1840 Reasons to Speak: A Tutorial for Erica Stanford

By Rebecca Thomas

1840 schools spoke up — the same number as the year Te Tiriti o Waitangi was signed. It’s more than coincidence. It’s a message.

Pause. Breathe. Now smile.

If the Minister believes honouring Te Tiriti and closing achievement gaps are two separate goals — she does not understand what giving effect to Te Tiriti o Waitangi actually means.

And perhaps, in fairness, how could she? If you’ve never worked in education, never walked into a staffroom before 8am, or seen a principal show up to a tangihanga. If you’ve never felt whakapapa pulsing in a school’s corridors or seen the way a community gathers when one of their own succeeds or grieves — how would you know?

So maybe it’s time for a tutorial.

Not a lecture. A window. An invitation.

Because for those of us who live, teach, and lead in these spaces, we know this: Giving effect to Te Tiriti is not a distraction.

It is not an extra.

It is not a “nice to have if we want to.”

It is the how.

Stanford’s claim that the clause “did nothing” under Labour reveals more about her lens than it does about its impact. If you measure success only by PISA scores, attendance data, or phonics checks — then yes, the clause may look silent. But if you’re looking for relationships, belonging, partnership, and mana-enhancing practice — then the clause sang.

Te Tiriti isn’t about tokenism or checklists.

It’s about whanaungatanga.

It’s about manaakitanga.

It’s about grounding education in identity, connection, and reciprocity.

When schools walk alongside whānau, hapū, and iwi — when they honour mana whenua, build trust, and co-design learning — that’s when Māori achievement isn’t just improved.

It’s transformed.

And has she even asked a hapū or iwi what Māori achievement looks like for them?

Or does she assume they believe phonics checks and 12 weeks of grilled maths is what success looks like — or that any of us believe that’s what success truly means?

So when a Minister speaks of schools being "allowed" to honour Te Tiriti, we must ask: does she understand what it means at all?

Starting from Nothing

I’ve shied away from this topic publicly until now. Apart from pointing out the loophole handed to Erica by Willow-Jean Prime, I’ve often felt that as an outsider, there are far more qualified voices to speak on what it means to give effect to Te Tiriti o Waitangi.

I’m not Māori. I don’t carry whakapapa to this whenua. 

But I have lived in Te Tai Tokerau for nearly a decade, and my perspective is grounded in lived experience, humility, and deep respect.

And as our Education Minister continues to speak with such little insight into this kaupapa, I realise that perhaps my voice is just as valid. So here it is.

When I first arrived in Aotearoa and read the Teaching Council standards — that teachers are to “give effect to Te Tiriti o Waitangi” — I had to unpack that from the perspective of someone who knew nothing.

And I suspect that’s exactly where Erica is speaking from.

Despite her birthright, I feel sorry for her — that she’s been sheltered from what this really means.

So I grounded myself in history.

I marvelled that I had landed in a place where the stories are held in the names of mountains, rivers, and bays. Where greetings aren’t just polite, but ancestral. Where pōwhiri and karanga reach through time.

I asked myself: How do I, a visitor, honour this with integrity?

He Kaupapa With Heart

That question didn’t divide me, Seymour. And it didn’t distract me from student wellbeing or academic progress, Erica.

It anchored me.

It began with manaakitanga — the feeling of a kākahu being gently wrapped around my shoulders. A welcome. A responsibility.

As a kaiako, I leaned into tuakana-teina, kotahitanga, ako. It wasn’t alien. It was beautifully familiar — the values I already believed in, reflected through a deeper cultural lens.

I began, as many do, on the surface: learning karakia, waiata, ki-o-rahi, poi, weaving. It was beautiful — but I didn’t yet understand the why.

Then came Matariki.

We gathered in the dark, breath visible in the early morning air. The umu pit glowed. Flames danced from beneath the earth. Chicken and pork sizzled in woven baskets. I helped prepare the stuffing — learned the sweetness of kūmara, the healing of herbs, the story in every ingredient. We sang. We remembered. We welcomed the light.

That wasn’t just a celebration.

