Taranaki Maunga, the Mountain Person

New Zealand is a nation of two main islands, north and south.

Though the South Island contains the country’s 18 tallest peaks, the North Island packs a few skyscrapers. Top in the north is Ruapehu, which rises 9,177 feet (2,797 meters) above sea level. The second-highest peak on the North Island is Taranaki Maunga, which reaches 8,261 feet (2,518 meters) above the sea.

This gorgeous stratovolcano is one of the most symmetrical cones on the planet. It resembles the paragon of cones – Mt. Fuji – so well that filmmakers used him for the mountain in the 2003 film The Last Samurai.

You’ll notice I used the pronoun “him” in the previous sentence. Taranaki Maunga is not only a picturesque peak but also a peculiar novelty among crags.

In Maori mythology, Taranaki Maunga originally lived inland near a grouping of three other volcanoes.

Many ancient cultures associated mountains with dwellings of deities – think Olympus in Greece, many of the Himalayas, or the volcanoes of Hawaii – but, to the Maori, these rocks were not just places for important personages, they were beings themselves.

Taranaki lived with Ruapehu, Tongariro, and Pihanga. Both Taranaki and Tongariro loved Pihanga, so they battled each other for her love. Though Taranaki is significantly taller than Tongariro, apparently the shorter mountain possessed more strength. Beaten, Taranaki went underground and left the area, forming the Whanganui River as he moved toward the ocean. When he surfaced, he noticed a new bae, Pouākai. The offspring of these lovers became the flora and fauna of the region.

The ancient Maori considered this mountain tapu, which implies sacredness and forbiddenness. Before European settlement, they did not climb the mountain.

They regarded this person as the ancestor of their people and all living things.

In the Maori language, maunga means “mountain.” The other half of the name comes from a specific person, the eldest ancestor, Rua Taranaki, of the local iwi, a unit akin to a tribe. Some etymologists suggest the “naki” portion of the name comes from ngaki, which means “clear of vegetation.” Tara means peak. Putting it all together, we could have “mountain whose peak is clear of vegetation.”

When Captain James Cook came to New Zealand in 1770, he dubbed the peak Mount Egmont, after a Lord of the Admiralty.

For the next several hundred years, the British and, later, non-native New Zealanders, subjected the Maori to losses of their ancestral lands and attempts to erase their culture. Various treaties and settlements endeavored to keep the peace but were often violated by the British. Even so, all parties involved seemed to be at least partially on board with the idea of preserving the land around Taranaki Maunga and other important ecosystems. One of the world’s oldest national parks was formed around the mountain in 1881 (it was the nation’s second national park; the first, Tongariro National Park, was the world’s sixth unit with such a designation).

In the 1980s, significant steps to apologize to the Maori precipitated in the New Zealand government, which included officially renaming Egmont to Mount Taranaki.

But the Kiwis weren’t done with a name change. They tend to take their conservationism seriously.

So seriously, in fact, that, in 2025, along with a complete transformation to Taranaki Maunga, the mountain became a legal person. According to the laws of New Zeland, the mountain gained personhood.

All 123 members of New Zealand’s parliament voted for the bill. Environmental personhood emerged as a legal philosophy in the 1970s. The basic gist is that certain important natural features are so vital to humanity or regional populations that they should gain the legal rights afforded to human beings. How would this notion differ from a National Park type of protection that might be signed into law? Inanimate objects, naturally, cannot defend themselves. Granting legal personhood allows for representatives to argue on behalf of the entity in legal proceedings and grants the object certain rights (for example, they cannot be owned or exploited).

The mountain and his surrounding areas even received a “legal personality.” Named Te Kāhui Tupua, this entity is enshrined as a “living and indivisible whole.” Four members of the local iwi and four members assigned by the Conservation Minister will serve as the “face and voice” of Te Kāhui Tupua.

Lest you think this declaration sounds like a stunt or gobbledygook, a growing movement in nations around the globe has enshrined domestic rights of nature into their constitutions and codices. Municipalities in Pennsylvania and Maine granted rights to swaths of land. Ecuador’s constitution now includes the right of nature “to exist, persist, maintain and regenerate its vital cycles.” In India, the Ganges and Yamuna Rivers are legal persons; in Spain, a lagoon received the designation.

Taranaki Maunga isn’t even the first natural object in New Zealand to become a person. A national park called Te Urewera, which contains a vast forest, became a person in 2014, while the Whanganui River joined the personhood in 2017.

So, while the Maori have always considered the mountain a person, New Zealand now recognizes Taranaki Maunga as one! This move seems to be a wonderful way to solve several issues. Not only does a marginalized group garner some form of recognition and atonement, but a unique ecosystem receives robust protection going forward.

Not everyone agrees with this mode of thinking. How can a mountain be a person? It’s a legitimate question. If corporations can be people, why not mountains?