"We are reviving our language through our children, our mokopuna."
Both Stanley's father and grandfather were well-known te reo Māori speakers - but they were "brought up in this other era, where it was devalued".
"It [te reo Māori] was withheld from you, for whichever reasons only known to them [those who withheld it], and therefore it means that the rest of us struggle. The struggle is long, arduous, and real."
Stanley had aimed to enter a full-immersion te reo Māori course this year, but his workload made it impossible.
"This is my language, but the work I do is for my people. I do find it hard to balance it."
He puts the effort into learning more however he can, for example, through karakia or waiata.
"You're not walking the journey on your own - you're walking a journey with the hopes of a whole bunch of other people who want exactly the same thing ... [who] rely on you to help lead this."
Stanley said for Māori, the journey to learning their language was "often littered with tears and pain".
He said the expectation Māori would know their language fluently was painful for those who struggled to learn.
"Every single person expects us to be a doyen [respected, experienced person] of te reo Māori, but we're not.
"When you don't measure up to that in front of your peers and your colleagues, you kind of feel like you lose mana along the way."
He said his tribe has around 23,500 people - of those people, he said a little under 30 per cent can hold a conversation in te reo Māori.
He said of the 70 per cent who cannot, he estimated "more than half of them truly want to" learn.
He said the iwi's strategy was to work out how to invite and mobilise those people to have the chance to learn.
He said there were "so many" people who desperately wanted to learn but were struggling to - "it's just heartbreak for people".
"Pākehā people do it [learn te reo Māori] because they have a real interest in it; Māori people want to learn te reo because it's absolutely critical that they should do, in their views and in their minds.