That was ako.

That was collective care.

That was education.

Through moments like these, I began to understand karakia not as ritual, but as presence. A way to set the mauri. To honour time, space, and each other.

This is what it means to give effect to Te Tiriti.

Not in policy.

But in presence.

Not in fear.

But in aroha.

What I Witnessed in Schools Was Deeper Still

As my journey deepened, I saw that schools were doing far more than surface engagement. Especially in Te Tai Tokerau.

They weren’t 'delivering' curriculum — they were honouring people.

They were co-constructing learner profiles with whānau.

They were asking iwi and hapū what mattered most.

They were embedding local pūrākau, waiata, and tikanga into learning.

They were listening — really listening.

No PISA data captures this.

But you feel it in the playground. You see it at wānanga. You hear it in the voices of tamariki who know who they are and where they come from.

In all my years in education — in many countries — I had never seen anything like it.

It made me proud to be a teacher in Aotearoa.

From Kaiako to Facilitator — and Back Again

When I became a PLD facilitator, my responsibility grew. It was no longer just about what I did — it was about supporting others to reflect, realign, and reimagine what Te Tiriti meant in their context.

I walked alongside boards, leaders, and teaching teams — not as an expert, but as a listener. 

We asked:

– What does Te Tiriti mean here?

– What do whānau need now?

– What does success really look like?

We visited marae. We wrote whakataukī. We shared kai. We unpacked local stories. We reimagined curriculum not from compliance — but from care.

And never — never — did this work undermine academic success. Quite the opposite. It lifted it.

Each school began to grow their own ngākau Māori — unique, alive, and deeply held.

Now I’m back in the classroom. And with more knowledge comes more responsibility.

I now know that whanaungatanga isn’t a five-minute icebreaker. That wānanga isn’t just another word for PD. That hui and kōrero hold deeper space than "meetings" and "chats."

And I know I’ll still get things wrong.

But I keep asking.

Keep growing.

Keep listening.

That’s what this is.

A living journey.

A Swipe Without Substance

Erica said Labour “did nothing” for Māori achievement. 

Fact: Under Labour, the Ministry of Education funded people like me to support schools — to unpack Aotearoa NZ Histories, to walk with boards as they gave effect to Te Tiriti. It wasn’t perfect — but it was real.

And the loudest data of all?

1840 letters.

From Boards of Trustees. From 74% of schools.

That’s not ideology. That’s voice. That’s lived reality.

And frankly, it’s more compelling than a set of phonics check results or fast-tracked maths gains with little substance.

What Erica’s statement shows is this: someone who doesn’t yet understand what giving effect to Te Tiriti means — and yet had the power to erase it from law.

Still, that misunderstanding continues.

Giving effect to Te Tiriti at Board level isn’t radical. It’s responsible governance:

– Relationship with mana whenua

– Co-design with community

– Strategy grounded in belonging

– Decision-making that reflects whakapapa

None of this is revolutionary.

But removing it? That is.

So Yes, We Were Shocked

That’s why we were shocked, stunned, and saddened when Treaty obligations were stripped from the Education and Training Act.

It felt like being told that all the ngākau Māori we had nurtured — with aroha, time, and whānau — suddenly came second to a data.

All of this confirms one thing: Erica Stanford underestimated how deeply schools have embedded their Treaty responsibilities.

If she took them as seriously as she claims, she wouldn’t be speaking from fear.

She wouldn’t be speaking from ignorance.

She would apologise.

She would reinstate the clause.

She would admit she got it wrong.

Because giving effect to Te Tiriti means this:

Working with whānau.

Upholding whanaungatanga.

Honouring whakapapa.

That kind of relational, respectful practice isn’t something you can cross off without consultation.

And honestly, it should never have been a political talking point in the first place.

So This Is the Tutorial

Not to shame.

But to illuminate.

This is why it matters.

And this is why — clause or no clause — we will continue to live it.

Because it’s not policy.

It’s people.

Removing the clause didn’t simplify anything.

It ignored the lived reality of schools and communities.

And more than anything,

it’s insulting.