Week 6 Blog Post (Assignment One)
Introduction
For this assignment, I have chosen to focus specifically on a narrative I experienced during my educational journey. After 4 years of being a Deputy Principal, a Tumuaki job opportunity in Māhia-mai-tawhiti arose. This was an opportunity like no other; it was where I whakapapa to and was an opportunity to return home (although not a home that I grew up in or was remotely familiar with). A successful application saw me appointed as Principal and beginning in this new role in 2013. I was now a keen and eager fresh Principal with many unknown challenges that lay ahead of me.
Te Mahia School was a small, rural country school with 65 students, 95% of whom affiliated as being Māori. It was a decile 1a school with a community that had high unemployment, intergenerational welfare, poor housing conditions, and deprivation statistics, such as barriers to health services and high suicide rates. One year into this role, a small handful of community members approached me about the possibility of opening a bilingual class.
As a beginning Principal, this new context presented many significant challenges. The previous Principal was on leave for not being registered, two teaching staff (a husband-and-wife duo) were on stress leave. The school had a diminishing roll and zero funds in the bank account. The school was being run by a Limited Statutory Manager, whom the Ministry of Education had appointed, as governance of the school needed urgent attention. In this paper, I present a critical and synthesised reflection on my journey of narrative identity, conscientization, and how Te Tiriti o Waitangi has developed my view of our education system in Aotearoa and the inequities our marginalized students continue to experience.
Te Tiriti o Waitangi
In the years that followed the signing of Te Tiriti, an abundance of British settlers arrived in Aotearoa, contributing to a long history of colonisation and dehumanising of Māori. Tawhai (2023) outlines how “Māori continue to suffer entrenched inequalities” (p. 51). The provisions of Te Tiriti were not upheld, which has contributed to many implications for Māori self-determination, positive Māori development, and educational outcomes (Tawhai, 2023). The Treaty of Waitangi and Te Tiriti are two very distinctive texts written in English and Te Reo Māori respectively. There were enormous disparities in the translation from English to Te Reo Māori, and the kupu did not match in meaning or with intent. The English version of The Treaty clearly outlined sovereignty to the Crown. Sovereignty was a foreign concept for Māori, as they organised themselves primarily as whānau/hapū group structures, part of wider iwi groups that linked to the waka their ancestors travelled in across the ocean. It was never considered that the idea of sovereignty was something that could be given away (Hēnare, 2018).
Contrary to the promises of Te Tiriti, colonisation created an education system that restricts access to te reo Māori, tikanga, kaupapa and mātauranga Māori (Te Maro & Averill, 2023). The foundation for this betrayal lies in the Doctrine of Discovery, which justified the denial of Māori property and human rights, and their capacity for self-governance (Ngata, n.d.), leading to entrenched systemic racism. This allowed for the imposition of a foreign identity, where Pākehā culture’s dominance stripped Māori of their taonga and whenua, effectively making them second-class citizens in their own land, including within education (Lyndon, 2021).
The dominant Pākehā westernised education system suppressed Māori cultural identity, contradicting Te Tiriti’s promise of tino rangatiratanga and the protection of taonga, including language, identity, and culture (Tawhai, 2023). The reality was that this education system has historically had no place for these. This was the dominant narrative. For decades, Māori were excluded from their own education; their language forbidden, their worldview absent from the curriculum, and their collective approach to life replaced by individualism. This system lacked Māori pedagogy, such as sharing experiences and whanaungatanga, disconnecting Māori from their education and leading to underperformance (Averill, 2019, as cited in Averill & Te Maro, 2023).
Narrative Identity
My awareness in 2013 was that all the students in my kura needed to learn the basics, which I understood as reading, writing and mathematics, and that this would be best done in English rather than te reo Māori. My experience growing up in mainstream education resulted in me being successful without being in a bilingual class. Therefore, as a Principal, I did not entertain the idea of, or understand the need for, a bilingual class. This story speaks to my narrative identity
Narrative identity, as defined by McAdams (2011), is the internal story we tell ourselves to make sense of our lives and guide our future. My story was evolving with new insights and perspectives I was encountering, and at times, it was overwhelming. Thinking about my narrative identity during this period, I was a beginning Principal, and my education story was massive. I needed to ensure the school moved forward, the roll increased once again, the ākonga were enjoying coming to school and parents were happy with the job I was doing in leading our kura. In my naivety I was unaware of the enormity of the role of being a teaching principal; I was doing my best to juggle two very important and demanding roles. This coupled with having two beginning teachers, one teacher who needed extensive coaching and mentoring with performance issues and knowing ERO were coming to visit in 6 months, created a sense of ‘if it’s not important, it’s not going to be addressed just yet.’ I was not ready to entertain the idea of discussing a potential bilingual class with whānau, as I did not want to explore a new initiative that could not sustain itself and might fall over. I was firm with this stance and attribute it to my inexperience as a principal.
