Zoran Raković: The Illusion of Ownership - Why Your Land May No Longer Be Yours

In New Zealand, land has always been sacred. It’s where we build our homes, raise our families, and pass down security through generations. But today, I offer a sobering warning: the meaning of land ownership in New Zealand is changing—quietly, bureaucratically, and with profound consequences.

We are entering an era where legal ownership no longer equals actual control. You may hold the title, pay the rates, and service the mortgage. But increasingly, others—unaccountable, unelected, and often unreachable—are determining how you may use your land. In the name of justice and restoration, we are building a system where ownership is hollowed out, and the right to control is distributed to new authorities with unclear mandates.

Let me explain why this matters—and what we can do about it.

The Disappearing Line Between Property and Permission

Ownership used to mean something tangible: the right to build, plant, fence, subdivide, or sell. But in today’s New Zealand, that autonomy is being steadily replaced by a growing web of cultural overlays, environmental constraints, and co-governance arrangements that assert control without assuming ownership or responsibility.

Take Te Urewera. No one owns it. Instead, it owns itself—administered by a board jointly appointed by the Crown and Ngāi Tūhoe. What this means in practice is that even neighbouring landowners must align with spiritual and cultural interpretations they may not understand, let alone challenge. Resource use is now filtered through the lens of tikanga.

Or consider the Marine and Coastal Area Act. It claims that no one owns the foreshore and seabed, yet grants iwi groups who successfully claim customary marine title the ability to veto commercial or recreational activity. Boaties and coastal residents discover, too late, that access is no longer automatic—and the appeal process is murky at best.

In Canterbury, under the Ngāi Tahu Claims Settlement Act, councils must consult Ngāi Tahu on a vast array of planning and development matters. These consultations can stall or shift land use decisions, even when Ngāi Tahu owns no land in question.

These are not fringe examples. They are early signs of a structural shift in governance: a separation of ownership from authority, accountability from power.

Democracy by Displacement

We are told this is justice. That this is healing. That this is a necessary correction to colonisation. But if we accept that control can be exercised without election, review, or public scrutiny, we undermine the very foundation of democracy—if we want New Zealand to be a democracy.

Under the Local Government Act, councils can form joint committees with iwi—sometimes giving 50:50 representation, even where ratepayers foot the bill and hold no majority vote. The Resource Management Act embeds spiritual and cultural values into land-use rules that override the preferences of legal owners. The Three Waters reforms propose co-governance of publicly-funded infrastructure, leaving ratepayers with the bill, but not the influence.

This isn't about race. It's about sovereignty. When decisions affecting land are made without consent of the governed, we risk sliding into a form of bureaucratic feudalism—ownership in name, tenancy in practice.

New Zealand’s Power Black Hole

We face these changes without a robust constraint to power (wherever it may reside), without a robust Bill of Rights for property, and without clear legal boundaries for co-governance.

Into this vacuum rush ideology: mana whenua authority asserted in planning documents; tikanga Māori recognised as evolving common law; customary interests expanded through Treaty settlements. While many of these developments are well-intentioned and rooted in real grievances, their expansion has often outpaced public awareness and democratic debate.

If unchecked, this trajectory leads to a fragmented sovereignty, where multiple overlapping authorities control land use, with no single point of accountability and no coherent national policy framework.

A Glimpse of the Future

Imagine a future where:

• Farmers cannot clear trees or redirect waterways without cultural approval.
• Coastal homeowners must apply to iwi authorities for beach access.
• Small developers must consult three separate boards—none of them elected—before subdividing land.
• Councils defer planning to co-governance committees.
• And your children inherit a property which uses are dictated by protocols you had no part in shaping.

This is not fearmongering. This is already happening.

Reclaiming the Ground Beneath Our Feet: Five Steps

We need not choose between justice for Māori and democratic rights for all. We can pursue both. But to do so, we must insist on clarity, accountability, and reform. Here’s some ideas:

1. Demand (and enforce) that power, wherever it resides, must be constrained.

Power can be constrained through persistent democratic engagement—voting, organising civil society, scrutinising local and national decisions, and demanding transparency via tools like the Official Information Act. While courts offer limited recourse through judicial review and rights-based interpretation, they cannot override legislation. Without entrenched legal limits, power is constrained only by civic vigilance, cultural norms, and public pressure. This means democracy survives not through written guarantees, but through public willing to be alert, informed, and unafraid to challenge authority. However, these are ultimately political, not legal, constraints — and can be overridden or ignored by a determined majority. 

2. Enforce Democratic Oversight

Any entity exercising public power—iwi boards, co-governance committees, planning authorities—must be open to public scrutiny, review, and electoral challenge. No taxation without representation. No regulation without accountability.

3. Reinforce Parliamentary Sovereignty

Core decisions about land use, infrastructure, and environmental governance must lie with Parliament—not with the courts or council bureaucracies. Elected representatives must not outsource their duty.

4. Reform Resource Management Law

The RMA’s successor legislation must rebalance the scales. Cultural consultation cannot equal cultural veto. Property rights must be respected alongside heritage and sustainability.

5. Inform and Mobilise the Public

Most New Zealanders are unaware that control over their land is ebbing away. We must elevate this issue in media, schools, and civic spaces. The time for silence is over.

Final Words

This is not a manifesto against Māori aspirations. It is a defence of shared democratic principles. Land has always been about more than money—it is autonomy, responsibility, identity.

The illusion of ownership is seductive. But without control, without the power to use, change, or pass on land according to law and reason, ownership is little more than ceremonial. If we do not act soon, our children will inherit titles without rights, and land without freedom.

It’s time we restored meaning to ownership—by restoring the authority that should come with it.

Zoran Rakovic is a structural engineer with nearly 30 years of experience, who has helped design and strengthen buildings across New Zealand—particularly in Christchurch’s earthquake recovery - while balancing life as a dad, granddad, and outdoor enthusiast. He blogs HERE.