Whaikaha: a word, like many, lost in translation

He mana tō te kupu. Words have mana, and that is why it matters what words we choose to describe ourselves. In recent years, the term ‘whaikaha’, often preceded with ‘tāngata’, ‘hunga’, ‘iwi’ or ‘rāngai’, has been used to mean ‘disabled people’, while the word ‘whaikaha’ has become more recognised alongside the Ministry that carries the name.

While there’s evidence of the term ‘whaikaha’ being used as early as 1985 as a verb (meaning to have strength) and as an adjective (meaning strong or concentrated), its newer associations with disability communities are connected to the legacy of the late Ngāti Porou kaumātua, Maaka Tibble.

In 2022, Tibble gifted the new Ministry of Disabled People the Māori name, Whaikaha. But just like how Te Puni Kōkiri doesn’t mean Māori Development, Whaikaha doesn’t mean disabled. So why is it used interchangeably?

There’s no Māori word for ‘disabled’ in the sense we understand it as a social identity in Pākehā society. There are several kupu Māori that translate to ‘lame’ or ‘crippled’, including kopa (kopakopa, tahakopa), kōpiri, kokekoke, ngongengonge, and most well-known, hauā. It’s this latter word which has continued its life in today’s world to become another way to describe being disabled in te reo Māori. But still, its English definition of “crippled, lame” carries an air of antiquity.

That’s where leaders like Maaka Tibble come in. In 2016, as the founding member of the Māori Disability Leadership Group, Tibble defined tāngata whaikaha as people who are determined to do well. He said the term, “fits nicely with the goals and aims of people with disabilities who are determined in some way to do well and create opportunities for themselves as opposed to being labelled, as in the past.”

In the glossary Te Reo Hāpai - The Language of Enrichment, the word “disabled” is glossed as “whaikaha” with a superscript that reads, “to have strength, to have ability, otherly abled, enabled. A word created within the Māori disabled community.” In the book’s foreword, Sir Mason Durie says that words like ‘tāngata whaikaha’ turn patients and service users into people again. Meanwhile, ‘hauā’ has no mention in this glossary.

But the word ‘whaikaha’ has its criticisms, with a popular one being that it avoids naming disability. Nowadays, it’s generally accepted to use the term ‘disabled person’ in English as an identity-first term that reflects the social model of disability.

Ngāti Hauā

For Maioro Barton (Ngāti Porou, Ngāti Wai), the term ‘whaikaha’ doesn’t sit well with him and he prefers the word ‘hauā’, as he understands it to be the closest translation of ‘disabled’.

“Many people value the term whaikaha because it recognises te reo Māori and it reflects Māori worldviews. Some interpret it as emphasising strength, determination and capability. For some, it acknowledges Māori concepts of disability and wellbeing. However, I don’t agree with it.”

“A non-disabled person could also be looking for strength, determination, or capabilities to get through hurdles in life – especially if government and legislation allowed for it. Who has the right to say I don’t have strength, ability or capability as a disabled person?”

Barton is proud to call himself disabled and doesn’t feel the need to use language that “makes others feel comfortable”. He says, “when people use labels like ‘differently abled’ or ‘special needs’, it really grinds my gears because it feels like society is avoiding the word ‘disabled’.”

Dr Huhana Hickey (Ngāti Tahinga) prefers the term ‘whānau hauā’ which she says describes “the environment in which we live”. She says the term ‘whānau hauā’ was gifted by Donny Rangiahau (Tūhoe) to Te Rōpū Waiora as an umbrella term for disabled Māori as a strengths-based concept.

“Whānau means family, we are part of a family, so that’s that collective approach,” she explains. In her writing, ‘hau’ means wind, gale, or breeze, while the ‘ā’ refers to the drive or urge that propels this wind. “Depending on the mood of Tāwhirimātea the wind can quickly change the environment making it unstable.”

She explains how it is these environments and contexts that affect whānau and their ability to access crucial determinants of health and disability health services.

“So you don’t literally translate,” she says. “It’s descriptive… the whole reason that was done was to get away from demonising the words, hauā. It’s a hapū as well, Ngāti Hauā. It’s not a demeaning word,” says Hickey.

The whakapapa of ‘whaikaha’

Kahurangi Fergusson-Tibble (Ngāti Porou) is the principal advisor Māori for Te Pou, and he’s also the son of Maaka Tibble. While he says he’s not ripping his hair out any time he hears ‘whaikaha’ and ‘disabled’ used interchangeably, he clarifies that they are not equal and offers some context to the coming of the word.

