of what it means to be not left behind, that is greater than the Goals imagine. For example, in 2021, Australia, Canada, New Zealand and Taiwan adopted the Indigenous Peoples Economic and Trade Cooperation Arrangement (Ministry of Foreign Affairs & Trade, 2022a). Significantly: The participating economies acknowledge the importance of the United Nations 2030 Agenda for Sustainable Development and of achieving the SDGs and the Addis Ababa Action Agenda on Financing for Development, given their relevance to Indigenous peoples, including how they relate to the protection of lands, waters, and natural resources, and how they support the conditions for sustainable and inclusive economic development (3 (d))

and empower Indigenous peoples, consistent with the United Nations Declaration to freely pursue their economic, social, and cultural development, engaging freely in all their traditional and other economic activities, and determining strategies and priorities for their right to development and the use of their lands, territories, and resources, in accordance with their own development plans and priorities, and cultural values and norms. (4 (a) (ii))

In this way, the potential for the SDGs to become explicitly and materially relevant to indigenous peoples is drawn out through alignment with the Declaration. This alignment allows the scale of indigenous ambition, and its cultural context, to be drawn into public discourse. Cultural context means that indigenous economic aspirations may differ from those of other citizens and require distinctive policy consideration. Indigenous businesses tend, for example, to emphasise transgenerational well-being and are intertwined with social stability, employment, health and educational opportunities, rather than an immediate return to shareholders. This allows one M¯aori Incorporation, for example, to adopt a ‘100-year strategic plan that builds on the [more than 100-yearold] founding principles: to retain ownership, tread lightly upon the land, engage with the local community and ensure our mokopuna’s mokopuna [grandchildren’s grandchildren] live a healthier, wealthier life’ (Westpac New Zealand, 2014).

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In New South Wales, the Aboriginal Land Council noted an important relationship between financial returns and ‘distinctive Aboriginal values relating to such matters as work practices and relations, hierarchy and authority, the distribution of profits and… social viability’ (Martin, 1995, p. 19). As one indigenous business owner told Morrison et al. (2014) it’s all about us blackfella’s… my business. That’s why I started it. To give the blackfella’s a go… They can come into the business, work here, maybe put them on a traineeship, you know, give them a real opportunity in a supportive environment. So we try and give a lot of career development to our mob… They know whatever they choose to do, we can get them training to be able to accommodate… their position. (pp. 149–150)

In other words, culture inescapably influences the purposes of economic activity. For example, there are relationships between ‘pride and identity’ and opportunities for economic security (New South Wales Aboriginal Land Council, 2014, p. 8). There is also a desire for ‘strong Aboriginal communities in which Aboriginal people actively influence and fully participate in social, economic and cultural life’ (New South Wales Aboriginal Land Council, 2014, p. 8). The New South Wales Aboriginal Land Council also explained relationships between ‘customary rights’ such as land rights and ‘social and economic well-being’. Above all, economic growth is an essential contributor to self-determination. However, the relationship between economic development and selfdetermination is circuitous and the ability to use land and other traditionally owned resources for material prosperity is important. As the Cape York Institute explained it long-term sustainable tourism development on Cape York and the Torres Strait that respects and celebrates the culture, traditions and lifestyle of the Indigenous and non-Indigenous people, enhances environmental integrity and creates economic and social growth. (Ruhanen & Whitfield, 2014, p. 190)

From these perspectives, economic development is not a matter of closing gaps in human capacity but of drawing on human agency to improve people’s lives, in their own terms and for their own purposes, so that it is against their own criteria and with reference to their own values that they are not left behind.

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10.7

Conclusion

Economic growth matters to indigenous peoples as a constituent of wellbeing and determinant of who is left behind and who is not. This chapter has shown how culture and colonial contexts give economic growth distinctive purposes for indigenous peoples across jurisdictions and mean that policy domains as diverse as environmental management, procurement policy and free trade agreements must be thought about from unique perspectives, which occur at the intersection of justice and pragmatic economic policy; justice, because restitution and self-determination both arise from, and are served by, economic independence. There is, at the same time, a pragmatic imperative to admit that leaving indigenous peoples behind may come at significant cost to the national economy. At this point, the colonial need to subjugate comes into conflict with the national economic need for everybody to contribute. However, as this chapter’s emphasis on culture shows, indigenous economic growth may depend on the scope that is available for indigenous peoples to define and pursue economic opportunities in their own ways and for their own purposes supported by access to their own natural resources. This means that indigenous participation and leadership in policy development are important, including with respect to international free trade agreements. Ensuring that free trade does not interfere with an indigenous people’s treaty rights or capacity to make decisions about the protection and use of the natural environment has been raised by indigenous people as a matter of significance but, importantly, this is not an objection to free trade per se and it is, for example, anticipated that M¯aori will be major beneficiaries of New Zealand’s recent free trade agreements with the United Kingdom and European Union and that in Canada, First Nations’ business will similarly benefit from the United States-Mexico-Canada Agreement. Ultimately, the Goals do not presently give indigenous economic growth the attention that is required if SDG 8 (Decent Work and Economic Growth) is to realise fully its contribution to nobody being left behind. However, the Goals, targets and indicators are revisable and the following chapter, the book’s final substantive chapter, considers some of the ways in which indigenous accounts of what is worth measuring may contribute to discussions of what should be revised and why.

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Government of Canada. (2019b). The United States-Mexico-Canada Agreement. https://www.international.gc.ca/trade-commerce/trade-agreements-accordscommerciaux/agr-acc/cusma-aceum/text-texte/toc-tdm.aspx?lang=eng. Accessed 22 August 2022. Graham, S. (2018). Bringing indigenous perspectives to global challenges. https:// devpolicy.org/bringing-indigenous-perspectives-to-global-challenges-201 81004/. Accessed 21 August 2022. International Work Group for Indigenous Affairs. (2021). Indigenous youth. https://www.iwgia.org/en/indigenous-youth.html. Accessed 10 October 2022. Jackson, N. (2011). Maori and the [potential] demographic dividend. New Zealand Population Review, 37 , 65–88. legislation.gov.uk. (2022). Canada Act 1982. https://www.legislation.gov.uk/ ukpga/1982/11/section/3. Accessed 22 August 2022. M¯aori Economic Development Panel. (2012). He Kai Kei aku Ringa: The Crown-M¯ aori economic growth partnership—Strategy to 2040. M¯aori Economic Development Panel. Martin, D. (1995). Money, business and culture: Issues for aboriginal economic policy (CAEPR Discussion Paper No. 101). CAEPR, ANU. McKay, D. (2020). It’s time for indigenous peoples to be at the centre of Canada’s economy. https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/its-time-indigenouspeoples-centre-canadas-economy-dave-mckay/. Accessed 21 August 2022. Ministry of Business Innovation and Employment. (2021). Supporting the M¯ aori economy and achieving economic and social outcomes through Te Kupenga Hao P¯ auaua. https://www.mbie.govt.nz/dmsdocument/13457-supportingthe-maori-economy-and-achieving-economic-and-social-outcomes-throughte-kupenga-hao-pauaua-proactiverelease-pdf. Accessed 21 August 2022. Ministry of Foreign Affairs and Trade. (2020). Cabinet Economic Development Committee Minute of Decision. https://www.mfat.govt.nz/assets/ OIA/OIA-2019-20/For-release-PR-351-Aotearoa-ki-te-Ao.pdf. Accessed 22 August 2022. Ministry of Foreign Affairs and Trade. (2022a). Indigenous Peoples Economic and Trade Cooperation Arrangement. https://www.mfat.govt.nz/en/trade/ nz-trade-policy/the-indigenous-peoples-economic-and-trade-cooperation-arr angement/#:~:text=The%20IPETCA%20is%20a%20new,increase%20trade% 20and%20economic%20cooperation. Accessed 21 August 2022. Ministry of Foreign Affairs and Trade. (2022b). New Zealand-European Union Free Trade Agreement. https://www.mfat.govt.nz/en/trade/free-trade-agr eements/free-trade-agreements-concluded-but-not-in-force/new-zealand-eur opean-union-free-trade-agreement/. Accessed 22 August 2022.

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CHAPTER 11

Data Sovereignty—What is Measured and Why?

11.1

Introduction

The SDGs are concerned with improving people’s quality of life. For indigenous peoples, quality of life may require measurement of how effectively they have been able to contest colonialism’s pervasiveness and construct lives built on self-determination. Indicators could be established to describe what self-determination looks like and measure to what extent its rights and capacities are present in people’s lives. On the other hand, one must consider that meaningful indexes must be capable of comparison across jurisdictions and cultural contexts. Their diverse attributes and the different priorities and experiences that people hold determine what they most value, and which of human freedom’s innumerable constituents they wish to privilege. The attributes of human freedom that people wish to privilege may also change with time, political context and shifts in the values and experiences that influence their views on what is most important. Consequently, measuring who, if anybody, is left behind is a matter of political values before it is a matter of statistical method. This chapter introduces the UN Development Programme’s Human Development Index (United Nations, 2020) as an example and notes both its limits and possibilities as a tool to measure things that indigenous peoples have said are worth measuring. Indeed, the chapter’s further examples—the National Inuit Climate Change Strategy, the Tebtebba Foundation—Indigenous Peoples’ International Centre for © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2023 D. O’Sullivan, Indigeneity, Culture and the UN Sustainable Development Goals, Sustainable Development Goals Series, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-99-0581-2_11

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Policy Research and Education, the M¯aori Data Sovereignty Network, Te Mana Rauranga, the National Inuit Health Survey and the Indigenous Navigator Project—show once again that the scope of indigenous ambition is missing from the Goals. They provide broader and deeper insight into indigenous thought than the Index and, indeed, than that provided by the UN Permanent Forum on Indigenous Issues. They show the diversity of indigenous thought on what it means for a people to say that it is not left behind and reinforce the idea that what is measured reflects broader conceptions of justice and citizenship which this chapter also discusses, including the proposition that indigenous data sovereignty is a requirement of indigenous peoples being able to do justice to themselves. How things are measured and whether they are framed as ‘gaps’ to be closed or more positively according to indigenous defined measures is also important. The chapter also considers a connection between data sovereignty and information poverty, with access to information an important determinant of how well democracy itself may work for an indigenous nation. Democracy’s effectiveness is also a function of who makes decisions, and how, in relation to data collection and also of the questions that policy advisers must ask when preparing their advice. The information that decisionmakers request is a statement about the values and voices that should influence public decisions, showing that what one wants to know and why are determinants of how policy systems work and whose interests they serve.

