Judge Simon Bridges By What He Does For Māori, Not How Māori He Is

Mere hours after being elected leader of the National Party, Simon Bridges was subjected to attacks from people on the left questioning “how Māori” he really is and hurling insults like “plastic Māori”. The place where this frustration comes from is understandable; as a member of the National Party, he is complicit in the legislation and policies that have perpetuated the disadvantages Māori face, so when he goes on national television to proclaim pride in his Māori heritage, it smacks of cynical politics rather than genuine pride. Some Māori see his position in National as a betrayal against them, just as the Māori Party’s demise in last year’s election was likely a response to the perceived betrayal by aligning too closely with National. But as understandable as the frustration is, these attacks are misguided and counter-productive.

In our modern world, with many Māori sharing that heritage with that of other cultures and nationalities, there is no one right way to “be” Māori. Generally speaking, to be considered Māori requires being able to articulate one’s whakapapa and choosing to identify as Māori, criteria which Bridges meets. Therefore, questioning his lineage simply shouldn’t happen and if anything, we should actually celebrate a little bit. As some in the media have pointed out, many of our nation’s senior politicians are now Māori, and this is great. Seeing people such as yourself gain such influential positions is heartening for minority groups like Māori who are often led to believe that their chances of such success are not that great. Hopefully, we will see even more Māori in politics in the future. However, as great as all this is, representation based solely on a particular identity has its limits, especially in politics.

Consider Hillary Clinton’s 2016 presidential campaign. Many people were excited at the prospect of having at long last a female president, so much so that many didn’t even care who the woman was, as long as she was a woman. In the Democratic Primaries Clinton came up against Bernie Sanders, an old, white male, the epitome of the patriarchy, with whom she struggled with to gain the female vote, particularly that of younger women. Her problem was that while she and Sanders had almost similar policies concerning women’s rights, she represented a sort of corporate feminism, the idea that women too could be the wealthy capitalists in positions of power, and promoted success within the current system rather than trying to change it. In contrast, the intersectionality of Bernie’s policies gave hope for a more equal, democratic future in which the intertwined struggles of race, class and gender and the systems that enforce them would be challenged. So while it would have been great to vote for a woman, many young female Democrats, rightly so, cast their primary votes based on policy that matched their aspirations rather than the candidates’ gender.

On the issue of race, her 2008 Democratic rival could be also be considered a failure of substance. Obama being the first black President was a momentous occasion in US history, but the reality is that he did little to address the issues facing African-Americans. His loyalties were demonstrated early in his first term when he bailed out the financial institutions responsible for the Global Financial Crisis, predatory companies who thrived by preying predominantly on struggling African-Americans and Hispanics and whose actions made life even more difficult for them afterwards. On education, civil rights and foreign policy, nothing he did differed that greatly from his predecessors or opponents, and as Dr Cornel West pointed out, his cheerleaders who were so wrapped up in the idea of having a black president share the blame for excusing his failures. His most significant failure was that in no way did he threaten the power dynamics and structures responsible for the misery of African-Americans across the country. The lesson to be learned is that just because a politician has the same skin colour, background or gender to you, it does not mean that their actions and decisions will be good for you or your demographic.

There has long been a concern in New Zealand politics that personality trumps policy when many people go to the ballot, and to an extent this concern is valid. Our civic participation can and should be better than this, so when we turn a critical glance on Simon Bridges and the National Party, let us move past questioning his Māori credentials and question his policies and what they do for Māori. Let us critique their stance on incarceration, and help them move away from the Western obsession with imprisonment and punitive justice and towards a more compassionate system of rehabilitation. Let us critique their economic policies that continually favour the upper class and corporations with whom their party has close ties to and encourage them to address the socio-economic disparities that heavily disadvantage Māori. Whether it is tino rangatiratanga, land claims, substance and gambling addictions, promoting Te Reo, and educational inequalities, the list of issues Māori want and need addressed goes on. The views they hold and the actions they take on these issues are the metrics against which the National Party and their Māori leaders should be judged.

