E ngā rau rangatira mā, e kui mā, e koro mā, e ngā kaiwhakawā o Te Kōti ā Rohe o Aotearoa, e huihui mai nei i tēnei wā, tēnei aku mihi māhana ki a koutou. Tēnā koutou katoa.
I wish to begin by acknowledging: The Right Honourable Dame Helen Winkelmann, Chief Justice of New Zealand; The Honourable Justice Kofi Barnes, of the Ontario Superior Court of Justice; Chief District Court Judge, Heemi Taumaunu; National Executive Judge, James Johnston; and Mr Andrew Kibblewhite, Secretary for Justice.
And all members of the District Court judiciary gathered for this Triennial Conference – tēnā koutou katoa.
It is a pleasure, and an honour, to be with you. I am conscious that this is your conference: a rare opportunity to step back from the daily demands of court lists, decisions, hearings, travel, and administration, and to reflect together on the vocation of judging.
That word – vocation – seems to me an important one. Judging is not simply an occupation, nor only a constitutional function. It is a form of service requiring discipline, patience, courage, as well as moral and intellectual clarity. It asks of those who undertake it a particular steadiness: to listen carefully, to decide fairly, and to hold fast to the law, even in circumstances of great complexity or emotion.
The judicial oath expresses that duty in words of enduring simplicity and wisdom: ‘to do right to all manner of people, without fear or favour, affection or ill will’ – words that speak to the independence of the judiciary, but also to the humanity at the heart of judicial office. They remind us that the rule of law is not only a structure of government – it is also a promise made to each person who comes before a court.
As Governor-General, I have a deep respect for the separate and independent roles of each branch of government. This becomes especially evident in an election year, when the vice-regal role is vitally bounded by convention and constitutional discipline.
The independence of the courts is similarly not just an ornament of our democracy – it is one of its foundations. It protects citizens, limits power, and ensures that the law can be applied impartially, regardless of popularity, pressure, or passing circumstance.
The District Court stands at the heart of this democratic promise. They are where many New Zealanders first encounter the justice system – often at some of the most difficult, consequential, and painful moments of their lives. They are where the law meets people as they are: anxious, grieving, uncertain, and seeking resolution. And they are where the law must be clear enough to understand, strong enough to command respect, and humane enough to recognise that person standing before it.
Lord Hewart’s familiar words still carry weight: justice should not only be done, but should ‘manifestly and undoubtedly be seen to be done’. That phrase is often used in relation to impartiality and appearance. But it also speaks to something wider: the public’s need to see that justice is real, careful, and grounded in people’s lives.
That is why I noted the 2025 District Court Annual Report with interest. It speaks of timely access to justice, Te Ao Mārama, judicial wellbeing, and Te Au Reka – the new digital case and court management system. These priorities are practical, but they are also constitutional. Delay has a human toll; confusing process can diminish trust; systems that do not support people can make justice harder to see.
Te Au Reka is an important step in the continuing modernisation of the courts. Done well, it will help judges and court staff manage caseloads more effectively and give court users a system befitting the age in which we live. Yet I know, as you do, that digitisation is never only about technology.
Every court has its own memory. Some of that memory is written down. Much of it is carried in people: in registrars, deputy registrars, court takers, managers, and staff who know the rhythms of a courthouse, the pressure points in a list, the local relationships, the pieces of practical wisdom that keep justice moving.
As new systems arrive, those relationships will change. Some tasks will be done differently. For some, particularly those who have given many years to the bench and to court life, the adjustment may be more difficult. That deserves to be acknowledged with respect, not condescension. Experience is not a barrier to change; it is one of the resources that change most needs.
The challenge, perhaps, is to find new ways of honouring old knowledge. A digital system can record, prompt, connect, and streamline. But it cannot replace trust built between people. It cannot replace the quiet assurance of a registrar who understands the courtroom, or the collegial generosity of a judge helping another through unfamiliar ground. It cannot replace judgement.
In this sense, the future of the courts will not be less human. If anything, it will require an even clearer commitment to human relationships – between judges and staff, between courts and communities, between institutions and the public they serve.
That is also at the heart of Te Ao Mārama: that people should understand and meaningfully take part in proceedings that affect them – and that the court experience should be clearer, more respectful, and more responsive, without compromising independence or fairness.
Of course, making justice more understandable does not make the work of judging any simpler. Judging calls for constancy in the face of complexity, independence in the face of pressure, and humanity in the face of rupture and pain. It also asks something more subtle: to stand apart from the currents of public life, while remaining deeply attentive to the society the courts serve.
At a time of such upheaval and change, your work matters profoundly. Public trust is carried in the daily practice of justice – in the care given to each hearing, the integrity brought to each decision, and the relationships that sustain the courts.
As Governor-General, I thank you for your service to the law, to the courts, and to the people of Aotearoa New Zealand – and I wish you well for this conference, and for the important work that lies ahead.
Nō reira, tēnā koutou, tēnā koutou, tēnā koutou katoa.