11.2

The Human Development Index and Beyond

The United Nations Development Programme published its first Human Development Index in 1990. The 2020 Human Development Report modified the Index ‘for planetary pressures’ (United Nations, 2020, p. 12). The report begins with the proposition that the world is entering ‘a new geologic epoch—the Anthropocene’ where human domination of the natural environment is entrenched and raises a series of moral and political questions requiring comprehensive public policy responses. For example: What do we do with this new age? Do we choose in the face of uncertain futures to embark on bold new paths that expand human freedoms while easing planetary pressures? Or do we choose to try—and ultimately

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fail—to go back to business as usual and be swept away, ill-equipped and rudderless, into a dangerous unknown? (United Nations, 2020, p. 4)

The report’s hyperbolic expression suggests a new and under-considered crisis. However, for indigenous peoples, the crisis of colonial imposition on people and their environments is well established and well considered. The 2020 report argued that human development is concerned with ‘expanding human freedoms and opening more choices for people to chart their own development paths according to their diverse values’ (p. 5). As a general statement of inspiration, this remark is consistent with self-determination and potentially counter colonial in its effect. However, it requires careful contextualisation beyond the SDG targets and the Human Development Index itself. The Human Development Index measures life expectancy at birth (SDG 3 Good Health and Well-Being), expected years of schooling (SDG 40.3 Quality Education), mean years of schooling (SDG 4.6 Quality Education) and gross national income per capita (SDG 8 Decent Work and Economic Growth). Life expectancy is a comparator that jurisdictions like Australia and New Zealand disaggregate by ethnicity, and it is a legitimate proxy for describing the relative effectiveness of health care for indigenous people vis-à-vis all others. They also disaggregate data about schooling and income by ethnicity. Indigenous people do poorly against both measures (as previous chapters have discussed). The complex variables that explain the differentials in income may include racism, poorer education and health, and restrictions on the ability to use collectively owned land and other resources to support income generation. School attendance may be a proxy for well-being for indigenous people, but this view is conditioned by schooling’s traditional function as an institution of colonisation rather than as an institution of emancipation. It is common for indigenous people to find a cultural dissonance between the school and their own expectations of what education should achieve and: ‘We should not be surprised if even very young children find school learning programs so unrewarding they sometimes decide to stay away’ (Lee et al., 2014, p. 231). In Australia and New Zealand, the idea that schooling should contribute to indigenous agency is relatively new and imperfectly implemented (as discussed in Chapter 8). A specific measure of schooling’s contribution to indigenous persons’ wellbeing and capacity to contribute to collective self-determination would be a significant measure of the school as a just institution.

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Indigenous peoples may find it useful to construct a more nuanced and contextualised Index of Political and Cultural Freedom. For school attendance to become a more certain measure of well-being, an index could measure the extent to which indigenous people can decide what schools are expected to achieve, how and for which reasons. A measure of how well schools meet indigenous expectations may be a predictor of school attendance and may provide people with greater assurance that attendance is worthwhile. Similarly, a measure of people’s satisfaction with their source of income may be an instructive adjunct to information about people’s income levels. As a further alternative, Degai and Petrov (2021) understand sustainable development as ‘development that improves health, well-being and security of Arctic communities and residents while conserving ecosystem structures, functions and resources’ (p. 1). This means that sustainable development is non-colonial and supports indigenous peoples to ‘define their own destinies’ (p. 1). They argued that indigenising the Goals for the Arctic region would involve reducing the number of Goals from 17 to five and focussing these on ‘Sustainable Governance and Indigenous Rights, Resilient Indigenous Societies, Livelihoods and Knowledge Systems, Life on Ice and Permafrost Equity and Equality in Access to Natural Resources, and Investment in Youth and Future Generations’ (p. 1). They argued that the Goals do not presently meet indigenous peoples’ accounts and expectations of self-determination. As another example of indigenous developed targets, the National Inuit Climate Change Strategy proposes five priority areas: • To advance Inuit capacity and knowledge use and climate decisionmaking; • To improve linked Inuit and environmental health and wellness outcomes through integrated Inuit health, education, and climate policies and initiatives; • To reduce the climate vulnerability of Inuit and market food systems; • To close the infrastructure gap with climate resilient new builds, retrofits to existing builds and Inuit adaptations to changing natural infrastructure; and • To support regional and community-driven energy solutions leading to Inuit energy independence. (International Work Group for Indigenous Affairs, 2020, p. 512)

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The Tebtebba Foundation, Indigenous Peoples’ International Centre for Policy Research and Education, an independent indigenous policy and research centre in the Philippines, argued that it is, however, possible to align Indigenous Development Indicators with the Goals. For example, its Indigenous Development Indicator ‘Security of Indigenous peoples’ rights to territories, lands and natural resources is consistent with Goals 2, 11, 14, 15 and 16 ‘No hunger, sustainable cities and communities, life on land, life below water, peace justice and strong institutions’ (Schultz, 2020, p. 12). The integrity of Indigenous Cultural Heritage may be supported by Goals 4 (Quality Education) , 8 (Decent Work and Economic Growth), 14 (Life Below Water), 15 (Life on Land) and 16 (Peace, Justice and Strong Institutions). The idea that progress towards the Goals should be statistically measurable and reported to the United Nations does, on the one hand, presume state accountability to the international community, but, on the other, it may privilege state obligations over indigenous agency. The idea that states should ‘do justice’ to indigenous peoples along with other citizens (Waldron, 2002) may be positioned against the idea that indigenous peoples are entitled to the political capacities to ‘do justice’ to themselves (O’Sullivan, 2017). Self-determination presumes that justice requires curtailing colonialism’s evolution, and while it is true that if all citizens act justly to all others a postcolonial order would prevail. However, postcolonialism is not a simple or universally accepted aspiration. Indeed, for Canadian First Nations’ scholars like Corntassel (2008), it is an impossible aspiration, and justice is available only in isolation from the state in independent First Nations’ political communities. A substantive indigenous share in the sovereign whole is beyond Waldron’s (2002) idea that ‘the general duty of the government to do justice to all people is [not] trumped by any special duty to those of the inhabitants who can claim Indigenous descent’ (p. 30). Waldron’s argument arises from a false conceptualisation of the right to selfdetermination. It is based on an exclusively and narrowly defined account of citizenship where relationships among history, culture and prevailing political values are not admitted into discussions of the fair and reasonable distribution of public power and authority. Citizenship’s potential cannot be fully explored when it is understood as a body of rights that people do not enjoy inherently but receive as a gift of the state’s benevolence. For example, an unemployment benefit if

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one cannot find work, or the right to attend school and seek medical care from the public health system. If, in contrast, one thinks about the political capacities of citizenship, one might consider the removal of racially discriminatory obstacles to employment, the capacity to influence what and how one learns at school and the capacity to influence culturally cognisant health care. Exercising these capacities means that indigenous people must be part of the state and present wherever relevant decisions are made. Yet, by way of contrast, initial versions of Australia’s Closing the Gap in Indigenous Disadvantage policy exemplified Yap and Watene’s (2019) argument that ‘indicators constructed to represent and monitor their [indigenous] circumstances take place within the broader power structures that have historically undermined their development aspirations and their ongoing struggles for self-determination’ (p. 454). Words such as ‘gap’ position the non-indigenous ‘mainstream’ as normative and the indigenous as deficient. The subjects of state benevolence, rather than the holders of political rights and capacities, including the rights and powers of self-determination. The Indigenous Evaluation Strategy (discussed in Chapter 7) referred to the National Agreement on Closing the Gap as an instrument that emphasises ‘transforming mainstream institutions’ (Australian Government, 2020, p. 23). The term ‘mainstream’ is widely used in both Australia and New Zealand to describe institutions that primarily serve, or are perceived to primarily serve, non-indigenous people and communities. The term positions indigenous people as outsiders and helps to entrench an ‘us’ and ‘them’ binary with respect to whose interests public institutions should serve and with respect to who belongs and who does not. When indigenous people use the term mainstream, it implies acceptance that the institution is not theirs and that, perhaps, they should have no expectation of seeing their own values and aspirations reflected in that institution. No expectation that they are reasonably entitled to participate in its affairs or help shape the interests and priorities that it serves. The language that is used to describe a public institution is a mark of to whom one thinks it belongs. Inclusion and accountability justify a different kind of language to reflect the concept of public ownership of institutions like schools as belonging equally to everybody, being arranged to support indigenous aspirations and, indeed, the indigenous person’s right to be indigenous in those institutions. The right to be indigenous justifies the

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expectation that all public institutions should be accountable to indigenous citizens as much as to anybody else. Modes of evaluation may give effect to that expectation. On the other hand, given the potentially close intersection between state obligations and indigenous capacities and given that indigenous peoples are entitled to quantifiable evidence that their expectations are not being obstructed by the state, it is not targets per se that compromise selfdetermination. Instead, self-determination asks who set the targets and for which purposes, and how and for which purposes progress against the targets will be measured. Where targets are set by indigenous peoples and for their own purposes, one may ask what arrangements are in place for ensuring policy accountability to indigenous peoples for their realisation.

11.3

Indigenous Data Sovereignty

Indigenous data sovereignty is preliminary to accountability, but: Which comes first—the data availability or the problem to be measured? Does one look at what the data are and decide how to use them, or does one conceptualise the measures and then look for data to plug-in? Or does one search for funds to collect new data. (Davis et al., 2015, p. 14)

In response to these questions, data sovereignty helps indigenous nations to maintain and strengthen their political institutions, cultures and traditions (Kukutai & Taylor, 2016). It is concerned with questions of how, why and by whom statistical data are collected about indigenous people and how, why and by whom they are used. The term reflects the breadth of indigenous concerns about the locations of power and how it is used. It shows that sovereign authority is not conceptualised as residing in the one place. Nor is it conceptualised as having a singular purpose. Data sovereignty provides a framework for thinking about whether the right questions have been asked and what should be done with the collected information. It is widely acknowledged in indigenous Australian public policy discourse that the absence of appropriate data to measure policy effectiveness is one of the variables compromising policy evaluation and development (see Chapter 7). The absence of data to measure indigenous policy expectations also compromises the right to self-determination. The significance of which questions are asked is evident when information about poor indigenous school attendance is collected and interpreted,

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for example. These data may be used to establish indigenous people as authors of their own misery, as deficient because they do not attach value to schooling or the successes in the labour market that schooling may support. Alternatively, as was the approach of the Te Kotahitanga research and teacher professional development project in New Zealand (discussed in Chapter 8), one might collect data on what indigenous people expect of schooling and the kinds of teaching practices and school environments that uphold and support those expectations. The Te Kotahitanga Effective Teaching Profile was an outcome of data collected by M¯aori and from M¯aori, according to established M¯aori research methods and for M¯aori purposes (Bishop et al., 2010). The connection between people’s own accounts of what it means to be not left behind and practical policy implementation was explicit, and an example provided of what it means to argue that ‘indigenous communities may wish to take stock of their communities for purposes that are rather different to those of the settler state’ (Snipp, 2016, p. 46). The Goals’ value for indigenous self-determination depends largely on how effectively they are used to contest the colonial aspirations of the state. Aspirations derived from the idea that it is morally legitimate for indigenous people to be perpetually left behind. It is in response to policy failure that the UN High-Level Political Forum on Sustainable Development proposed six ‘entry points’ and four ‘levers for change’ to bring the Goals from abstract idealism to practical alignment with selfdetermination. However, it is unclear how or why these approaches to policy development add to or contextualise the targets. The entry points are: 1. Welfare and human capabilities; 2. Sustainable and fair economies; 3. Sustainable food systems and healthy nutrition patterns; 4. The decarbonisation of energy and universal access to energy; 5. Sustainable urban and peri-urban development; and 6. Security of the global environmental commons. (International Work Group for Indigenous Affairs, 2020, The High-Level Political Forum 2020, para. 1) Its levers for change are:

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1. Government; 2. Economics and finance; 3. Individual and collective action; and 4. Science and technology. (International Work Group for Indigenous Affairs, 2020, The High-Level Political Forum 2020, para. 2) Again, the failure to make explicit reference to indigenous communities as political communities is an example of them being left behind. Why data are collected and how and for whom they are used raise questions of political values as much as statistical technique. Most importantly, the question of what indigenous people want to know. The M¯aori Data Sovereignty Network, Te Mana Rauranga, defines M¯aori data as data that are ‘produced by M¯aori or that is about M¯aori and the environments we have relationships with’ (Kukutai & Taylor, 2016, p. 18). Further, ‘M¯aori Data Sovereignty supports tribal sovereignty and the realisation of M¯aori and Iwi aspirations’ (Kukutai & Taylor, 2016, p. 19). ‘Data supports the expression of Rangatiratanga and Rangatiratanga can be expressed through data [through]… principles of ownership, access, control and possession’ (p. 21). Kukutai and Taylor (2016) set out the six ways in which Te Mana Rauranga proposes the development of data sovereignty. These are: 1. Asserting M¯aori rights and interests in relation to data; 2. Ensuring data for and about M¯aori can be safeguarded and protected; 3. Requiring the quality and integrity of M¯aori data and their collection; 4. Advocating for M¯aori involvement in the governance of data repositories; 5. Supporting the development of M¯aori data infrastructure and security systems; and 6. Supporting the development of sustainable M¯aori businesses and innovations. (pp. 15–16) A notable omission is M¯aori authority over how data are used to inform public policy. Nevertheless, indigenous data sovereignty may be used to make indigenous concerns more visible to policy-makers and describe the nature of colonialism’s impact on indigenous peoples. Measuring the

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impact of policy decisions against indigenous accounts of progress is an expression of fairness. It is one of the ways in which indigenous people may recognise that they have a meaningful share in public sovereignty. But they may also be used to depict deficits in indigenous being by constructing negative stereotypes about indigenous people, values and lifestyles. As the Introduction noted, one of the Major Group for Sustainable Development’s (2015) six recommendations on how the SDGs should differ from the Millennium Development Goals concerned the disaggregation of data. One cannot be sure that nobody is left behind if data are not disaggregated. For example, and as previous chapters have discussed, there are significant differentials between indigenous and other citizens across jurisdictions including in wealthy states such as Australia, Canada and New Zealand. Aggregated data do not show regional differences in things like water quality. It is also misleading to suggest that Canada has met SDG 3 when, for example, the HIV infection rate for First Nations’ people in Saskatchewan is 11 times the national average, while tuberculosis afflicts First Nations’ people at 20 to 30 times the rate for non-indigenous Canadians (Madden & Coleman, 2019). The Goals do, however, provide specific evaluative context, and Kukutai and Taylor (2016) argued that the following articles of the Declaration ‘raise urgent questions about the manner in which… nations statistically represent their indigenous citizens’ (p. 4): Articles 3 (selfdetermination), 4 (self-determination and self-government), 5 (the right to maintain independent institutions and participate in the state), 15 (i) (cultural dignity and diversity), 18 (independent media), 19 (free, prior and informed consent on matters affecting their rights), 20(i) (maintenance of their own political, economic and social institutions), 23 (right to development), 31 (cultural heritage), 32 (land and resource use), 33 (self-identity), 38 (implementation of the Declaration) and 42 (promotion of the Declaration by the United Nations). Furthermore, Te Mana Raraunga argued that only a minority of government collected datasets about M¯aori are available to M¯aori (Kukutai & Taylor, 2016). Yet, it is an expression of self-determination when governments collect data from or about indigenous peoples that the nature of those data is determined and interpreted by indigenous people and applied to serve their own purposes. The United Nations Permanent Forum on Indigenous Issues (2016) argued that indigenous inclusion in the Goals’ implementation requires that they are ‘visible in data and in the review of the 2030 Agenda’

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(p. 2) and that they participate in ‘implementation, follow up and review’ (p. 1). On the other hand, it is possible that progress on the Goals’ implementation will fail to capture both the indigenous and wider public imagination, because the Goals are too ambitious and conceptually too far removed from the day-to-day policy concerns of indigenous people. Too far removed, also, from how policy is in fact developed with variable scope for indigenous leadership. Nevertheless, the Declaration provides ‘the normative content of the rights of indigenous peoples’ and progress towards the realisation of these rights may be developed into measurable indicators (Davis et al., 2016, p. 31), and the Goals may contribute to the development of such indicators. The United Nations Permanent Forum on Indigenous Issues argued that indicators should focus on ‘collective rights, such as those to identity, land, territories and resources, free, prior and informed consent and indigenous women’s participation in local, national and international decision-making processes’ (Davis, 2016, p. 37). Beyond these objectives, the National Inuit Health Survey is an example of the relationship between indigenous data sovereignty and well-informed policy development. The Survey will be conducted by Inuit people. Its purpose is to help address health status gaps between Inuit and other Canadian citizens and data will be collected by Inuit people. The intent is that the Survey, which is expected to be held every five years and is supported by the Federal government, will ‘provide high-quality, Inuit-determined and Inuit-owned data to monitor change, identify gaps, and inform decisionmaking, leading to improved health and wellness among Inuit in Canada’ (cited in International Work Group for Indigenous Affairs, 2020, p. 513).

11.4

The Indigenous Navigator Project

The Indigenous Navigator Project used the Declaration to develop a set of indicators that indigenous people may use to ‘monitor the level of recognition and implementation of these rights’ (Davis, 2016, p. 36). The Indigenous Navigator Initiative was established in 2014 by a consortium comprising the Asia Indigenous Peoples Pact, the Forest Peoples Programme, the International Work Group for Indigenous Affairs, the Tebtebba Foundation, the Danish Institute for Human Rights and the International Labour Organization (International Work Group for Indigenous Affairs, 2020).

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The Project was developed and led by and for indigenous people to support data collection that ‘can be used by Indigenous people to advocate for their rights and to systematically monitor the level of recognition and implementation of these rights’ (International Work Group for Indigenous Affairs, The Indigenous Navigator: Self Determined Development, 2020, par. 1). Its framework comprises more than 150 indicators based on the Declaration and ILO Convention 169. It was written to allow indigenous people to monitor the Goals (International Work Group for Indigenous Affairs, The Indigenous Navigator: Self Determined Development, 2020). However, apart from questions about the proportion of indigenous people serving in parliaments and local authorities and the nature of indigenous land title, these questions are concerned with egalitarian policy outcomes—for example, areas such as schooling, health and mortality, access to electricity and clean water and internet access. The framework’s focus on SDG 16 is on justice as the absence of armed conflict, human trafficking and homicide. This book’s focus on SDG 16 and just public institutions, with distinctive indigenous contributions to their leadership, is therefore a point of distinction. Its understanding of what constitutes justice is broader and, therefore, has more far-reaching implications for the working of public institutions and sets the expectation that it is a matter of justice for these institutions to work for indigenous peoples as effectively as they work for anybody else. The Indigenous Navigator proposed that data collected according to its framework should inform universal periodic reviews to the United Nations, so that indigenous data sovereignty is not simply a way of informing domestic policy development. It also supports international advocacy and international cooperation among indigenous populations. The International Work Group for Indigenous Affairs (2020) argues that the Indigenous Navigator ‘strengthens the position of Indigenous communities as they engage with civic, state and global entities to claim their rights’ (p. 686). Among other considerations, the Indigenous Navigator Initiative shows why the questions that the targets ask matter to public policy formation. They help to determine whether initiatives like the Goals or comprehensive statements of principle like the Declaration will, in fact, influence policy decisions to support the ideal that no one is left behind (United Nations, 2015). Targets help to define what it means to be not left behind. Comprehensive reporting may help to address information poverty as a barrier to inclusion.

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Data Sovereignty and Information Poverty

Information poverty may also hinder achieving the Goals (Marcella & Chowdhury, 2020). This is significant because, as Marcella and Chowdhury (2018) argued, information is ‘an agent to eradicate poverty’ (p. 366). Information poverty may also be an outcome of ineffective education and may be usefully described as ‘that situation in which individuals and communities, within a given context, do not have the requisite skills, abilities or material means to obtain efficient access to information, interpret it and apply it appropriately’ (Britz, 2004, p. 194). Another view is that information poverty means being ‘denied access to the information necessary for survival, self-sufficiency, sustainability or development’ (Marcella & Chowdhury, 2018, p. 367). Information poverty may be an outcome of material poverty, but it may also reflect the absence of information in one’s own language or from one’s own cultural perspective, evident through the exclusion of an indigenous voice and presence in the news media, for example. On the other hand, targeted advertising in indigenous languages or with reference to indigenous cultural concepts is increasingly used in health promotion materials and is a commonly identified characteristic of measures that work in indigenous health, for example (O’Sullivan, 2015). Ignorance of one’s indigenous language may also demonstrate information poverty in respect of information about one’s culture, compromising the ability to be an indigenous person. Linguistic deprivation is especially important in oral cultures where access to knowledge in its original form is a determinant of full participation in community life. Access to knowledge is a measure of social inclusion. Information is a determinant of political influence and is required for policy advocacy. Democracy requires information. Marcella and Chowdhury (2018) identified at least three forms of information poverty, which, this book argues, are important political obstacles to self-determination and which need to be addressed for the Goals to advance. These are: ‘(1) the lack of information, misinformation or disinformation; (2) the lack of capacity to use information and data to make sound decisions; and (3) the lack of capacity to create information and participate in informing society’ (p. 372). These forms of information poverty inhibit indigenous people’s contributions to public policy formation. However, among nonindigenous people, it may exacerbate ignorance and the misinformation that can contribute to racism and the absence of reason in public debate.

