What We Choose to Carry Forward.
How leadership and hard decisions are shaping the future of Indigenous media.

I’ve been thinking a lot about legacy. Not in an abstract way, but in a very real sense of what we carry, and what we leave behind.

I’m writing this in the days following the passing of Rhoda Roberts, a Bundjalung woman and one of Australia’s most influential Indigenous cultural leaders, who helped shape Indigenous representation across the arts, media, and national institutions.

I first met Rhoda when I visited NITV and SBS in Australia. She welcomed me, and from then on, whenever we crossed paths, we would sit and talk. Those conversations always came back to the same kaupapa - our shared purpose of strengthening Indigenous storytelling and carrying our languages and cultures forward on our own terms.

She was warm and grounded. She spoke her mind, but always with care. In 2022, I travelled to Uluru for the 10-year celebration of NITV being on air. It was more than an anniversary. It was a gathering of First Nations leaders and Indigenous broadcasters from around the world, coming together in a place that holds deep meaning.

What stood out wasn’t just the scale of it, but the shared understanding. Different languages, different countries, but a common responsibility to protect, grow, and carry our stories forward on our own terms. While I was there, Rhoda gifted me a piece of Aboriginal art created by a local artist from Uluru.

It sits with me now. It carries the colours of the land, with patterns that feel connected and continuous, like stories moving across place and time. For me, it reflects the way this work moves. Never in isolation. Always connected. Always building on what has come before. It reminds me of her. Clear in her thinking. Steady in her leadership. That was Rhoda. She didn’t just talk about legacy. She lived it.

In that same time, we also farewelled Moari Stafford - someone who had a lasting influence on Māori language journalism in Aotearoa.

I went to see him before he returned home to Kāwhia. Seeing him there brought back the kind of person he was. Quiet. Humble. But unwavering in his commitment to the Māori language and to Māori news. Moari was my editor at Te Karere, the first national Māori language news programme on television in Aotearoa.

He never raised his voice. He led by example and set the standard, and you lifted to meet it. He never compromised on language. Not for speed. Not for convenience. Not for anyone. That discipline stays with you. You carry it forward.

What both of them showed me is that this work is not something we start. It is something we inherit. And now, it sits with us.

Nō reira, kei aku rangatira, haere atu rā kōrua. Carrying that responsibility into the present, it doesn’t sit lightly. It has shaped some of the hardest decisions I’ve had to make.

In 2024, we had to reduce our operating budget by around 21 percent. That meant losing people. Good people. Those who had helped build what we are today. There’s no clean way to do that work. Those decisions don’t sit on a page. They sit with you. You don’t forget them. And they shape how you lead. That period forced clarity. What matters most. What we protect. What we let go.

It also meant learning to do more with less, balancing both our linear and digital responsibilities while continuing to deliver on our core purpose. We often talk about transformation as if it’s driven by strategy or technology. The reality is, it comes down to decisions. The ones you’re prepared to make, and the ones you’re not. Not every decision will keep everyone with you. But avoiding those decisions comes at a bigger cost.

One of the hardest calls for us at Whakaata Māori was moving Te Reo, our dedicated 100 percent language channel launched in 2008, off linear television and into a digital environment.

I’ve always backed anything that strengthens language revitalisation. So this wasn’t easy. It sat right at the tension between what I believed in and what the outcome required.

We knew we had a loyal audience, especially among our kaumātua, our elders, who had built a deep connection with that channel. It mattered.

But the question wasn’t how to protect the platform. It was how to strengthen the outcome. That required discipline. Being clear about who we’re serving, what success looks like, and being prepared to make calls that won’t always be popular.

If our role is to support language revitalisation, then access, depth, and usability matter more than where the content sits. Moving into digital has allowed us to expand content, improve access, and support different ways of engaging.

Through MĀORI+, our digital platform, audiences now have more Māori language content at their fingertips than ever before. It is becoming a digital marae, a space where people can immerse themselves in te ao Māori – the Māori world of language, culture, and identity.

But we also carry the responsibility to bring our people with us. That means continuing to invest in how we support audiences through that shift, not just expecting them to follow.

This shift is happening across the world. But for Indigenous media, it carries a different weight. This isn’t just about moving from linear to digital. It’s about control. Ownership. How our languages and cultures are experienced.

Across our WIBN partners, we’re seeing the same pressures. Different countries, different systems, but similar tensions. Funding constraints. Platform dependency. The need to stay relevant for younger audiences while still serving those who have carried the language for generations.

What’s becoming clearer is that control doesn’t happen by accident. It has to be built, protected, and reinforced. That includes investing in our own platforms, strengthening internal capability, and being deliberate about where we partner and where we don’t. Those are active choices.