Advertisements

Why I Left Teaching (And May Never Go Back)

School has been back for a few weeks now and every so often I feel momentary regret that I am also not back in the classroom, as well as no small amount of guilt for leaving the profession considering the difficulty many schools are having in finding quality teachers. The teacher crisis is very real, despite what some people out there claim, and is a serious problem.

Despite this, I still decided to leave. I taught full-time for two years, and part time for a third while studying. It was toward the end of the second year that I felt drained and realised my heart was no longer in it, a feeling shared by more than a few beginning teachers. For me, it wasn’t the money, although that could have been better, especially living in Auckland. It wasn’t the lack of work-life balance either, for while that was almost non-existent, I was happy to spend that time if it meant developing great lessons. It took time away from school to understand exactly why I felt compelled to leave, and I know now that while part of me left to find ways to make a difference for our communities and the environment, part of me can’t get over the fact that certain aspects of our education system make it too difficult for me to be the best teacher I know I can be.

We are failing our Māori and Pasifika students

Like many other teachers, I was inspired to join the profession by my personal experiences in school. Attending a predominantly Pākehā school, some people made more of a fuss than was necessary about the fact that I not only made it through to Year 13 and was going to university, one of only a handful of Māori students to do so, but that I did so fairly easily. While most people were positive and my friends thought it no big deal, other Māori students called me ‘white’ because I always followed the rules, did my work, and listened to ‘white’ music, that is, rock and metal rather than hip-hop. While they were only the sentiments of immature teenagers, those attitudes made me think that I wasn’t a ‘real’ Māori and discouraged me from wanting to connect with or even understand the culture.

Because of this, I embraced my ‘whiteness’ and decided my identity is solely defined by my own decisions and nothing else. However, the colour of my skin always made it clear that I was different. Sometimes it was the poorly disguised surprise when I opened my mouth and I didn’t speak like a stereotypical Māori. Other times it was comments like “You’re smart for a brown guy!” which while meant to compliment, only enforced the idea that when you are a successful Māori, you are an exception to the rule that your people, generally speaking, are not very successful.

As much as those experiences had an impact on my identity which took years to work past, they are still far less damaging than what other Māori must endure. This is why I vowed to only ever teach at low-decile schools, to show show those students that despite the obstacles they face and what they believe, they are more than capable of surpassing them. However, some things, like institutional racism and unconscious bias, are not so easily overcome. One might think we have passed that stage, but only this year the Children’s Commissioner reported on the racism that students still experience, from their teachers of all people, where students recalled being told they weren’t going to succeed or felt they were being ignored in class because they weren’t Pākehā.

Put yourself in the shoes of these students for a moment, and imagine how utterly demoralising must it be to have to endure stereotypes by the media and public (mainly by Pākehā) about the chances you have of succeeding in life, only to go to school and have predominantly Pākehā teachers telling you what you can and cannot do every hour of the day and to put you down. The degrading comments are just plain wrong, but even the commands, which are well-meaning as it is the teacher’s job to help students focus in order to achieve, exerts a level of controlling power that adversely affects Māori and Pasifika more than other students. Some would say that it is just school, everyone is treated the same and it is not about race, but when when you exist outside of the dominant culture, it is always about race.

Māori and Pasifika remain outsiders because they are forced into a system that tries to change them and often undervalues them. Conformity is coerced through methods such as enforcing uniform requirements which are often justified along the lines of affordability and tidiness. Pride in a uniform is often demanded rather than earned, just as rules are often enforced without the time being taken to explain the rationale behind them. Failure to comply to these expectations results in a student being labelled a troublemaker, given punitive punishments and being excluded from schools, all while the underlying issues that drive such behaviour, such as not understanding work, dealing with the trials of poverty and undesirable situations at home, remain unaddressed.