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Non-indigenous people’s information poverty with respect to knowledge of indigenous histories, cultures and aspirations contributes to the public ignorance that fuels racism. Information poverty may mean that one does not have the information to critically evaluate the negative stereotypes of indigenous people presented through news media as a discursive technique to undermine their political claims. Understanding how information poverty impedes public debate and indigenous people’s contributions to the formation of public opinion is an important political consideration when evaluating obstacles to self-determination. Institutional arrangements that presume and require reasoned deliberation are essential frameworks for bringing coherence to a set of Goals as broad and diverse as the SDGs. Deliberation legitimises public authority, encourages mutual understanding and draws together different kinds of knowledge (Dryzek et al., 2019) and philosophical preferences. News media is an important site of deliberation, where indigenous people may publicly debate, scrutinise public policy and propose their own views on the constitution of the good life. Access to broadcasting was, therefore, noted as a right of indigeneity by the Canadian Truth and Reconciliation Commission and has also been the subject of Waitangi Tribunal proceedings. Broadcasting is also a site for the transmission of culture, for the validation of indigenous stories and a platform for indigenous people to represent themselves to their own communities and the world. On the other hand, broadcasting is a site for the transmission of demeaning stereotypes and the undermining of indigenous rights. Broadcasting’s role in the formation of public opinion is significant. It is therefore an important site of inclusion, on the one hand, and exclusion on the other depending on the political values and intentions that media owners and employees bring to their work. It is a forum for challenging public consciousness and, alternatively, for validating and perpetuating stereotypes. It is important to close the ‘digital divide’ on which some indigenous people may find themselves on the wrong side. However, in Australia and New Zealand, indigenous use of information technology is high, and it is commonly used to develop and pursue important cultural imperatives (Carlson & Frazer, 2016). Electronic media are increasingly providing indigenous people with opportunities to tell their own stories and participate in national public life in their own ways, and in ways that are, in contrast, constrained when the control of newspapers, radio and television resides almost solely with non-indigenous broadcasters. Recent

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developments in indigenous broadcasting have helped to diminish information poverty, as well as create opportunities for cultural and linguistic revitalisation. Social media has changed how people communicate, share and advance ideas. It has also created new deliberative opportunities. Developing ways of analysing how people express themselves using social media may provide new ways of making deliberative democracy work for indigenous people.

11.6

Data for Policy

The revised Australian Closing the Gap targets, discussed in Chapter 7, reflect a gradual shift in favour of self-determination, and the Goals provide international sanction. They also provide a framework for further developing policy thought on the capacities of self-determination. The concept of targets that the Goals reinforce as public policy tools may help to create the sustained and integrated focus that has thus far not substantively influenced indigenous policy in Australia. Policy coordination should, on the other hand, help to achieve philosophical consistency among state agencies and policy measures. Nevertheless, policy coordination on the scale that the Goals imagine is extraordinarily difficult, and examples are not easy to find. In colonial societies where indigenous peoples seek to develop the political systems’ non-colonial potential, one may draw on the aspiration for ‘just institutions’ to think about how to transcend public policy’s subjugating capacity, as Strakosch (2019) described it. Canada has established an SDG Unit with policy coordination responsibilities across the federal government. In Australia, the Departments of Prime Minister and Cabinet and Foreign Affairs and Trade lead an inter-departmental coordinating committee. Individual departments take responsibility for one or more of the Goals. While there may be individual indigenous participants, there is no formal participation from indigenous nations or civil society. There are no systematic opportunities for indigenous leadership, and it is not clear that the inter-departmental committee has sufficient political support to develop the Goals into matters of policy substance. Indeed, internal consistency, which is ‘the congruence between the Goals set, the policy approach adopted, and the policy structures, procedures and instruments chosen’ (Briassoulis, 2005, p. 53), cannot be presumed, especially when indigenous people are excluded, or have a limited role, in the policy process.

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In New Zealand, the Treaty of Waitangi provides examples of coherent alignment between strategy and process. M¯aori policy does, then, constitute an important site for the trial and evaluation of the coherent policy integration that the Goals require. Expanding the functions of Aboriginal Community-Controlled Health Organisations in Australia and Whanau Ora in New Zealand could contribute to integration, as could the requirement that policy-makers explicitly consider the Treaty of Waitangi through the questions that in a Circular in 2019, Cabinet required policymakers to address in preparing advice to ministers. The Circular provides a framework for answering the question ‘what do M¯aori want policy to achieve’? The Circular described the Treaty as ‘one of the major sources of New Zealand’s Constitution’ (New Zealand Government, 2019, p. 1). However, its reference to the Cabinet Manual (2017) is to a more limited account of the Treaty’s significance as the ‘founding document of government in New Zealand’ (New Zealand Government, 2019, p. 1). The Treaty may indicate limits in our polity on majority decision-making. The law may sometimes accord a special recognition to M¯aori rights and interests such as those covered by Article 2 of the Treaty. And in many other cases the law and its processes should be determined by the general recognition and Article 3 of the Treaty that M¯aori belong, as citizens, to the whole community. In some situations, autonomous M¯aori institutions have a role within the wider constitutional and political system. In other circumstances, the model provided by the Treaty of Waitangi of two parties negotiating and agreeing with one another as appropriate. Policy and procedure in this area continues to evolve. (Cabinet Manual, 2017, p. 2).

In respect of Article 1 (the Crown’s right to govern), the Circular requires policy-makers to ask: 1. How does the proposal/policy affect all New Zealanders? What is the effect on M¯aori (if different, how and why)? 1.1 Will the proposal affect different M¯aori groups differently? 1.2 What could the unintended impacts on M¯aori be and how does the proposal mitigate them?

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2. How Does the Proposal Demonstrate Good Government Within the Context of the Treaty? 2.1 Have policy-makers followed existing general policy guidance? 2.2 Are there any legal and/or Treaty settlement obligations for the Crown? 3. What Are the Treaty/M¯aori Interests in This Issue? 3.1 How Have Policy-Makers Ascertained Them? 4. How does the proposal demonstrate that policy-makers are meeting the good faith obligations of the Crown? 5. To what extent have policy-makers anticipated Treaty arguments that might be made? 5.1 And How Does the Proposal Respond to These Arguments? (New Zealand Government, 2019, P. 4) In respect of Article 2 (the M¯aori right to authority over their own affairs) policy-makers must ask: 1. Does the proposal allow for the M¯aori exercise of rangatiratanga while recognising the right of the Crown to govern? 1.1 Can/should the proposal, or parts of it, be led by M¯aori? 1.2 What options/mechanisms are available to enable rangatiratanga? 2. Have M¯aori Had a Role in Design/implementation? 2.1 If so, who? 2.2 If not, should they? 3. Does the Proposal: 3.1 enhance M¯aori well-being? 3.2 build M¯aori capability or capacity? 4. Is There Any Aspect of This Issue that M¯aori Consider to Be a Taonga? 4.1 How have policy-makers come to their view of whether the issue is a taonga, and is there consensus?

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4.2 What effect does that have on the proposal? (New Zealand Government, 2019, p. 8) In respect of Article 3 (the M¯aori right to citizenship), policy-makers must ask: 1. Does the proposal aim to achieve equitable outcomes? 2. How does the proposal differ from previous efforts to address the issue? 3. How does the proposal demonstrate that policy-makers have looked at the proposal from the perspective of legal values such as natural justice, due process, fairness and equity? 4. How does the proposal demonstrate that policy-makers have looked at the issue from the perspective of tikanga values? (New Zealand Government, 2019, p. 11) The Circular noted that the ‘right of government to make laws’ is qualified ‘by the right of M¯aori to retain authority over certain things’ (New Zealand Government, 2019, p. 5), but whether that is a right to be ‘sovereign in their own right, yet share sovereignty with society at large’ (Maaka & Fleras, 2005, p. 5) is unresolved and contested. This right would potentially be strengthened through an explicit alignment between the Declaration and the Goals. A step towards this alignment may be found in the extension of the Circular’s questions that we (O’Sullivan et al., 2021) proposed in our Critical Tiriti Analysis (see Chapter 8) of the instrument, which would lead to clearer data being collected on what M¯aori think about a given policy proposal. These questions, which are modifiable to suit indigenous aspirations in other jurisdictions, are: • How have M¯aori contributed to this advice and the priorities it presumes? • What evidence is there that this policy preserves M¯aori authority and contributes to peace and good order? • In which other ways have M¯aori contributed to the preparation of this advice? • What do M¯aori say are the issues to consider? • What do M¯aori say are their interests in this issue? • What contributions have M¯aori people and ideas made to the drafting of this advice?

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• Could this policy disadvantage M¯aori in ways that it does not disadvantage others? • Why is the (local) government presuming to make this decision? • Why does the decision not, in part or whole, belong to the sphere of tino rangatiratanga? (O’Sullivan et al., 2021) Asking these kinds of questions contributes to transforming policy systems to serve the ideal that public institutions should function justly for indigenous peoples as much as they should function justly for everybody else.

11.7

Transforming Entire Policy Systems

The Goals provide scope for integrated and coherent transformation. However, it is a matter of philosophical preference for this scope to be used in favour of indigenous self-determination. Integration requires cooperation among state agencies which must, in turn, cooperate effectively with indigenous civil society, recognising that indigenous philosophies and aspirations, and the context of colonialism itself, lend themselves to integrated public policy. Indigenous people must be able to see that these relationships lead to worthwhile policy outcomes. However, at the same time, it is important that contestable advice is provided to ministers and that indigenous civil society retains its independence, including its capacity to make independent contributions to public debate. For indigenous peoples, understanding and influencing the shared political sphere enhances access to those economic and cultural opportunities which are, almost always, a function of wider political relationships and thus integral to measures that improve indigenous well-being. Beyond representation in parliament, what does it mean, in practical terms, for an indigenous person to be a self-determining citizen of a liberal democracy while also enjoying the rights and responsibilities belonging, collectively, to indigenous communities? ‘Political equality occurs when the ‘rightness’ or ‘wrongness’ of a policy idea is determined by reason and argument. It is not determined by the apparent moral inferiority of an Indigenous position, just because it’s an Indigenous view’ (O’Sullivan, 2019, the right to say ‘no’ is at the heart of political equality, para. 6). It arises from the institutional structures of the state and reflects considered choices about who should be included

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and who should not. For example, there are differences across jurisdictions in the moral and political persuasiveness that prior occupancy is permitted. How international legal instruments set out the indigenous right to self-determination is not always accepted by states as immediately and practically helpful to the goal of improving indigenous well-being. However, for the politics of indigeneity, it is prior occupancy, not relative need, or disadvantage, that justifies indigenous claims. Indigeneity is simultaneously a discourse of resistance and transformation (Maaka & Fleras, 2005; O’Sullivan, 2007), but one that depends pragmatically, although not always with absolute conviction, on justifying its claims in internationally acceptable liberal terms. It recognises that liberal conceptions of justice are neither constant nor absolute, so it seeks to influence the continuous rebalancing of the competing claims that citizens make upon the state. It seeks the reconciliation of rights proceeding from prior occupancy, with state values and aspirations, to limit how public policies and institutions restrict indigenous freedom (Maaka & Fleras, 2005). It is instructive to consider what it means to accept practices grounded in distinctiveness and positive understanding of indigenous ‘difference’ to show that liberalism need not, as a matter of course, justify indigenous people’s assimilation into a homogenous national political community. To this end: Liberal democracy serves indigeneity by potentially providing a way of mediating power relationships and reconciling Indigenous nationalism with the harmonious sharing of national sovereignty, which short of expelling non-Indigenous populations, is the only means Indigenous peoples have of securing self-determination. At the same time, liberal democracy is served by indigeneity’s constant reminder that it ought to be interested in the liberty and representation of all not just some people. Liberal democracy is ideally all encompassing and inclusive. (O’Sullivan, 2011, p. 89)

Sameness, however, precludes equality and diminishes the right to culture. Equality as procedural sameness precludes sameness in substantive human worth. It separates personal autonomy from the cultural context that gives autonomy its meaning. If only some people’s understanding of liberty are accepted, and only some forms of expression are accepted, then sovereignty belongs to just some citizens and is entrenched as one group’s power over another. Indigenous policy is complex because it occurs at the intersection of conflicting ideas about the nature of humanity itself.

