Eru Kapa-Kingi

The manufactured martyr of a Te Pāti Māori marketing machine

Twelve months ago, few New Zealanders had heard of Eru Kapa-Kingi. Now, he is suddenly everywhere. He made headlines this week for publicly challenging ACT Party leader David Seymour to a fight, in response to Seymour allegedly calling his mother, Te Pāti Māori MP Mariameno Kapa-Kingi, an “idiot”. The reaction was theatrical, if not juvenile. For someone being positioned as a thoughtful legal academi it was surprising.

That challenge to Seymour, delivered with all the subtlety of a schoolyard dare, was only the latest in a series of calculated public moments that have catapulted Kapa-Kingi into the spotlight. But his rise has not been organic. It has been staged, rehearsed and very likely orchestrated by the party machinery around him.

Eru Kapa-Kingi was born in 1996, raised in Whangārei, and is one of triplets. He studied law at Victoria University of Wellington and graduated with first-class honours. That sort of academic success is commendable. However, in certain circles and institutions, being Māori, will always open doors that remain shut to others. Victoria University, with its known left-leaning, is no stranger to that.

Eru Kapa-Kingi with his mother, Te Pāti Māori MP Mariameno Kapa-Kingi.

As a teenager, Kapa-Kingi gave a TEDx talk on youth suicide in Northland, speaking with empathy and clarity about his work with the RAiD Movement, a youth-led mental health group. It was a strong start. But somewhere between the lecture halls and protest rallies, the youth advocate transformed into something else entirely.

Eru Kapa Kingi delivering a TEDx talk on youth suicide awareness, 2013.

By mid-2024, Kapa-Kingi appeared on TVNZ’s M9 series with a speech titled “Unravelling the colonial theory of law”. TVNZ described him as a legal academic and a staunch advocate for Māori rights and sovereignty. The programme gave him a national platform to promote his views on jurisprudence and Te Tiriti. For someone relatively unknown in the broader legal world, it was a high-profile endorsement from the state broadcaster. One could be forgiven for wondering whether it was a coincidence that this public profile boost came just months before a major protest campaign, led by the very same individual.

That campaign was, of course, the Toitu Te Tiriti hīkoi, organised in response to the Government’s Treaty Principles Bill. In November 2024, Kapa-Kingi appeared fresh-faced on The Hui alongside veteran activist Hone Harawira, outlining plans for the march. He wore polished jewellery, including solid gold earrings, a gold necklace and pendant, and presented himself as a charismatic, educated young Māori leader.

The transformation was rapid - from fresh-faced at The Hui to sporting a full moko at the Parliament protest in less than a month.

But within days, that image changed dramatically. Gone were the gold chains. Kapa-Kingi now wore oilskin jackets, dirt-scuffed Red Band gumboots, and a greenstone hei tiki. He had acquired a full facial moko and seemed to have adopted the wardrobe of a rural farmer overnight. It came across as a calculated wardrobe shift, crafted to make him look like a humble, hardworking Māori from Ahipara, tending to the whenua and living a life of quiet struggle.

That level of transformation was more than symbolic. It was strategic. Political image-making is nothing new, but when it is done this quickly and obviously, it raises questions about sincerity. The timing was suspiciously perfect. The shift came just in time for the national rollout of the hīkoi, which gained enormous attention from mainstream media. Sceptics could be forgiven for thinking it was part of a larger marketing plan.

And indeed, it was.

Toitu Te Tiriti, the protest campaign Kapa-Kingi fronted, was presented as a spontaneous, grassroots uprising. In reality, it was anything but. The company behind it is directed by Christine Tamahere, wife of Te Pāti Māori co-leader Rawiri Waititi. The protest was backed openly by the party, with leaders like Waititi and Debbie Ngarewa-Packer giving it their full endorsement on social media. Kapa-Kingi, son of a party MP, did not just show up and volunteer to lead. He was placed there, likely with careful instruction and support

.

This movement was not built in marae kitchens or community halls. It was built in meetings, strategy rooms, and PR planning sessions. It was carefully timed and expertly executed. The media, whether wittingly or not, played their part perfectly. They published the protest schedule, location details, and live updates. It was free advertising for Te Pāti Māori on an unprecedented scale.

The great irony is that the protest was not even necessary. Prime Minister Christopher Luxon had already announced the Government would not support the Treaty Principles Bill beyond its second reading. That decision was firm, public and repeated. The threat was neutralised before the first protester hit the road. And yet, the march carried on, full of urgency and outrage, as if nothing had changed.

Why? Because the protest was never really about the bill. It was about visibility. It was about political branding. It was about building momentum for Te Pāti Māori and for the new public face of their kaupapa: Eru Kapa-Kingi.

Kapa-Kingi clearly understands how to work the media. His rise is not the tale of a bold, independent voice capturing the nation’s attention, but rather the calculated rollout of a manufactured persona. His image, background, and messaging have all been carefully tailored to fit whatever narrative best serves the moment. In early interviews, he wore gold chains and spoke like a polished academic. But when the protest demanded a rough-around-the-edges rural face, he swapped the jewellery for Redband gumboots and an oilskin jacket, shifting his language to match.

None of this is accidental. It is PR 101.

The protest achieved its real goals. It shifted the narrative. It confused the public into thinking there was still a legislative threat. It gave Te Pāti Māori a surge in media relevance. And it placed Eru Kapa-Kingi on the national stage just in time for what is likely a long-term political plan.

When movements rely on emotional spin, half-truths, and carefully staged personas to stir outrage, they’re not leading a cause, they’re running a con and grifting off genuine goodwill. The public is being played, and the people orchestrating it know exactly what they’re doing.

Kapa-Kingi may go far in politics. But if his foundation is built on spin and spectacle, New Zealanders will have every right to question what is real and what is just good marketing.

I have to give credit where credit is due. Watching Te Pāti Māori, John Tamahere, Hone Harawira, and Eru Kapa-Kingi pull off what has to be one of the most cunning guerrilla marketing campaigns New Zealand has ever seen has been nothing short of impressive. It was a masterclass in deception, carefully crafted to fool countless people into believing they were part of a genuine movement. In reality, it was a slick political operation designed to keep the money flowing into the right pockets. Watching it all unfold, I couldn’t help but admire the sheer cleverness behind the strategy. This wasn’t about change; it was about power, perception, and profit.

While reading up on National MP Chris Bishop’s “load of crap” comment at the Aotearoa Music Awards, I noticed something curious. Right there, standing next to Stan Walker in the coverage? None other than Eru Kapa-Kingi.

Eru Kapa-Kingi holds Toitu Te Tiriti merchandise as Stan Walker performs on stage.

A few days ago, I wrote about how the AMAs were hijacked by Toitu Te Tiriti and Te Pāti Māori. That piece is linked below. And this latest sighting is no coincidence. Te Pāti Māori are clearly using Toitu Te Tiriti as a political vehicle, force-feeding it to the public at every opportunity, and the media seems more than happy to serve it up.

Out of interest, I had another look at Eru Kapa-Kingi’s Instagram. One thing stood out immediately - there isn’t a single photo of him without his moko. It’s all part of the branding. He wants to be seen as the tough, uncompromising Māori activist, the face-tatted radical, the wannabe Tame Iti. Every image is calculated. Every appearance, deliberate. The performance never stops.