In this essay I examine our education system through a critical postcolonial lens.

Introduction

If the colonisation of Aotearoa happened hundreds of years ago, how could it still have any impact on our education? Isn’t the education we receive here just normal and fair, with equal opportunities for everyone? These questions demonstrate the perverse blindness of many Pākehā when it comes to their privilege. They are the sort of questions I aim to answer as I argue that education in Aotearoa originated as a colonial mechanism, and that this mechanism continues to suppress Māori students.

Origins of education as a colonial mechanism

Once Pākehā decided to settle in Aotearoa and claim the land for themselves, the need emerged for them to deploy colonial systems which asserted their dominance and mirrored those of their homeland. Any consideration of existing Māori systems would have been considered pointless and illogical, as Pākehā were certain of the universality and “superiority” of their own (Jackson, 2018, para. 29). This attitude is positivism – the view that a particular way of doing things is better simply because it is synonymous with power and norms.

Education was no exception to this, and so it was that what could nowadays be termed whitestream education was introduced to these lands (Milne, 2017). Paulo Freire believed that all education carries political intent, and this introduction of whitestream education had the effect of delegitimising mātauranga Māori in order to quickly subjugate and colonise Māori (Roberts, 2015). Up against an increasing settler population and increasing oppression, Māori could do nothing to stop whitestream from becoming mainstream. That is the plot of colonialism as Amilcar Cabral defines it: “the halting of the history of one people in favour of the acceleration of the historical development of other peoples” (1974, p. 62).

On the surface, Pākehā framed their education system as a gift which they were bestowing upon Māori in order to elevate them to the European level of civilisation and enlightenment. They were simply trying to “take up the white man’s burden” as Rudyard Kipling put it (1998, pp. 311-312). But really this benevolence was thinly veiled assimilation, taking Māori students and their alien worldview and whitewashing it. Inspector of Native Schools James Pope affirmed that the main goal of these schools was to make Māori “acquainted with European customs and ways of thinking, and so fitting them for becoming orderly and law-abiding citizens” (1888, p. 9). The assimilationist narrative was openly touted as the solution to everything as recently as 1961, when the Hunn Report declared that education “is the one thing, more than any other, that will pave the way to further progress in housing, health, employment and acculturation” (p. 22). In other words, participating in the whitestream education system would condition Māori to cope with the other Euro-centric systems put in place by Pākehā.

Related to assimilation was the generation of national myths, disseminated via education, which aimed to foster a sense of comradery and bonding. Textbooks parroted stereotypes of the British being the kindest colonisers and Māori being the natives with the most potential. These two stereotypes then fused to become the New Zealand race. An example is the Our Nation’s Story textbook for Standard III, which outlines “the story of our race, commencing with the discovery and settlement by New Zealand Moari [sic], their customs and mode of life till the coming of the white men” (1926, pp. 2-4, as cited in Bishop, 2005, p. 66). Once again, the history and culture of Māori are minimised and their identities are subsumed as Pākehā take the wheel of the nation.

At a deeper level, the mechanics of the colonial education system can be summarised by three concepts: Pierre Bourdieu’s reproduction theory, Paulo Freire’s cultural invasion, and Antonio Gramsci’s hegemony. According to reproduction theory, whitestream education’s function is to preserve Pākehā dominance by reproducing their values, knowledge, and culture (Bourdieu, 1973, as cited in Jenks, 2003). Once this dominance is assured, the next step is cultural invasion – teaching Māori to see themselves through the lenses of their colonisers, and thus “become convinced of their intrinsic inferiority” and gain motivation to assimilate (Freire, 2000, p. 114). With that, Pākehā have achieved hegemony; a sort of validation of their dominance where they no longer need to employ repression tactics, as Māori have submitted themselves to the colonial system.

How education has continued to suppress Māori students

Coming back to Freire’s assertion that all education is political, it follows that deciding to not do or change something, while not as apparent, is just as politically motivated (Roberts, 2015). These politics are often concealed under the illusion of equal opportunity – that both Pākehā and Māori can access the same education - ignoring that this education remains a colonial mechanism which was built to serve Pākehā interests. For that reason, Irihapeti Ramsden refers to what we have now as a “neo-colonial education system” (1994, para. 1). When Pākehā look at the achievement disparities between themselves and Māori and wonder how this could happen in a normal and fair system, they are forgetting the system’s foreign and oppressive roots which have allowed institutional racism to perpetuate.

Two problematic key values of our neo-colonial education system are meritocracy and individualism. Meritocracy is the view that people can improve their life situation just through hard work, implying that when given the same education any student could theoretically achieve the same levels of success. Clifton Mark critiques meritocracy’s role in justifying “the status quo, explaining why people belong where they happen to be in the social order” (2019, para. 14). The appeal of meritocracy is that it is easier – that is, more comfortable – for Pākehā to see their superior achievement as a result of working harder, while on the flip side, Māori underachievement can be dismissed using the cultural deficit theory which I will expand on next. The second value, individualism, works in tandem with meritocracy by creating a sense of competition and comparison between students which raises the stakes of success. Individualism goes against the traditional Māori preference for collectivism; as Bishop and Glynn found, individualism “enhanced the life chances of European children while undermining the cultural beliefs and life chances of Māori” (1999, as cited in Bishop, 2005, p. 64).

Instead of recognising how flawed our neo-colonial education system is, the blame is typically put on Māori students for their underachievement via the cultural deficit theory. Once again, because students are offered equal opportunities, any disparity must simply be due to Māori not taking “advantage of the educational opportunities that are available”, as reasoned by the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization no less (UNESCO, 1972, p. 67). The focus is on Māori students’ inability to fit the Pākehā mould of the system, instead of trying to shape a new inclusive system around them. As Moana Jackson argues, “disparities need to be understood as the consequence of policies, not as the cause of inequities” (Buchanan, 2022, para. 69).

Far from a cultural deficit which impacts Māori, there are various inner mechanisms at play which provide Pākehā with what I would refer to as a cultural surplus. These include the curriculum, the hidden curriculum, and cultural capital. Although the National Curriculum now has a Māori off-shoot, Te Marautanga o Aotearoa, the New Zealand Curriculum still dominates. The essential learning areas of this curriculum continue to reflect Pākehā values and perpetuate the view that Western knowledge is not only superior but normative. The hidden curriculum, meanwhile, does the same thing at a level which is both deeply personal and systemic. The assumptions of teachers, for example, form an unwritten and often self-fulfilling standard, with these assumptions having been influenced by the “social, political and cultural environments of the society” (Ghosh, 2008, p. 28). Ultimately, writes Bishop, “the major influence on Māori students’ educational achievement lies in the minds and actions of the majority of their teachers” (2005, p. 83). Finally, cultural capital forms the very currency of the deficit-surplus imbalance. Cultural capital is inherited by Pākehā and invested into their education, allowing them to both prove their worth while earning more, while Māori lack the cultural capital needed to be able to profit from their education (Bourdieu, 1971, as cited in Jenks, 2003).

Conclusion

Despite the passing of time and the promise of equal opportunities, it is clear that colonisation still has an influence on our education system. This influence continues to prioritise and privilege Pākehā, yet far from fixing the problem, many do not want to admit that the problem even exists. I believe that this blindness is detrimental to all people within the system, as an updated and more inclusive system which rejects meritocracy and individualism and adopts more diverse values and knowledge has the potential to improve the educational experience for all students, while freeing staff from the cultural deficit mindset. But if we continue expecting Māori students to assimilate and leave behind their identity in order to succeed, education in Aotearoa will never advance beyond a crude colonial tool.

References