However, a change in my consciousness was beginning. Friere (2005) talks about viewing life through a naive consciousness lens, where there is a lack of awareness of social systems that create oppression and privilege. Until beginning this job, I had not seen the many different and diverse parts of society quite like I was experiencing. My eyes were brutally opened at this school with cultural elements already present such as morning karakia, hīmene, and waitata. Furthermore, aspects such as kapa haka were valued, normalised, and occurring weekly, all year round. How did this leave time for other important things?
Narrative identity as described by McAdams (2011) is the internal sense of self that makes sense of your life and justifies who you are and where you might be going. It is shaped by the encounters and events throughout your life and can change over time depending on those. When I relate this to my own education story example and my own personal narrative identity, I can see the immense parallels in my thinking, with my own educational experience growing up. I am Māori. I am proud to be Māori! I have deliberated my entire life; am I Māori enough? I have also wondered about others’ perceptions of me calling myself Māori. I grew up Te Ao Pakeha, have an Irish surname, and appear with a rather pale complexion. According to my lens, I do not look Māori. My upbringing was successful, but I did not have the opportunity to learn te reo Māori; it was a neglected component which I never questioned at that time.
I did not learn about Te Ao Māori, my culture, identity, or language, until I returned home in this principal role in my early thirties, ironically, at the kura that I deemed did not need a bilingual class. Kura Pō began and I thought this initiative was going to be more than enough to detract from whānau who wanted the bilingual class started. This was an era for me of magical consciousness (Freire, 2015), where we accept our lives as we see them in our immediate vicinity and are not aware of the wider socio-economic complications or contradictions. I genuinely believed that the school, moving forward, would be best suited to carry on with the three mainstream classes that were status quo and that a bilingual class was not a necessity.
Blissfully unaware, I succeeded greatly in my journey through the education system (and life) due to the dominant narrative being in my favour. The reality was, there were no other schooling options for whānau in Mahia; Te Mahia School was the only school in proximity. Even if whānau desperately wanted a bilingual option, travel to another school was going to act as a barrier in this option, hence it would not be a viable option. For a very long time, I held the belief that everyone had an equal opportunity to access education in Aotearoa that best suited whānau values and beliefs, and that education was successful because of the support and connectedness that families helped instil in their children. The naivety in this belief of mine was that whānau were desperately calling out for the very essence of what I believed in; support and connectedness to allow their children to flourish in a culturally enriching learning environment. Education Counts (2020) concludes that education clearly has a strong positive social effect and benefit from intergenerational support for their children’s learning.
Melinda Webber, from the University of Auckland, talks about the success and achievement of Māori students. Regarding the influence of role models, she notes that “they can’t aspire to be what they don’t see” (Webber, 2024, p. 9). This belief is also relayed in her report about supporting Tamariki Māori to be successful in learning and education where she says that tamariki look to their whānau “for inspiration as the people they want to emulate” (Bright & Webber, 2024, p. 25).
Critical Consciousness
Fast forward 12 years since this narrative and I am now enrolled in post-graduate papers learning more about Te Tiriti, culturally responsive pedagogies and education reform. I am starting to question the dominant narratives that equitable access to education in New Zealand exists for all. I am more cognisant and understand that Māori still experience many significant barriers in our education system. My critical consciousness (Freire, 2005) has evolved, and I keep reflecting on what it is that I can do to enable positive change. This conscientisation now brings to the forefront of my thinking about marginalised students and communities in our society and how our tangata whenua continue to receive the raw end of the deal. I want to be a part of the transformative process of unveiling a “pedagogy of all people in the process of permanent liberation” (Freire, 2005, p. 54).
