Meka Whaitiri's defection made for a good bit of political theatre, but it was not an exercise in achieving meaningful political gains.
On Wednesday at Waipatu Marae, Whaitiri seized political headlines but, in doing so, stepped away as the minister responsible for the most significant natural disaster to affect her electorate this century. She opted for a splash over substance.
Immediate questions still remain unaddressed. Why exactly did she leave? What specifically has Labour failed to deliver for Māori? How has she repaid the good faith of caucus colleagues who stood by her during her 2018 bullying allegations?
Her supporters may dismiss these questions as being framed through a non-Māori lens of what representation as an MP really means.
Whaitiri claims she's going 'home.' She's 'emancipated.'
But there is a simpler, cynical conclusion: Whaitiri left because she was upset she wasn't promoted.
Prime Minister Chris Hipkins, currently in the UK for the King’s coronation, is yet to have his calls to Meka Whaitiri answered as the Labour Party deals with the shock defection.
In some ways, the surprise defection was a continuation of the strategy that has defined Te Pati Māori's parliamentary term.
Rawiri Waititi and Debbie Ngarewa-Packer have distinguished their party with several memorable political stunts and performative gestures, designed less for achieving legislative concessions than solidifying their support base.
The pair is regularly absent from the House, preferring to wānanga with constituents in their vast electorates than busy themselves in a Parliament controlled by a majority government.
Fair enough, too. Unlike Whaitiri, they have not had a seat at the table.
Instead, they've done an excellent job of making headlines and giving a sense of representation to their constituents, positioning themselves as political outsiders and agitating in a way that pleases their followers and builds their support base.
But come the October election, Te Pāti Māori may have the opportunity to do more.
Polls consistently suggest the party could be in a position to define the shape of the next government regardless of Whaitiri's electorate prospects.
The move blindsided Chris Hipkins and the Labour Party.
While it's near-certain they won't support a National-led coalition, it's less sure what structure they'd endorse in a potential Labour agreement.
In the MMP age, few small parties have effectively used political leverage as part of a coalition or confidence-and-supply agreement to extract significant political gains, whilst maintaining enough support throughout a term to secure re-election.
This will be the true measure of Te Pāti Māori's effectiveness. Recent history is littered with examples of smaller parties that have missed the mark.
In Te Pāti Māori's case, it may mean agreeing on a government support structure in which MPs reject Cabinet positions or sit on the crossbenches and only offer limited support to a bigger governing partner in exchange for substantial concessions.
In defecting, Whaitiri might argue she can be more effective from outside government than from within.
The party's co-leader discusses Te Pāti Māori's goals if it holds the balance of power after this year's election.
But there is little point in being in Parliament if, at some point, Te Pāti Māori cannot transform noise and TikTok followers into legislative achievements.
We know they can create a stir.
In October, we may learn if they can create change.
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