It is no surprise then that alternative education is comprised primarily of Pasifika and Māori students, and it shows that conventional schools are failing to truly engage with these students and are not providing them with the right motivation to continue in school. For example, educators know that Māori learn best in ways that differ from traditional teaching methods, preferring to work collaboratively, learn from communities and whanau rather than just teachers and would rather learn by doing, not just reading or listening. Sometimes it is simply innocent ignorance of these methods that explains why they are rarely used, and perhaps teacher training courses warrant some scrutiny in their role in this ignorance, and other times it is simply a lack of trying to understand other cultures.

Despite great improvements in recent years, there remains in education a lack of appreciation for other cultures, and in particular, for other cultural worldviews. Moves to target “priority learners” only reinforce the idea that the blame for poor educational outcomes are the fault of the students themselves, and that they need a helping hand to keep up with everyone else. This also assumes a homogenous view that the purpose of education is for all students to achieve academic success as defined by the dominant culture, but although colonisation has long impacted both Maori and Pasifika, it has yet to completely replace the values of community and sharing intrinsic to the former with the pursuit of individual wealth and success that has long been a Western virtue.

Now to be clear, I am not blaming teachers for any of this. Most of the teachers I have worked and trained with are fantastic, genuine, caring people that do everything they can for their students. I would not even say that many teachers are actually racist, although no doubt there are a few bad eggs out there. Rather, I place the blame on an educational system deeply entrenched in Western industrial-era values, a system that pays lip service to cultural responsiveness and equality in education but then places so many unnecessary burdens on teachers that they can’t actually practice what is preached.

Nevermind the paperwork… I just wanted to teach!

In my view, an empowered student is one that thinks critically and logically questions what they are told and the world around them. My personal experience of school was that it didn’t seem to foster critical thinking at all, it was merely rote learning and doing what the teacher said. As stated earlier, I became a teacher to do better than how I was taught and to empower students, but unfortunately, critical thinking is a difficult thing to teach when there isn’t enough time to do so.

A good lesson takes time to prepare. You have one hour in which to teach a limited number of concepts, so activities have to be sequenced appropriately and run according to schedule as much as possible. There are around thirty students, all of whom are at different levels and learn best in different ways, so tasks need to be differentiated to accommodate this diversity. Not all of them will be paying attention, and some will be outright disruptive, so timings have to change to put out these small fires.

There are between three and five lessons most days, with a couple of non-contact periods mind you, but those hours of what should be respite are taken up by things like meetings, giving feedback, moderation, reports, mentoring and appraisal documentation. This often means lesson planning has to happen late in the afternoon or at home, where it tends to be rushed. Such lessons are usually not developed enough to encourage critical thinking because they need to be made with the individuals in the class in mind, not taken out of a textbook or an online plan. Personally, I felt unhappy with many of my lessons as I knew if I had the time, my lessons would have been great.

Teachers are expected to constantly deliver fantastic lessons that raise student achievement while increasingly being expected to demonstrate accountability for their students’ performance. I have heard few policy-makers seriously suggest reducing teacher workload, particularly the expected contact hours and class sizes, both of which must be cut for teachers to deliver those effective lessons. In fact, most of the discourse about education is superficial and focuses mainly on statistics, such as how many people are gaining qualifications across schools, demographics and nationally, and how many credits they are gaining while doing so.

This obsession, which grew worse under National, means the success of a school and a government’s education policies are determined by the number and nature of credits gained by students. This in turn compels students and the schools themselves to panic about getting those numbers up by setting percentage goals for the amount of students that gain each qualification. One problem with such goals is that they lead to “teaching to assessment”, where each course simply moves from one internal to another and the emphasis from both students and staff is placed on the credits those internals offer, rather than the skills that must be demonstrated to do so. This is where exemplars and assessment workbooks, although structured to scaffold students, may do them a disservice by dissuading them from appreciating the true value of the work they are asked to do.