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Colonialism’s essential presumption is that there is a hierarchy of human worth—a presumption which leads to contemporary public policy being made from the perspective that some people’s interests are morally more deserving than another people’s rights. Disaggregating data is important to show differences in the impact of political values and political systems on different groups of people.

11.8

Conclusion

How data are measured and why need to be considered when revising how the Goals could make a greater and more easily quantifiable contribution to ensuring that indigenous peoples are among those who are not left behind. This chapter has raised examples of indigenous priorities from both indigenous scholarship and civil society. Quantification ‘brings with it a sense of accountability, associated with an aura of objectivity and neutrality’ (Yap & Watene, 2019, p. 451), which counters colonialism’s interest in the measurement of human worth, where ‘indicators sometimes conceal or submerge the ideological biases and political decisions that lie behind their production’ (Yap & Watene, 2019, p. 453). Indigenous contributions to human well-being and sustainable development are influential at various points in the policy system. It is important that these points of influence may be described and analysed by indigenous peoples using their own indicators of success. The chapter explained this aspiration with reference to indigenous data sovereignty. It also noted the prevalence of indigenous information poverty and its impact on democracy’s effective functioning for indigenous peoples. It noted that the information decision-makers choose to collect, or not collect, to inform their decision-making, is a further illustration of the relationship between data and policy outcomes. This relationship is significant because indigeneity is a discourse of both resistance and transformation with potential implications for whole policy systems. What people want to know is determined by what they want to resist and transform.

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References Australian Government Productivity Commission. (2020). ‘Indigenous evaluation strategy’. Canberra: Commonwealth of Australia. https://www.pc.gov. au/inquiries/completed/indigenous-evaluation/strategy/indigenous-evalua tion-strategy.pdf. Accessed 24 December 2020. Bishop, R., O’Sullivan, D., & Berryman, M. (2010). Scaling up education reform: Addressing the politics of disparity. NZCER Press. Briassoulis, H. (2005). Analysis of policy integration: Conceptual and methodological. In H. Briassoulis (Ed.), Policy integration for complex environmental problems: The example of Mediterranean desertification. Routledge. Britz, J. J. (2004). To know or not to know: A moral reflection on information poverty. Journal of Information Science, 30(3), 192–204. Carlson, B., & Frazer, R. (2016). Indigenous activism and social media. In A. McCosker, S. Vivienne, & A. Johns (Eds.), Negotiating digital citizenship: Control, contest culture. London: Rowman & Littlefield international (pp. 115–131), Roman and Littlefield. Corntassel, J. (2008). Toward Sustainable Self-determination: rethinking the contemporary Indigenous-rights discourse. Alternatives: Global, Local, Political, 33(1), 105–132. Davis, K., Kingsbury, B., & Merry, S. (2015). Introduction: The local-global life of indicators, law, power and resistance. In K. Davis, B. Kingsbury, & S. Merry (Eds.), The quiet power of indicators: Measuring governance, corruption and rule of law, edited (pp. 1–24). Cambridge University Press. Davis, M. (2016). Data and the United Nations declaration on the rights of indigenous peoples. In T. Kukutai & J. Taylor (Eds.), Indigenous data sovereignty: Toward an agenda (pp. 25–38). ANU Press. Degai, T. S., & Petrov, A. N. (2021). Rethinking Arctic sustainable development agenda through indigenizing UN sustainable development Goals. International Journal of Sustainable Development & World Ecology, 28(6), 518–523. Department of the Prime Minister and Cabinet. (2017). Cabinet Manual. https://dpmc.govt.nz/our-business-units/cabinet-office/supporting-workcabinet/cabinet-manual. Accessed 17 September 2020. Dryzek, J. S., Bowman, Q., Kuyper, J., Pickering, J., Sass, J., & Stevenson, H. (2019). Deliberative global governance. Cambridge University Press. International Work Group for Indigenous Affairs. (2020). The indigenous world 2020. https://www.iwgia.org/en/aotearoa-new-zealand/3641iw-2020-aotearoa-new-zealand.html. Accessed 6 August 2020. Kukutai, T., & Taylor, J. (2016). Introduction: Data sovereignty for indigenous peoples: Current practice and future needs. In T. Kukutai & J. Taylor (Eds.), Indigenous data sovereignty: Toward an agenda (pp. 1–22). ANU Press.

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Lee, P., Fasoli, L., Ford, L., Stephenson, P., & McInerney, D. (2014). Indigenous kids and schooling in the northern territory. Batchelor Press. Maaka, R., & Fleras, A. (2005). The politics of indigeneity: Challenging the state in Canada and Aotearoa New Zealand. University of Otago Press. Madden, R., Coleman, C., Mashford, A., & Connolly, M. (2019). Indigenous identification: Past, present and a possible future. Statistical Journal of the IAOS, 35(1), 23–27. Marcella, R., & Chowdhury, G. (2020). Eradicating information poverty: An agenda for research. Journal of Librarianship and Information Science, 52(2), 366–381. New Zealand Government. (2019). Cabinet Office Circula—Te Tiriti o Waitangi/Treaty of Waitangi Guidance. https://dpmc.govt.nz/publications/co19-5-te-tiriti-o-waitangi-treaty-waitangi-guidance. Accessed 11 July 2020. O’Sullivan, D. (2019). Indigenous people no longer have the legal right to say no to the Adani mine—here’s what it means for equality. The Conversation. https://theconversation.com/indigenous-people-no-longer-have-the-legalright-to-say-no-to-the-adani-mine-heres-what-it-means-for-equality-122788. Accessed 9 July 2020. O’Sullivan, D. (2007). Beyond biculturalism. Huia Publishers. O’Sullivan, D. (2011). Democracy, power and Indigeneity. Australian Journal of Politics & History, 57 (1), 86–101. O’Sullivan, D. (2015). Indigenous health: Power, politics and citizenship. Australian Scholarly Publishing. O’Sullivan, D. (2017). Indigeneity: A politics of potential—Australia, Fiji and New Zealand. Policy Press. O’Sullivan, D., Came, H., McCreanor, T., & Kidd, J. (2021). A critical review of the cabinet circular on Te Tiriti o Waitangi and the Treaty of Waitangi advice to ministers. Ethnicities, 21(6), 1093–1112. Schultz, R. (2020). Closing the gap and the sustainable development Goals: Listening to Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people. Australian and New Zealand Journal of Public Health, 44(1), 11–13. Snipp, C. M. (2016). What does data sovereignty imply: What does it look like. In T. Kukutai & J. Taylor (Eds.), Indigenous data sovereignty: Toward an agenda (pp. 39–56). ANU Press. Strakosch, E. (2019). The Technical is Political: Settler colonialism and the Australian Indigenous policy system. Australian Journal of Political Science, 54(1), 114–130. The United Nations Permanent Forum on Indigenous Issues. (2016). Indigenous Peoples and the 2030 Agenda. https://www.un.org/development/ desa/indigenouspeoples/wp-content/uploads/sites/19/2016/08/Indige nous-Peoples-and-the-2030-Agenda.pdf. Accessed 22 August 2022.

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United Nations. (2007). Declaration on the rights of indigenous peoples. United https://www.un.org/development/desa/indigenouspeoples/wpNations. content/uploads/sites/19/2018/11/UNDRIP_E_web.pdf. Accessed 5 August 2022. United Nations. (2015). Transforming our world: The 2030 agenda for sustainable development. https://sustainabledevelopment.un.org/content/docume nts/21252030%20Agenda%20for%20Sustainable%20Development%20web. pdf. Accessed 5 August 2022. United Nations. (2020). Human Development Report 2020 The Next Frontier: Human Development and the Anthropocene. https://hdr.undp.org/system/ files/documents//hdr2020pdf.pdf. Accessed 22 August 2022. Waldron, J. (2002). Indigeneity? First peoples and last occupancy. Quentin Baxter Memorial Lecture, Victoria University of Wellington. 5 December 2002. http://www2.law.columbia.edu/faculty_franke/Thursday%20Lunch/ Waldron.facultylunch.indigeneity.pdf. Yap, M.L.-M., & Watene, K. (2019). The Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs) and Indigenous Peoples: Another missed opportunity? Journal of Human Development and Capabilities, 20(4), 451–467.

CHAPTER 12

Conclusion

Indigenous aspiration, agency, culture and colonial experience define what it means to be not left behind. This book’s central argument is that leaving nobody behind, the ultimate objective of the United Nations Sustainable Development Goals, requires that culture is permanently admitted into the working of the state. In association, there would always and everywhere be a meaningful and influential indigenous presence in public decision-making. This presence complements indigenous peoples advancing their right to self-determination as independent political communities. In different ways, but with equal conviction, indigenous people in Australia, Canada and New Zealand explain and defend aspirations that transcend the Goals’ interest in indigenous people only as ‘vulnerable’. The Goals’ value to indigenous self-determination in jurisdictions like these depends on a permanent reconfiguration of how liberal democracy works alongside independent indigenous authority. Implementing the Goals cannot, therefore, be seen as a short-term project to be achieved within the 15-year timeframe that the United Nations adopted in 2015. It is only by revising the Goals’ indicators with reference to the universal right to self-determination that they potentially include indigenous people among those who are not left behind. The United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples expresses this right as belonging to indigenous peoples as much as to anybody else. © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2023 D. O’Sullivan, Indigeneity, Culture and the UN Sustainable Development Goals, Sustainable Development Goals Series, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-99-0581-2_12

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Postcolonialism, which this book imagines the Goals being reconfigured to support, is a permanent arrangement—an arrangement that depends on public institutions respecting culture as a mark of human dignity. Culture is foundational to how people frame their political aspirations and expectations. It is preliminary to how they see the purpose of politics. Yet only two of the Goals’ 232 indicators refer to indigenous peoples and neither consider culture. Indigenous people are noted as subsistence farmers requiring state support and people whose vulnerability means that they particularly require the attention of the state’s education system, along with members of other vulnerable populations. Nowhere is indigenous agency considered. In response, this book is about culture and agency as much as it is about the Goals. Culture is a constituent of just policy outcomes because policy is not a technical or intellectually neutral process. Who makes policy, how, why and in whose interests is a determinant of its material impact and justifies indigenous presence wherever it is made, implemented and evaluated. Policy is a site of contest and resistance. Contrasting the assertion of colonial authority with indigenous resistance through policy exposes different perspectives on the nature of human equality. The contrast shows how and why it is important for the Goals to emphasise and privilege equality as a principle on which leaving nobody behind depends. Equality allows indigenous peoples to think beyond vulnerability by considering what political spaces of equal human agency might look like. Indigenous agency over their own affairs and natural environment is a precursor to not being left behind. Thinking beyond vulnerability is, however, profoundly complex because it requires the state to relinquish colonial authority and consider the characteristics of an alternative non-colonial order. Assessing the Goals’ limits from the perspective of indigenous self-determination contributes to that consideration. Culture and agency mean that a non-colonial state is concerned with the just distribution of power at least as much as it is concerned with the just distribution of material resources. In short, egalitarian justice alone does not satisfy the rights and capacities of self-determination. For example, group rights matter and are preliminary to people not being left behind in relation to several of the Goals. To this end, the book has shown relationships between colonialism and poverty (SDG 1 No Poverty), and culture and agency, and health, and the care and protection of children (SDG 3 Good Health and Well-being). Also, relationships between culture, agency, and education (SDG 4 Quality Education) and economic