Developing critical consciousness revealed how the dominant culture is embedded within schools and the wider education system. Friere (2005) outlines a two-stage process for addressing oppression. First, the oppressed identify and commit to transforming oppressive structures. My whanau needed an awareness and empathy from me that they wanted better for their children. Secondly, this transformation leads to a shared pedagogy that liberates everyone. My choices not to engage would have prohibited my whanau from wanting to approach me about other topics and whakaaro in the future as well. That was not the culture I was wanting to foster at my kura. My own journey towards critical consciousness highlighted significant barriers to education and a power imbalance for marginalised communities. This stemmed from the dishonouring of Te Tiriti’s provisions and principles. I had an opportunity to right the wrongs and enable transformative change, but I chose to ignore whanau wishes.
In some ways, the education system in New Zealand and the evolution of curriculum documents has been on their own journey of conscientisation. In 2022 a refreshed curriculum was released with the name Te Mātaiaho (to observe and examine the strands of learning). One of the most pivotal reasons for the refresh (and there were four of them) was to give effect to Te Tiriti and its principles, and New Zealand’s vision for education (MOE, 2023, p. 6). This version of Te Mātaiaho was firm in its belief that we needed to move past honouring Te Tiriti to truly giving effect to it and “to those ākonga who have historically been left behind or situated on the margins” (MOE, 2023, p. 8). Current governments chose to remove Matauranga Māori essence statements, which show the swings we have with governments and the detrimental impact they can have on enacting policy and ensuring we honour and bring Te Tiriti to life.
Later, in my principalship role, I had incidental and informal conversations where the counter-narrative from whanau was that they wanted better for their children than they had experienced themselves. They wanted to support them to be even more successful, than they were at school and the westernised hegemonic systems that they were a part of with their education. I can see now what Freire (2005) describes the transformation of the oppressed being their “own example in the struggle for their redemption” (p. 54). My whānau wanted a system where Kaupapa Māori is central and where our kura had some self-determination just like what was promised in Te Tiriti and as an alternative to mainstream education. Ākonga are immersed in the richness of Māori culture, language, and identity and there is a shift away from the traditional measures of academic success which enables a more holistic definition of achievement (Simmonds, 2020). The Te Hurihanganui project suggests that Wānanga, and kura Kaupapa, are an example of transformative action by Māori to strengthen Kaupapa Māori in ways that are best for Māori communities (Ministry of Education, n.d.). It is a pedagogical shift away from euro-centric practice, a shared vision that embraces the collective (Smith, 2005), and views Te Tiriti in its entirety rather than individual aspects of it (Tawhai, 2023). An opportunity to change and transform the status quo to a more equitable approach (University of Waikato. n.d.) and bring about systemic change. Currently in 2025, there is a bilingual class operating at Te Mahia School and also, a Kura Kaupapa that is a satellite of Te Kura Kauapapa Māori o Ngati Kahungunu o Te Wairoa in Mahia as well. I look back and wish now that I was a part of this transformative change.
Conclusion
In conclusion, the essence for me when pondering transformative education is about truly and wholeheartedly transforming yourself to begin with. I myself can’t have a thought without a charging feeling or emotion to accompany it. Transformative change in education requires broadening our definition of success and how we get there. A movement away from focussing purely on achievement and meeting objectives or standards to a holistic approach where learning embodies connections and reciprocity.
Schools can perpetuate or diminish the dominant narratives that exist around marginalised communities. As Adichie (2009) shares, stereotypes emphasise how we are different not how we are similar, and it is important to hear all of the stories of a person or to learn all of the aspects of their culture to build a counter-narrative. In 2013, I denied a legitimacy of a way of being that should be well and truly normalised in every education setting in Aotearoa.
Moving forward, establishing counter-narratives involves me being a persistent and strong voice for “equitable privileging of mātauranga Māori and te reo Māori” (Te Maro & Averill, 2023, p. 8) in the classroom, kura and leadership space that I work in and will potentially work in, in the future. It ensures that the success of my ākonga depends on their ability to learn and thrive in a culturally sustaining environment that prioritises partnership, participation and enactment of Te Ao Māori. To ensure Te Tiriti is honoured, alive and evident as the core of our curriculum regardless of whether it is stated in documentation or not.
A whakatauāki from Mahia-mai-Tawhiti ‘He manako te kōura i kore ai’ (The crayfish that didn’t exist was just a wish). My whanau had a wish; their persistence, determination and relentless efforts saw their wish become a reality and I am immensely proud of their ability to see it become reality for them.
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