One thing I don’t think mainstream media fully understands is that we’re not just operating in a different market. We’re operating from a different worldview. One that doesn’t separate content from culture, or audience from responsibility.

We’re not just thinking about today’s audience. We’re thinking about mokopuna, the next generation. The decisions we make now are intergenerational. They shape what is carried forward, and what is lost. And this work is personal.

We exist to support the revitalisation of our language, our culture, and our identity. Because of that, we carry it differently. It’s not just a job. It’s something we hold.

That clarity has changed how we think about everything. Who we serve. What we commission. Where content lives. Our audiences aren’t generic. They are language learners, fluent speakers, children, young people, families. Each with different needs and different ways of engaging.

Being clear about that shapes what we commission. It shapes everything.

At Whakaata Māori, that’s shifted how we commission, with a stronger focus on who content is for and what outcome it’s meant to deliver. It also means making conscious trade-offs. Prioritising depth where learning is the goal. Backing content that strengthens identity, even if it doesn’t reach the largest audience. Those choices are deliberate.

We’ve seen this most clearly in our newsroom. In 2025, Te Ao Māori News shifted fully to digital. That meant unlearning decades of broadcast thinking.

There is no longer a single programme at the end of the day. The work is continuous. Stories move across platforms, formats, and time. That required us to reset expectations internally. What good looks like. How success is measured. How teams work together.

A good day is no longer about getting a programme to air. It’s about whether we’re telling the right stories, at the right time, in a way our audience’s trust. And for Indigenous newsrooms, that responsibility runs deeper. We’re not just reporting. We’re carrying language. Culture. Identity.

It’s also changed how we measure success. For a long time, success was about reach. Views. Clicks. Engagement. Those things still matter. But they don’t tell the full story. For us, success is about what changes. And importantly, we define what success looks like alongside our communities, not by external systems or expectations alone.

At Whakaata Māori, we’ve invested in measuring this through our social value work, so we’re not just looking at reach, but at how our content is being used and what it’s changing. Are whānau using more reo, more of our language, in the home. Are rangatahi more confident in who they are. Are our communities more connected to their culture. We’re seeing that shift clearly.

Our most recent results show that nearly three quarters of our audiences are using more Māori language in their everyday lives, and young people are growing in confidence in who they are.

Learners are also strengthening their proficiency through the content they engage with, showing that storytelling, when grounded in language and culture, can support real and lasting change. That tells us we’re moving in the right direction.

We’re also seeing that for every dollar invested in this work, more than two dollars of social value is returned, reinforcing the wider impact of Indigenous media beyond viewership.

One of the tensions we continue to navigate is the balance between reach and depth. Digital platforms make it easy to reach large audiences. But reach doesn’t guarantee learning. It doesn’t guarantee connection. Sometimes it works against it. So, we have to be deliberate.

Where the goal is depth, we prioritise platforms and formats that support that. That might mean reaching fewer people in the short term but creating stronger outcomes over time. Clarity makes those calls easier. Not easy, but easier.

Artificial intelligence is already shaping how people see the world. If we’re not part of building it, we risk being shaped by it. For us, that matters. Because once our language and knowledge are embedded in these systems, they don’t just reflect who we are, they start to influence how we’re understood. This isn’t something we can come back to later. It has to be built in from the start.

At Whakaata Māori, we’re taking a deliberate approach, starting in low-risk environments and building from there, while making sure our language and worldview guide every step. This work is not finished. We’re not done yet. The balance will keep shifting. Platforms will evolve. Constraints will remain. But that is the work.

It’s not just about content. It’s about whether what we create strengthens language, identity, and connection over time. The standards set by people like Rhoda and Moari don’t sit behind us. They sit alongside us. In how we lead. In what we choose to hold the line on.

For me, it comes back to this. Whether the decisions we make now create the conditions for the next generation to stand confidently in who they are - connected to their language, their culture, and their place in the world.

That’s how legacy is carried forward. In the choices we make, every day.

About the Author

Shane Taurima (Rongomaiwahine, Ngāti Kahungunu) is Kaihautū (Chief Executive) of Whakaata Māori and Chairperson of the World Indigenous Broadcasters Network. With 30 years of experience in broadcasting, politics, and leadership grounded in Māori values, Shane is a passionate advocate for Indigenous storytelling, cultural revitalisation, and language preservation. Under his leadership, Whakaata Māori has expanded its digital reach, launched new platforms, and strengthened the visibility of Māori voices. Shane works globally to advance Indigenous media collaboration and storytelling sovereignty.

This article is part of the WIBN Global Indigenous Media Leadership Series.