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growth (SDG 8 Decent Work and Economic Growth). The contributions that these and other policy domains make to leaving nobody behind are supported by an overall focus on just institutions (SDG 16 Peace, Justice and Strong Institutions). In New Zealand, Te Tiriti o Waitangi helps to contextualise what a just institution looks like. Its example may be instructive for negotiating treaties between indigenous nations and states in Australia and in relation to the assumptions that political systems make about who may and may not make public policy. Ultimately, indigenous policy leadership aims to ensure that people are not left behind because they can exercise authority over their own lives both inside the state through public institutions and outside the state using their own decision-making arrangements. Eliminating state interference in people’s lives distinguishes a just and non-colonial state. This book has shown the relationship between this ambitious task and privileging reason over self-interest in public decision-making. Contributing to public decision-making with the expectation that one’s contribution has the same opportunity for influence as anybody else’s expresses the equal right to self-determination. This book has provided examples of how this right of influence may be supported through the organisational principles of participatory parity and differentiated citizenship which, in turn, shows that colonialism is not a necessary liberal democratic outcome. Its continuation is neither inevitable nor immutable in Australia, Canada or New Zealand. It is a matter of political choice, and the book has shown how, in practical terms, differentiated citizenship may contribute to political arrangements where, through their culturally contextualised agency, indigenous people may ensure that they are not left behind. Not being left behind in a liberal democracy means that it is reasonable for all and not just some people to expect public institutions to work in their favour. Culturally contextualised indigenous agency means contributing to public affairs from distinctive perspectives with the freedom to respond to colonial experiences. In New Zealand, distinctive M¯aori participation in the parliament and executive is an important example of what it may mean for the state to work justly and support SDG 16 (Peace, Justice and Strong Institutions). The proposed First Nations Voice to Parliament in Australia is a further example and potential illustration of how democracy may work better through inclusivity, which is a matter of justice because people’s expectations of what democracy

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should achieve are framed by experiences of colonisation and culture. Selfdetermination may be unattainable without reference to these contexts. Making distinctive contributions to the public life of the state is not an alternative to the authority that may lie within independent indigenous political communities but a complement that may, among other considerations, be a determinant of people’s willingness to accept the state’s moral legitimacy and an important consideration when treaties between indigenous nations and the state are contemplated. Leaving nobody behind, including indigenous persons and communities, is a political value. It is fundamentally and irreconcilably inconsistent with colonialism as a political philosophy of relative human worth. Yet in different ways, Australia, New Zealand and Canada have said that they support the Goals as an expression of their national values. The book has examined this presumption with reference to the Australian Senate Committee Inquiry into the Goals, the Canadian and New Zealand Voluntary National Reviews to the United Nations High-Level Political Forum, and commitments to implement the Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples in British Columbia and Canada. While there can be significant dissonance between stated or presumed values and policy outcomes, it is evident that the extent to which indigenous people are left behind, or not, reflects contested ideas on the questions of how people may or may not exercise self-responsibility in relation to their own affairs and how people may or may not contribute to the public life of the state. Differences are based on colonial presumptions of where one is located in a hierarchy of human worth, so leaving people behind is largely a matter of political choice with implications across policy domains. For this reason, just public institutions emerge in response to philosophical tensions between colonial authority and indigenous resistance. Values matter, too, because as independent inquiries have found, racism is a value that contributes to indigenous people’s relatively poor health, for example, and shows how and why public institutions may not be designed to serve everybody’s interests equally well. On the other hand, New Zealand’s creation of an independent M¯aori Health Authority and Australia’s revised Closing the Gap policy and Indigenous Evaluation Strategy are responses to indigenous resistance. The intent is to bring indigenous people and epistemologies to the centre of public policy-making and serve the ideal of indigenous belonging to the state with the substantive capacity to influence policy and its outcomes. These policy measures do not on their own constitute a just

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state, but they are based on principles that contrast with those informing state child care and protection, which remains an example of significant colonial contest in Australia, Canada and New Zealand. Quality education (SDG 4) is also a policy domain where colonial authority is sharply and sometimes effectively contested. The school is a site where contests over who is left behind and who is not are especially prominent. The school is not a politically or ideological neutral institution. Its history is one of colonial subjugation, but its potential as a site of far-reaching transformation is well understood by indigenous scholars, teachers and citizens. The idea that schooling should serve each citizen equally well is a recent political objective, though success in its favour is mixed. The extent to which the school should exist in response to culture, or the extent to which citizens may go to school as indigenous, is a point that remains unresolved. This book has shown how culture may count in schooling and how its presence illustrates agency over vulnerability. The school is potentially and justly a site of indigenous agency because of its closeness to indigenous communities and the opportunities this closeness provides for indigenous deliberation over the purpose of schooling as an expression of self-determination. However, its potential to contest the colonial presumptions of the state makes the school a site of state counterresistance and an important case study in considering who is or is not left behind. Schooling is a precursor to decent work and economic growth (SDG 8). Schools’ potential is, in turn, to support indigenous expectations beyond subsistence farming and minimise vulnerability. Work is a cultural activity and economic growth serves cultural ambitions. They both support indigenous independence and thus diminish the state’s coercive power over both individuals and their political communities. There are examples from Australia, Canada and New Zealand and from policy domains, including environmental management, procurement policy and free trade agreements to show that indigenous economic growth occurs where justice, culture and pragmatic economic policy intersect. Economic growth supports restitution and self-determination while the impact of its absence on the national economy is to leave greater numbers behind. Decent work and economic growth (SDG 8) is, therefore, a goal of particular relevance to indigenous self-determination. One of the Goals’ strengths, and purposes, is to provide an explicit focus on measurable policy objectives. However, what is measured and

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why reflects whose values and aspirations hold most influence. For this reason, many indigenous entities have developed their own measures of self-determination, and these should inform revisions to the Goals’ indicators to ensure that they are consistent with indigenous accounts of what it means to say that one is not left behind. The definition and measurement of being left behind are not objective and are not politically or culturally neutral. When contemplating questions of definition and measurement, states like Australia, Canada and New Zealand need to consider a project of non-colonial potential against the maintenance of domestic colonialism explicitly requiring that some people are left behind. There is an irreconcilable conflict which each may be making incremental steps towards addressing through their various attempts to strengthen the indigenous voice within the state. However, none of these states have explicitly acknowledged the conflict. Nor are measures to strengthen independent indigenous authority sufficiently strong to make significant and enduring contributions to leaving nobody behind. Beyond statistical methods, values of self-determination inform indigenous data sovereignty and there are examples, internationally, of how these may help to reconceptualise the Goals as an instrument of meaningful ambition. Indigenous data sovereignty is an expression of what should be measured, by whom and for whose purposes. The data that states collect about indigenous people reflect what the state wants to know and what is not collected reflects what the state does not want to know. Unless indigenous people are making decisions for themselves about what is measured and collected, policy is made based on misleading or incomplete information. The Goals, for example, were drafted from an incomplete understanding of indigenous peoples and their expectations of what it means to be not left behind. Instead, it may be reasonable for the Goals to be revised to take explicit account of what people say they have reason to value. What, furthermore, are the indicators of self-determination? The UN Human Development Index provides one starting point for discussing this question, but it is to indigenous entities that one might more purposefully turn to develop the discussion. The National Inuit Climate Change Strategy, the Tebtebba Foundation—Indigenous Peoples’ International Centre for Policy Research and Education—the M¯aori Data Sovereignty Network, Te Mana Rauranga, the National Inuit Health Survey and the Indigenous Navigator Project show the breadth and depth of indigenous thought on sustainable development. Indigenous expectations across jurisdictions may, however, be

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summarised with two broad points that should be apparent in the indicators for each of the 17 Goals. Firstly, what does fair and reasonable independent indigenous authority look like and secondly what does it look like for indigenous people to share the political authority of the state as indigenous? These questions could be addressed through indicators such as the following: SDG 1 (No Poverty) • Indigenous nations are able to use and develop their resources for material sustenance. • Indigenous people’s incomes exceed the domestic poverty line, and the range of their incomes is at least consistent with the range for the dominant domestic population group. SDG 2 (Zero Hunger) • Indigenous peoples have sufficient access to both traditional food sources and functioning food markets as producers and consumers. SDG 3 (Good Health and Well-being) • Indigenous people’s health outcomes are consistent with the highest possible standard of health care. • Indigenous people are at least proportionately present in the health workforce, have equitable influence on policy design and implementation and have access to culturally cognisant and effective care. SDG 4 (Quality Education) • Indigenous people may define quality education and pursue it through their own institutions and/or those of the state. • Indigenous people are at least proportionately present in the education workforce, have equitable influence on policy design and implementation and have access to culturally cognisant and effective education.

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SDG 5 (Gender Equality) • Indigenous women and girls may define and experience equality for themselves in both their own nations and within the state. SDG 6 (Clean Water and Sanitation) • All indigenous people have access to clean water and sanitation and meaningful influence over water management. SDG 7 (Affordable and Clean Energy) • All indigenous people have access to affordable and clean energy and meaningful influence over the setting of energy policy. • Indigenous nations lead or contribute equitably to the management of renewable energy sources in their regions, have opportunities to trade in energy markets, and are proportionately present in energyrelated employment. SDG 8 (Decent Work and Economic Growth) • All indigenous people have access to decent work and remuneration that is consistent with occupational standards but always above the poverty line. • Indigenous nations, people and businesses contribute to and benefit equitably from economic policy decisions and may use economic growth to support cultural ambitions and self-determination through economic independence from the state. SDG 9 (Industry, Innovation and Infrastructure) • Indigenous nations and people contribute to and benefit from developments in industry, innovation and infrastructure in ways that are culturally meaningful and economically desirable.

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SDG 10 (Reduced Inequalities) • Indigenous nations and people define and experience substantive political, social, economic and cultural equality. SDG 11 (Sustainable Cities and Communities) • Indigenous nations and people contribute with participatory parity to the government of the cities and communities in which they live. SDG 12 (Responsible Consumption and Production) • Indigenous nations and people have decision-making authority in relation to the consumption and production of goods on their lands and have equitable access to markets as both consumers and producers. • That the requirement for indigenous nations’ free, prior and informed consent for others’ commercial production on their lands is upheld and that when consent is offered it is done so in terms freely set by the indigenous nation. SDG 13 (Climate Change and its Impacts) • Indigenous nations and people contribute with participatory parity to all domestic and international climate policy decisions and may contribute to policy implementation in ways that are consistent with their values and expectations and responsive to their national circumstances. • Indigenous nations and people contribute to and benefit from the new markets that are emerging to support climate policy measures. SDG 14 (Life Below Water) • That indigenous nations and people contribute with participatory parity to policy decisions on the marine environment.