A student’s future is determined by the number of credits they have when they leave school, so NCEA becomes a numbers game. Once the number has been reached a student can kick back and relax, which is exactly what I did at school. There was no drive, no intrinsic appreciation for learning being developed, and personally, I didn’t care that much about Excellence credits when I was in school. I wasn’t after any scholarship or anything special and even now, endorsements seem geared towards gaining scholarships or making CVs look good.

A friend of mine said that schools had essentially become “credit factories”, concerned with pumping out qualifications in order to meet achievement goals, which in part affects funding. To do this, schools offer extra assessments that students can complete later in the year or students go to different institutions to get them. Again, teachers and schools cannot be blamed for this, they are simply doing what is right by students to ensure they can progress to whatever future endeavours they have in mind after school. Unfortunately, this means that for all its good intentions, NCEA is still just another way to define the value of a young person as easily-processable numbers and terms, handy for employers and universities to easily make judgments about their worth.

Education cannot continue to be merely a mechanism that molds young people into ideal employees to exported to the workforce. The previous government’s narrow focus on STEM subjects reflects the industrial-era attitudes that still fundamentally underpins our education system, such as the idea that the skills a student learns in school should be directly related to their future employment. These values are often at odds with the values of other cultures, like how the education system promotes individual excellence over manaakitanga and looking out for one’s own interests over working to help others. Schools, like the wider society they reflect, equates one’s identity with their work, and ideally that shouldn’t happen at all. People, after all, are more than the job they do, and we should start talking to students like this is the case.

Schools should focus on providing students with the ability to navigate the many complexities of adult life, things ranging from financial literacy to civics to even just understanding and appreciating their cultures. They should leave school confident enough to meaningfully interact with people from all walks of life, able to take on any challenge they face with a curiosity to continue learning and improving (the idea of creating life-long learners is discussed in the NZ Curriculum) and be empathetic, active citizens. If they have all these attributes, they will likely succeed in whatever they pursuit they choose.

I may not go back, but I hope it gets better

I knew many of these problems existed before I started teaching, but I underestimated not only how difficult it would be to make the change I wanted to, but also how much I disagreed with the fundamental ideologies that drive our education system. The frustration got the better of me and I felt like I was accomplishing little. That said, the issues highlighted in this piece do not mean that it is all doom and gloom. There are plenty of positive discussions occurring and ideas being put forward about how to make our education system better, such as recent announcements of major reforms provides cause for cautious optimism. There is talk of removing the Tomorrow’s Schools that fostered competition between schools, a review of NCEA and the need to address Māori issues in education. I hope that the changes are sufficiently radical and not the tinkering at the edges we have come to expect from Labour, but even then, I will likely not return to teaching any time soon. The issues, particularly those that face Māori and Pasifika, may be exacerbated at school but they start beyond the gates, and it is that change out in the community and with society that I intend to make. For all those still teaching, I have the utmost respect. Sometimes I wish I had persevered, but students are better served by those whose hearts are still in it.

Why Some People Seem to Hate The Poor

Labour’s plans to address child poverty offer hope for positive change after decades of successive governments ignoring the issue and allowing it to grow out of control. While the bold proposals outlined are a bit vague, they seem genuine in their intentions. On the other hand, National pay lip service to the importance of addressing the issue while obscuring the causes and potential solutions for the issue. While they seem so concerned about the importance of targets, if National and their supporters actually cared for those living in poverty the social policies of the last nine years would have demonstrated just a little bit of compassion. Instead, they showed a willingness to do nothing but appear to address the issue.

Maybe people are simply unaware of what causes poverty, but that seems unlikely. There is enough evidence and information out there, but instead we only seem to hear the same old myths, half-truths and excuses repeated over and over again. “People are just lazy, and if they worked harder they could escape poverty”. “If they didn’t spend all their money on ciggies and booze, they could afford proper food”. “They’re dole bludgers that don’t want to get a real job”. I could go on, but you get the picture. Understanding why people buy into these myths helps us understand why such negative attitudes towards those in poverty prevail.