“Dad’s intent was to provide something in the space of nothingness,” he said. He and his brother remember that after their father attended the sixth General Assembly of the World Blind Union in Cape Town in 2004, he came away with the idea inspired by Nelson Mandela that we have to “move from disability to ability, disharmony to harmony, and disadvantage to advantage.”

So ‘whaikaha’ came about to reflect that sentiment. He says: “it’s your ability, whatever that may be, that thing is the thing that makes you uniquely you.” He’d also not be surprised if the word was influenced by the kupu ‘whaiora’ which was already used in the mental health and addiction space in which both his parents worked.

For the Tibbles, the word ‘hauā’ means being incomplete and he leans more towards his father’s whakaaro. “Dad was real clear: ‘I’m not half a man.’ There’s no half of anything, you’re either this or you’re that.”

“Whaikaha to me is asking me a question of how do I want to bring myself to this space… and I get to determine the kaha of that,” says Fergusson-Tibble. “Maybe dad had a wider and deeper thought about the ins and outs of this concept of kaha, but for me right now, kaha is measuring how much I’m going to bring of myself…and I get to decide where that kaha goes to.”

“I've chased my strength. I've strived for my strength. My strength is this,” he says, gesturing to his mataora.

Whaikaha the Ministry

A search of the word ‘whaikaha’ on Google in 2026, returns an entire page of entries linked to Whaikaha the Ministry of Disabled People, rather than reference to our community. Whether for the better or worse, the Ministry has arguably done the most heavy lifting in proliferating the use of this word since its launch in 2022.

Dr Huhana Hickey has concerns that a well-intended word is becoming the “lipstick on a pig”.

“It’s wonderful, Māori words being used. But are they being used in a positive way?” Hickey asks. “The changes we needed was for Whaikaha [the Ministry] to embrace a partnership model and we would work through with Māori equally, who are the most marginalised out of all the disabled groups.”

“But Whaikaha hasn’t fulfilled that obligation because of the change of government,” Hickey says. “The name is now more of an insult and just a token name, like Oranga Tamariki.”

Fergusson-Tibble, on the other hand, can separate the kupu from the Ministry. He says: “For as much as you can put kupu or ideas out in the world, as soon as it's out there in the world, you’ve got to set it free,” he says, recognising the Ministry is only as good as the government that leads it.

“[Whaikaha the Ministry] should always be accountable,” says Fergusson-Tibble. “But at the same time, I'm not too concerned about the use of whaikaha… Words have power, and ‘whaikaha’ has power, and in most occasions, the power has been used in a good way.”

At the end of the day, being raised as a reo-speaker at Hoani Waititi Marae, Fergusson-Tibble prefers to use the Māori name.

Negotiating translation and worldviews

Just like how it is for the Tibbles, Barton and Hickey, ‘hauā’ means something different for everyone. The moral interpretation of the word changes between being a word that affirms identity to one that shatters it. The same could be said for the word ‘disabled’; while some people find it empowering, others may find it dehumanising.

What’s more is that there’s been attempts to translate these words and definitions which are already unstable in meaning across two cultures. While the English definition of hauā (crippled, lame, invalid) uses language associated with the institutionalisation of our community, its Māori definition is relatively neutral: “Me uaua ka taea te neke (i te tinana) i te mea kua whara, kua tino hē rānei i tētahi mate.” [Difficulty to move (of the body) due to injury or to have difficulties because of an illness.]

As Fergusson-Tibble says, once a word is out there, you can’t control the form it takes. While the intention of the word ‘whaikaha’ was to describe a Māori person with a disability and not necessarily translate to ‘disabled’, that is now how it’s widely used and without specificity to whether the person is Māori or not, either.

Fergusson-Tibble believes there’s no requirement for anyone to use these words for themselves. “If you are exposed to it and it speaks to your heart and it makes your heart sing, then haramai,” he says. “If it doesn't, kei te pai. I'm not going to lose sleep over it, and neither did my father.”

“In fact, I prefer us not to be the same.” He talks about the many different words used to describe one concept: “Wind: it’s not just hau, there’s āwhā, there’s tūpuhi, there’s all the different types of winds and they all have whakapapa, and so do we as people in our community.”

Fergusson-Tibble says with the coming of any word comes negotiation and wānanga before people agree on the kupu. “What I think people like my father really dream for, is that I'll take the first step, you take three more,” he says. “So kupu like whaikaha, if that inspires somebody to walk through the door and dream up another kupu, then let's go!”