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• That indigenous nations and people have equitable access to the marine environment of their territories for cultural and sustainable economic purposes, including employment and commercial development. SDG 15 (Life on Land) • That indigenous nations and people contribute with participatory parity to policy decisions in relation to life on land. • That indigenous nations and people have equitable access to their territories for cultural and sustainable economic purposes, including employment and commercial development. SDG 16 (Peace, Justice and Strong Institutions) • That peace is achieved through indigenous nations and people being free from discrimination and unconstrained by states in determining and leading lives of personal value. • That indigenous nations freely maintain and develop their own institutions to support the greatest possible/desired political, economic, social and cultural independence. • That indigenous nations share the political authority of the state through just terms of association that they have freely helped to establish, and that indigenous people help to design, maintain and develop public institutions, with participatory parity, and with the reasonable expectation that these institutions serve indigenous interests as effectively as they serve other citizens. SDG 17 (Partnerships for the Goals) • That indigenous nations and people help to lead and develop partnerships for the Goals, with participatory parity, including relationships among indigenous nations across national boundaries and between indigenous nations and states. In the Introduction, this book noted that there is no evidence of a deep indigenous scholarly or political interest in the Sustainable Development Goals. In summary, this is because their indicators make just two limiting

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and reductionist references to indigenous peoples and their aspirations. The roles of culture and colonialism in indigenous people’s lives and the setting of their political expectations are not admitted. Yet, the presumption that nobody should be left behind is necessarily and profoundly counter colonial. Their counter colonial intent means that an intellectual and political alliance between the Goals and the Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples and its expression of the indigenous right to self-determination is achievable. A redrafting of the Goals’ indicators, on the presumption of indigenous leadership and participation inside as well as outside the state, is both possible and a precursor to ensuring that indigenous nations and people are not left behind.

Index

A Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Commission (ATSIC), 44, 45 Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people, 44, 45, 60, 125, 127, 136, 169, 174–177, 179, 200, 203, 217, 218, 227 Aboriginal Community Controlled Health Organisations in Australia, 99, 174, 248 Aboriginal Consultative Group, 199 Aboriginal Land Council, 227 Aboriginal Land Rights, 58 Accident Compensation Corporation, 160 Addis Ababa Action Agenda on Financing for Development, 226 Albanese Government, 121, 127, 149, 153, 176 Anishinaabe, 77 Arctic, 236 Arden, Jacinda, 152 Asia Indigenous Peoples Pact, 243

Assembly of First Nations, 143, 144, 147, 148, 224, 225 Assimilation, 7, 198, 252 Auckland Regional Public Health Service, 160 Australia, 4, 5, 9–13, 20, 22, 27, 41, 43, 45, 58–60, 69, 71, 73, 75, 77, 84, 92, 106, 114, 123, 124, 128, 133, 134, 136–138, 140, 144, 149, 153, 154, 159, 160, 174, 183, 184, 189–191, 197–199, 201–203, 206, 211, 212, 215, 218, 226, 235, 238, 242, 246–248, 257, 259–262 Australian Constitution, 114, 120, 121, 127, 149 Australian Government, 128, 137, 175, 218, 225 Australian Human Rights and Equal Opportunities Commission, 4 Australian Human Rights Commission, 134 Australian Local Government Association, 173

© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2023 D. O’Sullivan, Indigeneity, Culture and the UN Sustainable Development Goals, Sustainable Development Goals Series, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-99-0581-2

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INDEX

Australian Medical Association, 27 Australian national values, 131, 133–136, 153 Australian Professional Standards for Teachers, 200 B Biculturalism, 94 Bi-national state, 90 Britain, 9, 83 British, 72 British Columbia, 4, 9, 14, 32, 33, 133, 143–146, 153, 260 British Crown, 9, 51 C Canada, 4, 5, 9, 11, 12, 14, 20, 22, 27, 71, 73, 77, 84, 93, 106, 131, 133, 134, 138–143, 146, 147, 149, 153, 154, 165, 184, 198, 211, 212, 215, 221–226, 242, 243, 247, 257, 259–262 Canadian Association for Mineral Exploration, 144 Canadian Constitution, 81, 224 Canadian Feed the Children, 74 Capabilities approach, 58, 61 Cape York Institute, 227 Cape York Land Council, 60 Charter schools, 204, 205 Child Poverty Reduction Act 2018, 170 Citizens, 45, 54, 93, 94, 204 Citizenship, 20, 28, 43, 52–54, 83, 93–95, 100–102, 114, 151, 163, 179, 182, 191, 198, 234, 237, 238, 250 Claims of indigeneity, 12 Closing the Gap in Indigenous Disadvantage, 136, 172, 178, 194, 217, 238, 247, 260

Coalition of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Peak Organisations, 173, 174 Colonial, 59, 126, 147, 164, 166, 189–191, 202, 228, 259–261 Colonial character, 83 Colonial foundations, 71 Colonialism, 3, 4, 11, 20, 21, 29, 33, 48–51, 53, 61, 67, 69, 71–73, 82, 89–92, 94, 98, 101, 107, 108, 113, 115, 123, 124, 138, 140, 142, 148, 153, 159, 177, 191, 192, 214, 219, 233, 237, 241, 251–253, 258–260, 262, 267 Colonial political relationships, 71 Colonial presumptions, 103 Colonisation, 13, 235, 260 Commonwealth Indigenous Procurement Policy, 219 Comprehensive and Progressive Agreement for Trans-Pacific Partnership, 222 Constitutional transformation, 90 Convention on the Rights of the Child, 165 Coolangatta Statement on Indigenous Peoples’ Rights in Education, 199 COVID-19, 168, 221 Critical Tiriti Analysis (CTA), 14, 76, 160, 164, 179, 181–184, 250 Crown, 94, 95, 151, 162, 179, 181, 183, 216, 222, 248, 249 Cultural context, 67 Cultural sense, 67 Culture, 1, 8, 10, 12–14, 39, 40, 42, 45, 47, 49, 53–56, 58, 60, 62, 67–71, 77, 84, 89, 90, 95, 100, 101, 114, 115, 124, 170, 171, 189, 191, 192, 194, 196, 198, 201, 202, 215, 227, 228, 245,

INDEX

246, 252, 257, 258, 260, 261, 267 D Danish Institute for Human Rights, 243 Deatnu River, 81 Declaration of Alma-Ata, 160, 161 Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples Act 2019, 145 Deliberative democracy, 247 Democracy, 20, 28, 55, 93, 97, 114, 115, 119, 125, 234, 245, 253, 259 Democratic contest, 114 Demographic dividend, 215 Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade, 220 Differentiated liberal citizenship, 13, 89, 93, 104, 105, 108, 259 Draft Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples, 165 E Economic dividend, 215 Economic growth, 14, 15, 21, 31, 41, 46, 211, 212, 218, 219, 222, 227, 228, 259, 261, 264 Education Review Office, 197 F Finland, 81 Finmark Act 2005, 81 First Fleet, 69 First Nations Assembly, 4 First Nations businesses, 224 First Nations Child and Family Caring Society of Canada, 165 First Nations Voice to Parliament, 11, 13, 92, 108, 114, 120–128, 130, 149, 160, 176, 177, 259

271

Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nations, 76 Food insecurity, 67, 68, 73–77, 84 Food sovereignty, 74, 76 Free trade, 222, 223, 228 Free Trade Agreements (FTAs), 225, 228, 261

G GDP, 61 Global Affairs Canada, 224 Government of Canada, 139, 142, 143 Government of Victoria, 4 Government procurement policy, 218 Grandmothers Against Removals, 165 Group rights, 13, 67, 69, 70, 101, 183, 258 Guaranteed seats in parliament, 105

H Harper, Stephen, 139 Howard Government, 26, 44 Human agency, 40, 58, 92, 105, 193, 227, 258 Human capabilities, 58 Human Development Index, 233–235, 262 Human dignity, 2, 12, 39, 48, 49, 52, 58, 62, 75, 98, 108, 214, 258 Human rights, 2, 3, 7, 9, 39, 41, 45, 48–50, 52, 62, 67, 75, 89, 94, 119, 133, 135, 138, 140, 143, 146, 153, 203 Human right to development, 61

I Index of Political and Cultural Freedom, 236 Indian Act 1876, 8, 96

272

INDEX

Indicators Aotearoa New Zealand, 152 Indigeneity, 60, 69, 76, 79, 95, 96, 104, 115, 252, 253 Indigenous business, 224, 226 Indigenous data sovereignty, 15, 20, 234, 239, 241, 243–245, 253, 262 Indigenous Development Indicators, 237 Indigenous Evaluation Council, 174, 178 Indigenous Evaluation Strategy, 14, 160, 174, 176, 184, 238, 260 Indigenous food sovereignty (IFS), 74 Indigenous Food Systems Network, 74 Indigenous Navigator Initiative, 244 Indigenous Navigator Project, 43, 234, 262 Indigenous peoples, 3, 5–13, 15, 19–22, 25, 30, 33, 39–41, 43, 44, 50–52, 62, 67, 68, 70, 71, 75, 78, 79, 81, 84, 91, 92, 96, 103, 108, 138, 141, 144, 161, 166, 179, 194, 195, 212, 222–224, 226, 228, 233–237, 239, 242, 244, 247, 251, 253, 257, 258, 262 Indigenous Peoples Economic and Trade Cooperation Arrangement, 212, 226 Indigenous Peoples Major Group for Sustainable Development, 5, 6, 50, 71, 72, 99, 242 Indigenous Procurement Policy, 221 Indispensable capabilities, 61 Information poverty, 15, 234, 244–247, 253 International Centre for Policy Research and Education, 262

International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, 59, 203 International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights, 59, 73 International Labor Organisation Convention Number 169 Concerning Indigenous and Tribal Peoples, 53, 244 International Labor Organization, 53, 243 International Women’s Development Agency, 136 International Work Group for Indigenous Affairs, 52, 145, 243, 244 Inuit, 243 Inuvialuit Agreement, 32, 51 Iwi Chairs’ Forum, 90, 93

J Jackson, Willie, 149, 150 Joint Council on Closing the Gap, 173

K Key Government, 204

L Land, 60 Land rights, 59, 60, 71 Legal personhood, 79 Liberal democracy, 3, 13, 55, 90, 92, 93, 98, 101–104, 106, 114, 115, 122–124, 130, 251, 252, 257, 259 Liberalism, 47, 54, 100, 122, 123, 252 Liberal politics of indigeneity, 95 Liberal state, 6