Myth 1: The poor need to work harder

Critics of compassionate social policies love to frame their opposition in economic terms, citing fears of potential impacts on national debt and GDP to justify their stance. The fixation on money trumps any concern for their fellow people, and such uncritical perspectives on the economy prevent them from acknowledging the role the financial system plays in perpetuating poverty. Suitable housing, electricity, food, water and transport are essential human rights everyone except hardcore libertarians can surely agree on, so when people are struggling to afford such basic rights, clearly things are not right with the way wealth is distributed, because there is certainly enough money to meet everyone’s needs as evidenced by recent reports on the state of economic inequality.

The important question to ask here is why have we allowed things to become so unfair? As mentioned earlier, one of the great myths we hold to is that if you work hard, you will be rewarded fairly. This belief drives us to perform to higher standards in our workplaces and fuels our ambitions to climb the ladder and gain new positions and responsibilities, which of course come with appropriate financial compensation. What this myth doesn’t do is define what “hard work” actually is. Some people can work their butts off for 40+ hours at a factory and still stay on the minimum wage or thereabouts for years, sacrificing quality time at home simply to make ends meet and provide for their families. That is hard work, yet those people will likely never by millionaires unless they win Lotto.

The truth is that it is not always about having a great work ethic, but about having an often single-minded ambition to accumulate as much wealth as possible, one of the sociopathic core tenets of capitalism. For those on top of the ladder, the “hard work” myth creates compliant and diligent employees that are willing to do more for less in the hopes of advancement, thereby maximising their profits. Whether it is running a company or investing in stocks and the housing market, simply having money allows one to make more money. As the ultra-rich continue to hoard the means of producing more wealth, the working poor are deprived of such opportunities to escape poverty because money flows up, but it doesn’t trickle down despite what many right-wingers would have us believe. For example, earlier generations snapped up property when houses were affordable and continue to make money today by renting or flipping properties, a luxury not shared by the poor and later generations because the market was made unaffordable by this drive to build absurd “property portfolios”. Disregarding the moral argument that housing is a human right that should not be commodified anyway, everyone in my generation should be outraged simply because the ladder into the housing market was pulled up by those who had already accumulated property to service their greed.

To be clear, none of the points raised above signal a flaw in the capitalist system, rather, they are simply the embodiment of its core intentions. This system has thrived by convincing many of us that the problems are of our own making, which is why blame is laid on the individual’s choices and actions rather than the system that created the poverty in the first place. That is why tales of “sacrifice” in order to buy a house are forced upon us (See Exhibits A, B, C and D), to show us that we need to change our behaviour and stop being so lazy, a narrative that favours the wealthy and the status quo.

Myth 2: We all have the same opportunities

There exists another similarly damaging myth, which is the idea that everyone in New Zealand has the same experiences and opportunities as everyone else. This construction of New Zealand as an egalitarian society has long been a source of pride for patriotic Kiwis, albeit one with little basis in fact. As discussed above, economic disparities exist by design and have done so for years, growing worse during the neoliberal reforms of the 1980s of which New Zealand is considered one of the more aggressive adopters. However, there are also wider social factors that influence poverty which are often overlooked by the privileged. Consider education for example. Formal education has long been considered a pathway out of poverty, however, jobs that pay well often require high levels of literacy and knowledge in math and science, things which can be difficult for those who are struggling with poverty to gain. As a result, they are often forced to turn to low-skilled labour like retail and factory work, jobs that do not normally pay very well and keep people trapped in poverty.  

There are perfectly explainable reasons why attaining education can be difficult for those living in poverty. The first, is that our Western education system often fails to facilitate learning in a way that is appropriate to those from other cultures. It assumes a homogeneous capacity and desire for learning, and although our national curriculum is progressive and encourages flexible teaching for students of diverse backgrounds, it’s application has not gone far enough to genuinely include and accommodate everyone yet. This is compounded by recent reports of racism directed towards students that denigrated them and made them feel like they can’t succeed, attitudes shared by many Maori and Pasifika students, the same demographics who unfortunately bear the brunt of poverty. Such reports are not hyperbole; as a former educator I have spoken to young people who can articulate all too clearly how the racist sentiments of middle-class New Zealanders make them feel like they can’t do well in life and forces them to question why they should even bother with school. If you were those young people, why would you want to be part of a society that treats you that way, that looks down on you and makes jokes about you for being poor? Because of this, is it a surprise that Maori and Pasifika have lower levels of educational achievement?

