Tapu Misa: How's school? No fun, if you ask a bunch of Maori kids

COMMENT

Chalk one up for Don. He's got us all talking - even if it's mostly past each other.

Now if only he'd try listening. Naturally, he claims that he is, that he's supported in his One Nation appeal by many, many concerned Maori.

It's just that they don't happen to include his only Maori MP, a woman not hitherto known for her radical outspokenness, or the other models of Maori conservatism in the National Party - Graham Latimer, Wira Gardiner and Hekia Parata - all of whom have been as pointed in their criticism as that mud-throwing protester at Waitangi.

Never mind, at least he still has that other well-known bro, Gerald Brownlee, whose impressive qualifications for the Maori Affairs portfolio include counting to 10 in te reo, and making silly statements to Ngai Tahu about how he can't bring himself to tell his children they're not as special as their Maori cousins.

Maybe he'd learn more if he asked those Maori cousins how special they really feel.

That's what a group of education researchers did when they set out to discover why achievement levels for so many Maori still languish disgracefully below that of Pakeha, despite goodness knows how many studies and interventions and an education system that purportedly offers equal opportunities to all.

Instead of talking among themselves, and listening only to the so-called experts, the researchers on the Te Kotahitanga project took the unusual step of asking Maori kids how it felt to be Maori in mainstream schools. Not very special at all, apparently.

Their experiences of school were for the most part unpleasant - and much of that unpleasantness stemmed from their relationship with teachers.

These were kids who identified strongly as Maori - and it was as Maori that they were singled out by teachers who tended to class them as dumb trouble-makers, who reinforced negative stereotypes about Maori, who put them down, who didn't take the trouble to pronounce their names correctly, who saw them as not being interested in academic success.

Even the best-intentioned teachers tended to regard Maori educational failure as an inevitable consequence of their backgrounds.

The researchers asked the students if the teachers were right. If they were, in fact, dumb - and whether they cared at all about doing well at school. Their answers were emphatic: "no" to the first question, and "yes" to the second. Like everyone else, they wanted good jobs earning good money.

They'd stay on at school, they said, if they had teachers who cared about them, who were fun and wanted them to succeed.

When asked what teachers could do to help them learn, one group came out with a torrent of advice.

For example: "Don't yell. Have a smile on your face. Look pleased to see us. Treat us respectfully. Have a joke with us. Don't bawl us out. Just cause we're a C class, don't expect us to be dumb.

"Don't have us writing all the time and being quiet. Give us fun things to do like quizzes in groups, discussions, debates, art activities, practical maths, solving problems in groups with things like Lego.

"We won't nick it if you don't think we will. Expect us to do well and to be good. Don't rave on about how you don't want to be here. Don't put us down and don't let us put our friends down. Be fair. Bribe us sometimes. Be keen about your subject so we want to come.

"Loosen up. We are all on the same planet. Let us co-operate about the work. Mark our work often. Tell us when we're doing good. Better still, tell our family."

It wasn't all about teachers. The students were fair, said the researchers, and recognised there were other impediments - themselves, for example, and peer pressure. But none had the same impact as classroom interaction. Teachers and the way they taught made the greatest difference.

Russell Bishop, of Waikato University, who headed the Te Kotahitanga project, said the researchers got the same message from parents and principals, but when teachers were asked what was holding back Maori achievement, most cited socio-economic status and what went on in the home.

"And they may well be right," says Bishop. "But we don't have any control over those. What we can change is what's going on in the classroom. We can change how teachers teach, how they can relate to and care for kids."

Bishop is careful to emphasise that this is about more effective teaching, not the blaming game that goes on in education. Most teachers are in the profession to make a difference but get frustrated when they don't make headway.

Te Kotahitanga puts the power back in their hands. "I tell them, change the world tomorrow, but do this today."

The result is that 400 teachers in 12 schools are this year being taught how Maori achievement levels can go up and behavioural problems and absenteeism can go down when they change the way they relate to Maori kids.

Of course, there'll be those who will see this as just another example of ethnic favouritism, but, in fact, the lessons learned in this project will end up benefiting everyone, especially those in danger of being sidelined by the failings of our education system.

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