How racism underpins New Zealand’s education system

Race, decolonisation, Ma¯ori inclusion, transformation, culturally responsive and sustaining pedagogies, equity, white privilege, white fragility, racism.

Many of these words were foreign to most teachers five years ago. Today, it’s a different story.

They are terms used with growing familiarity, so much so, that another term – ‘‘buzzword’’ – springs to mind.

Buzzword might seem like an unusual descriptor for language that carries such heavy connotations, but I think the label is fairly applied if the heavy lifting required of systemic change does not follow.

Race is a social construct that divides people into groups.

Our whitestream (aka main- stream) education system does this all the time, when referring to different ethnic groups like Ma¯ori, Pacific, Asian and New Zealand European/pa¯ keha¯ .

Racism is the systematic subordination of one or more groups by another.

Our education system also does this, but – perhaps unsurprisingly – little support is offered to help teachers understand how Ministry of Education policies, the curriculum and school administration are also complicit in racism.

I’ve noticed that most discussions concerning education and racism are usually centred around racist individuals and unconscious bias, where systemic transformation can somehow be achieved by fixing a few bad apples, or overcoming or ‘‘unteaching’’ personal characteristics or beliefs about race in society.

While some aspects of racism may be unlearned, it is much harder to see oneself as participating in a colonial system of racial domination that continues to serve the status quo.

I grew up in Blenheim, and from where I was positioned it felt like a tale of two cities.

The wealth of the farming and vineyard owning families was offset by those who literally lived on the other side of the (Blenheim railway) tracks, where people who harvest, shear and sweat for the affluent or receive money from the government reside.

At the all-girls school I attended, the line between those who owned land, and those who worked for the affluent was subtly delineated.

It was never something that was spoken about, but everyone knew who came from wealthy homes despite it being a uniformed school.

The privileged girls seemed to wear their skirts a little longer, had custom-made shoes from the Last Footwear Company, and went to parties with boys of a similar ilk.

Another way we were differentiated was through streaming.

In years 9 and 10, students were placed in classes based on their perceived academic intelligence. Of course, this was never articulated in such blunt terms, but everyone knew who was in the accelerated class (the A band) and who was in the cabbage class (the C band).

Although these terms were thrown around like a joke, it was hurtful to sit in the bottom stream; to know that you’ve been judged and found wanting.

Then hurt fades to acceptance of a school process that is covertly designed to predetermine your limitations, expectations and opportunities in life.

Such practices are often hidden under a veneer of niceness. At my school it was the norm to be nice and if you weren’t always nice, there was probably something wrong with you. Most likely, you were in the C band or were brown.

Some students hit the trifecta and were all three. They usually faded out of school existence by the end of year 11.

Although calls have been made by various organisations to stop streaming, the practice still thrives between schools (if not within them) as the communities we come from, the histories we carry and cultural, economic and social capital play a significant role in academic success.

Unfortunately, niceness and good intentions are not particularly helpful when challenging institutional racism.

Radical change to a system that has supported one group of people so well for so long will inevitably be difficult and uncomfortable.

Learning our colonial history and recognising one’s positioning within a colonial system is an important first step.

But to effect real change the Ministry of Education, the Teaching Council and teacher unions must also resource, restaff and support school leaders and educators through the process of relinquishing curriculum and pedagogical space to the perspectives and interests of the communities they serve.

It is time to listen, to acknowledge communities’ own definitions of education success, and then to act in ways that mitigate the settler colonial underpinnings of the mainstream education system.

This article is based on a keynote address Liana Macdonald gave at Ko wetewetea, ko Ma¯ ui ahau!, an education symposium hosted by iwi in Whakatu¯ /Nelson on October 21.

Dr Liana Macdonald (Nga¯ti Kuia, Rangita¯ ne o Wairau, Nga¯ ti Koata) is a lecturer at the Faculty of Education, Victoria University of Wellington with a research focus on institutional racism in settler-colonial education.