For argument’s sake, let us again assume that the unseen issue, in this case racism, is not a problem. What other barriers are there to education? For one, poverty usually means a lack of food. Strangely enough, children find it hard to pay attention in class when their stomach is rumbling because they haven’t eaten all day, which again is a reality and not hyperbole. You can’t learn if you can’t eat, and sometimes those who are eating are not eating the right food. Healthier foods like fruit, vegetables and nuts improve brain health, but because they are expensive compared to processed foods, such benefits are experienced by those who can afford it and the detriments by those who cannot. Poor nutrition also leads to sickness, which when combined with ongoing illnesses stemming from substandard housing, leads to time off school and results in students being left even further behind. It is at this point in the discussion that condescending remarks about budgeting and food planning are raised, but when the decision is between quantity and quality, opting for a higher quantity of food and the expense of nutritional value is understandable when you and your family are hungry.

Beyond physical struggles, pressure from others affect an individual’s attitude towards education and society. Schools, like the wider geographic areas in which people reside and spend their time, provide countless opportunities for people to be influenced by those around them. We make friends with people we relate to and who share similar values and beliefs, so when people who share disdain for education and a discontent with society itself form bonds with each other, they are less likely to conform to the conventional idea of ‘success’ that is forced upon them. Processes like gentrification that displace the poor and essentially segregate suburbs according to socioeconomic class exacerbate both inequality and the levels and nature of influence different groups experience. The adage “It’s not what you know, it’s who you know” becomes more truthful as one gets older and enters the workforce, and it is certainly more advantageous to reside in affluent and connected neighbourhoods than those plagued by crime, gang-related activity and poverty.

It seems we forget that the people we are, including the values and beliefs that define us and guide our actions, are shaped by our experiences and influences. I come from a family heavily involved in the education sector, and clearly those shared values rubbed off on me. I’m sure many others could also say their interests and values were influenced by those around them. With that in mind, it helps explain why those who have never experienced poverty like to blame those who live in poverty for their own misfortunes. They cannot comprehend that the pressures and struggles people face were different to their own, and empathy is difficult we fail to acknowledge that people think and see the world differently to us.

A context in which this mentality is apparent is when dealing with drug and gambling addictions. If you are poor, some ask, why are you wasting your money on pokies when you could buy food? If people understood the nature of addiction, they would know that merely berating people does nothing to cure their state of mind, if anything, they will become more resistant. More than that, addiction to gambling among the poorer parts of society is no accident, for gambling machines are placed deliberately in poorer communities where they make more money, with little regard given for the social costs. This uncaring attitude towards addiction is also demonstrated in our views on substance abuse, and again we ignore why liquor stores are more often than not placed in less affluent neighbourhoods. This is made worse by the twisted desire held primarily by older generations to simply incarcerate drug users rather than dedicate funding to proper rehabilitation and the lack of discourse about why drugs are so appealing to the poor; chiefly because it offers an escape from the unpleasant realities of their lives.  

These cold attitudes suggest that perhaps blame is warranted after all, but it should not be directed at those who are struggling but at those who throw stones from their seats of privilege. Those that say people should stop making bad decisions or blame them for their situations are part of the problem. Voicing disdain for the poor might offer momentary satisfaction and vindication of one’s life choices, but what good does that accomplish, apart from showing everyone else how out of touch and ignorant you are? To truly understand what people go through, we need to step out of our bubbles, shed our preconceived ideas of how others should live their lives and learn to listen and understand what people go through.