INDEX

Liberal theory of indigeneity, 95, 96, 101, 137 Living Standards Framework, 152 Local Government Act 2002, 116 Lowitja Institute, 167 M Magpie River, 79 Mahuta, Nanaia, 118–120 Makarrata, 120, 127, 128 Malaysia, 198 Mana whenua, 196 Manitoba, 55 M¯aori, 9, 13, 25, 26, 28, 41, 42, 51, 76, 79, 83, 92–96, 99, 108, 114–118, 149–152, 154, 159, 161–166, 169, 170, 179–183, 189–192, 195–199, 203–205, 211–217, 221–223, 228, 240–242, 248–250, 259 M¯aori business, 221, 223 M¯aori constituencies, 117 M¯aori culture, 119 M¯aori Data Sovereignty Network (Te Mana Rauranga), 234, 241, 242, 262 M¯aori development, 117 M¯aori economy, 214, 216, 223 M¯aori employment, 221 M¯aori fishing industry, 217 M¯aori Health Authority, 14, 159, 160–162, 164, 184, 204, 217, 260 M¯aori language, 118 M¯aori Members of Parliament, 116, 118 M¯aori ministers, 117, 118 M¯aori parliamentary candidates, 116 M¯aori people, 116, 129 M¯aori perspectives, 118 M¯aori polity, 95 M¯aori representation, 117

273

M¯aori seats in the New Zealand Parliament, 101, 116–118, 123, 165 M¯aori values, 118 M¯aori wards, 117 M¯aori women, 213, 214 M¯aori women and girls, 213 Matauranga M¯aori, 58, 61, 62 Matauranga M¯aori theories, 62 Matike Mai Aotearoa, 90, 93, 94, 149 Millennium Development Goals (MDGs), 5, 242 Ministry for the Environment, 160 Ministry of Education, 204 Ministry of Justice, 160 Morrison Government, 43, 125, 175 Morrison, Scott, 124 Mulan community, 26

N National Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Health Plan, 217 National Aboriginal Community Controlled Health Organisation, 172 National Agreement on Closing the Gap in Indigenous Disadvantage, 14, 159, 173–175, 184, 238 National Health and Hospitals Reform Commission, 161 National Inquiry into Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women and Girls, 140 National Inuit Climate Change Strategy, 233, 236 National Inuit Health Survey, 234, 243, 262 Native Council of Canada, 51 Native Title Act 1993, 80 Native Title Tribunal, 4 New South Wales, 195, 227

274

INDEX

New South Wales Aboriginal Land Council, 227 New South Wales government, 201 New Zealand, 4, 5, 9, 11, 12, 14, 20, 22, 25, 27, 28, 41, 69, 71, 73, 80, 83, 84, 99, 106–108, 114, 116–120, 131, 133, 138, 140, 144, 145, 149–154, 159–164, 184, 189, 191, 196–198, 205, 206, 212, 213, 216, 218, 223, 225, 226, 235, 238, 240, 242, 246, 248, 257, 259–262 New Zealand-European Union Free Trade Agreement, 223 New Zealand-United Kingdom Free Trade Agreement, 223 New Zealand Government, 9, 24, 28, 33, 211, 221, 222 Northern Territory, 59, 190, 195, 202 Norway, 81 Norwegian Constitution, 10 Norwegian Sami Parliament, 9 Nursing and Midwifery Council, 160 O Office for M¯aori Crown Relations – Te Arawhiti, 151, 152 Office of Indigenous Policy Evaluation, 178 Oranga Tamariki, 164–166 P Pacific, 71 P¯akeh¯a, 94, 95, 191, 199 P¯akeh¯a Crown, 93 Parity of esteem, 71 Participatory parity, 13, 53, 89, 100, 101, 105, 108, 115, 163, 259, 265, 266 Philippines, 237

Policy integration, 12, 19, 20, 22–27, 34, 35, 57, 45, 49, 122, 127, 248, 251 Political values, 13, 15, 26 Politics of indigeneity, 95, 97, 103, 252 Postcolonial, 39, 40, 59, 98, 140 Postcolonialism, 258 Poverty, 67, 68, 70–73, 75, 84, 137, 141, 170, 258 Poverty reduction, 71 Poverty Reduction Strategy, 73 Procurement policy, 218, 219, 221, 228, 261 Progressive Trade Agenda, 223

Q Québec, 79

R Rangatiratanga, 93, 151, 163, 165, 167, 179–181 Recognition and Implementation of Rights Framework, 142, 143 Reconciliation, 20, 120, 121, 142, 151, 223–225 Referendum Council, 120 Residential schools, 4 Resurgence theories, 93 Rio + 20 UN Conference on Sustainable Development, 2 Royal Commission into Aboriginal Deaths in Custody, 4 Rudd Government, 161, 202

S Sagkeeng First Nation, 55 Sami culture, 10, 81 Sami exclusion, 10 Sami land, 81

INDEX

Sami Parliament, 81 Sami people, 10 Saskatchewan, 242 SDG 1 (No Poverty), 12, 13, 67, 70, 173, 190, 213, 258, 263 SDG 2 (Zero Hunger), 12, 76, 173, 190, 213, 237, 263 SDG 3 (Good Health and Well-being), 7, 12, 14, 28, 43, 72, 73, 100, 134, 160–163, 173, 190, 213, 235, 242, 258, 263 SDG 4 (Quality Education), 7, 12, 14, 71, 72, 100, 134, 162, 173, 184, 190, 191, 193, 194, 196, 199, 205, 215, 235, 237, 258, 261, 263 SDG 5 (Gender Equality), 190, 213, 264 SDG 6 (Clean Water and Sanitation), 26, 79, 100, 173, 264 SDG 7 (Affordable and Clean Energy), 100, 264 SDG 8 (Decent Work and Economic Growth), 7, 12, 14, 71, 72, 100, 134, 144, 162, 173, 190, 213–215, 218, 228, 235, 237, 259, 261, 264 SDG 9 (Industry, Innovation and Infrastructure), 264 SDG 10 (Reduced Inequalities), 173, 190, 213, 265 SDG 11 (Sustainable Cities and Communities), 265 SDG 12 (Responsible Consumption and Production), 216, 237, 265 SDG 13 (Climate Action), 100, 173, 217 SDG 14 (Life Below Water), 32, 100, 217, 237, 265 SDG 15 (Life on Land), 32, 72, 100, 173, 216, 217, 237, 266

275

SDG 16 (Peace, Justice and Strong Institutions), 6, 7, 11, 30, 42, 47, 53, 55, 70, 79, 90, 99, 102, 103, 113, 115, 117, 134, 152, 153, 159, 163–165, 184, 216, 237, 244, 259, 266 SDG 17 (Partnerships for the Goals), 48, 216, 266 Self-determination, 1, 3, 4, 6–8, 10–13, 15, 19–22, 24, 25, 28–35, 40–49, 51, 54–57, 59–62, 69, 71, 73, 75–78, 80–84, 89–106, 113, 115, 120, 123, 125, 129, 133–138, 140–145, 147, 151–154, 163, 166, 169, 170, 172, 174, 175, 178, 189–195, 199, 201, 203–205, 213, 214, 218, 220, 227, 228, 233, 235–240, 242, 245–247, 251, 252, 257–262, 264, 267 Self-determining, 129 Self-government, 81, 83, 95, 145 Shared Responsibility Agreements (SRAs), 26, 43, 44 Sovereign, 43, 45, 54, 72, 96, 97, 99, 101, 104, 124, 223, 239, 250 Sovereignty, 8, 20, 28, 43, 51–54, 74, 80, 83, 96, 97, 99, 102–105, 121, 124, 140, 166, 234, 242, 250, 252 Stockholm Environment Institute, 73, 81 Stronger Smarter Institute, 200 Sustainable development, 1, 3, 19, 20, 31, 35, 40, 42, 49, 55–57, 67–70, 72, 75, 77, 236, 253, 262 Sustainable self-determination, 55 Sweden, 73, 81

276

INDEX

T Taiwan, 46, 226 Tangata whenua, 96, 150 Tebtebba Foundation – Indigenous Peoples’ International Centre for Policy Research and Education, 234, 243, 237, 262 Te Kotahitanga Effective Teaching Profile, 198–200, 240 Te Kotahitanga Teacher Professional Development project, 198, 200, 213, 240 Te Puni Kokiri, 152 Terra nullius , 73, 140 Te Taumata, 223 Te Tiriti o Waitangi, 9, 25, 28, 48, 51, 80, 81, 83, 93, 95, 114–116, 118, 126, 151, 160, 162, 164, 165, 167, 179, 180, 182–184, 204, 222, 259 Te Ture Whenua M¯ aori Act , 216 The Forest Peoples Programme, 243 The National Inuit Climate Change Strategy, 262 Tino Rangatiratanga, 249, 251 Tla’amin Agreement, 32, 51 Trans-Pacific Partnership, 223 Treaty(ies), 13, 28, 68, 83, 84, 90, 92, 114, 123, 125, 127, 129, 130, 143, 150, 176, 183, 223, 248, 249, 259, 260 Treaty negotiations, 123 Treaty of Waitangi, 33, 95, 150, 151, 205, 215, 248 Trudeau Government, 140, 141, 147 Trudeau, Justin, 139 Truth and Reconciliation Commission, 4, 140, 246 Turnbull, Malcolm, 124 Turner, Pat, 172

U Uluru Statement, 121, 122, 124, 127 Uluru Statement from the Heart , 120–122, 124, 126, 127 United Nations 2030 Agenda for Sustainable Development, 1, 2, 20, 22, 226 United Nations Association of Australia, 136 United Nations Climate Summit, 52 United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples, 3, 4, 6–9, 11, 12, 14, 19, 22, 25, 27, 29–33, 35, 40, 41, 43, 45, 48–50, 52–54, 59, 81–84, 90–92, 95–97, 99, 102, 103, 105, 116, 123, 124, 126, 131, 133, 134, 137, 139, 141–144, 146, 147, 149, 153, 154, 164, 166, 174, 190, 191, 193, 194, 204, 206, 212, 218, 224, 226, 242–244, 250, 257, 260, 267 United Nations Development Programme, 234 United Nations General Assembly, 9, 99 United Nations High-Level Political Forum on Sustainable Development, 4, 6, 14, 50, 73, 99, 133, 136, 150, 160, 169, 189, 211, 212, 217, 240, 260 United Nations Open Working Group on the Sustainable Development Goals, 69 United Nations Permanent Forum on Indigenous Issues, 234, 242, 243 United Nations Special Rapporteur on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples, 52 United Nations (UN), 1–5, 31, 34, 257 United States (US), 9

INDEX

United States-Mexico-Canada Agreement (USMCA), 224 Universal Declaration of Human Rights, 48 V Victoria, 129, 165 Victorian, 129 Victorian Aboriginal Community Controlled Health Organisation, 176 Victorian First Peoples’ Assembly, 128 Victorian Parliament, 129 W Wairua, 181

277

Waitangi Tribunal, 4, 81, 129, 159, 162, 205, 213, 216, 222, 246 Western Australia, 195 Whanau Ora, 169–172, 212, 213, 248 Whanau Ora Commissioning Agencies, 14, 159, 166, 169, 184 Whanganui River, 79 Whitlam Government, 203 Wild Rivers Act 2005, 59 Williams, Justice, 94 Woodward Royal Commission, 58 World Commission on Environment and Development, 61 World Conference of Indigenous Peoples in Education, 199 World Health Organization, 76, 160