Speaking My Language Te Kōrero i Tōku Reo is a behind-the-scenes glimpse into the world beyond that of the Mike McRoberts we’ve seen on television. Even in a household that didn’t tend to watch the six o’clock news, McRoberts' face and voice were familiar to me growing up, and like most I recognised him as a stalwart of New Zealand broadcasting while knowing little about him beyond his career as a newsreader. Through this book, McRoberts gives us the opportunity gain a deeper insight into a journey he has undertaken both on and off-screen, a haerenga that has seen him shift from newsreader to kaikōrero, mentor to ākonga, host to hau kāinga, the haerenga of reconnecting to his whakapapa and finding his reo.

As is typical within Māori storytelling, Speaking My Language Te Kōrero i Tōku Reo starts at the beginning, from what could be called the ‘te kore’ of McRoberts reconnection to te ao Māori. From his youth in Ōtautahi as the son of a Kahungunu father and Pākehā mother, this pukapuka takes us through McRoberts' life as a child in Rowley, a broadcasting student, a father, then a face of national television. His story is one of loss - loss of language, of tikanga, of knowledge - but ultimately, it is a story of reclamation. For many, McRoberts' experiences will be relatable to that of their own whānau, transitioning as many are into a new generation of connectedness and revitalisation. For others, his experiences may be the planting of a seed, a rousing call to join the hīkoi back to our Māoritanga, a call that begins with 'Kia ora, good evening.'

What makes Speaking My Language Te Kōrero i Tōku Reo unique is that McRoberts had to embark on this journey while remaining firmly in the public eye. He wasn’t afforded the privacy or gentle re-entry into te ao Māori that some of us are, and was often thrust into situations and experiences that at once excited him, but also brought back the whakamā he was seeking to outgrow. As a reader, seeing the ways in which McRoberts owned his mistakes and leaned into obstacles brought an authenticity to his story, and a new dimension to this book as one that does not disregard the immense difficulty that rewriting the future of your whakapapa can bring, despite the inherent reward. 'But I know too well that disconnection breeds isolation, leaving you feeling uninvited to your own cultural party,' he writes.

In this sense, Speaking My Language Te Kōrero i Tōku Reo feels honest. It feels like a rare peek behind the curtain of what the mission of learning a new language can entail, particularly when that language is one you had a birth right to know, but not the opportunity to learn. More than that, it feels like an undeniably Māori book, not just in regard to McRoberts' experiences themselves, but in his commitment to telling his story in a way that exemplifies manaakitanga and mātauranga. This pukapuka is first and foremost a mihi: to his peers and kaiako at Takiura, to his colleagues, to his whānau, to all whose sacrifices allowed him to forge this path. 

Alongside introducing us to the host of important people in his life, this book also takes us to places and kaupapa of significance around the motu--to Koroneihana, to Waitangi--recognising not only McRoberts’ own mana as a learner of te reo, but that of te ao Māori more widely. Starting each chapter with a whakataukī, McRoberts instils in this book a deep loyalty to the people and kupu that have come before him, as well as a clear understanding that our reo holds so much more than what each word may mean on the surface. As an ākonga of the reo myself, I have no doubt that McRoberts' words will leave a legacy their own. He punga i mau ai ia.