My Kāhui Ako is Broken
- Mar 26
- 6 min read
Updated: Apr 1
by Rebecca Thomas
A line I hear all the time is: Kāhui Ako don’t work.
And I get it.
Across New Zealand, two-thirds of our schools are part of a Kāhui Ako—around 220 of them, serving 700,000 students. But if you ask around, you’ll hear the same frustrations on repeat: meetings feel pointless, engagement is inconsistent, and collaboration never quite takes off.
What are the issues causing them problems, and why?
Problem #1 Staying Engaged and Connected
Many principals admit they don’t always attend Kāhui Ako meetings. Some say the meetings feel irrelevant to their school’s unique context and challenges; others simply can’t justify the cost or disruption of arranging cover to be there.
This isn’t just anecdotal.
A 2020 sabbatical report found that every principal surveyed struggled to keep others engaged. Inconsistent attendance was a major issue, with some principals referring to the Kāhui Ako as they rather than we—a clear sign that ownership and belonging were missing.
Some leaders I speak to say these meetings should continue regardless of who is in the room and accept the idea that they will never all be available at the same time; others feel the show of empty seats at meetings highlight a lack of commitment and strive for a full house insisting everyone should be present.
And it’s not just school leaders at meetings who feel disconnected.
Many teachers have little idea which schools are even in their Kāhui Ako. Some can recall a meeting or two that had an impact over the years, or maybe they once learned a shared waiata; others feel like their school wasn’t really wanted in the Kāhui Ako to begin with.
If people don’t see themselves in the network, they won’t engage with it.
Problem #2 Meaningful, Shared Goals
Kāhui Ako were established to improve student outcomes through collaboration, with a strong emphasis on raising Māori achievement and honouring Te Tiriti o Waitangi.
The intention was to break the cycle of schools working in isolation and instead create shared responsibility for student success.
Schools within a Kāhui Ako sign a Memorandum of Agreement, outlining their shared "achievement challenges," which often focus on literacy, numeracy, and student well-being.
A nobel philosophy that makes sense, however these very goals, set for authentic reasons became another major barrier. When achievement challenges are handed down from above across such a diverse range of schools—based mostly on the numbers of data rather than genuine collaboration—there’s little buy-in.
A 2023 systematic literature review highlighted the difficulty of aligning goals across diverse schools. Without shared ownership, coherence, and sustainability, even the best intentions fall flat. When you have early childhood centres, primary schools, secondary schools, rural schools, and even tertiary providers in one Kāhui Ako, expecting instant alignment is unrealistic.
But the real issue here goes beyond just goal-setting.
The original mistake was how leadership roles were structured within the CoL.
Once within-school, across-school, and lead principal positions were given large salary increases, many leaders found themselves trapped in activity mode to justify their position —attending meetings, organising PLD, filling the calendar with ‘busyness’. As Carolyn Stuart from Weaving Futures stated in, The Burden of Busyness
‘Being busy doesn’t equate to productivity or success’,
Were any of these busy activities truly driving student outcomes? Were they seeing a shift in data? Was the PLD that was organised enhancing pedagogy for plugging disparities, or promoting true collaboration?
These two problems are complex, and are the main reason some Communities of Learning don’t feel like ‘communities of learning’ at all.
If you’re a Kāhui Ako leader—whether an across-school leader, lead principal, or within-school teacher—what can you do to get your Community of Learning back on track?
Solution # 1: Build Trust and a Whānau-Like Context
One of the biggest misconceptions about Kāhui Ako is that they’re just about setting shared goals. But with such a diverse mix of schools and perspectives, the first job isn’t to rush to a solution—it’s to build shared understanding.
If you’re familiar with Sam Kaner’s Groan Zone model, you’ll know that diverse perspectives don’t magically align overnight. Trying to push a group straight to solutions is a non-starter. You can ride in on your white horse, ready to rally the troops, but unless people feel heard, you won’t get anywhere.
This is where whanaungatanga—the building of relationships and shared responsibility—becomes critical. True collaboration happens when people feel valued as part of a collective, not as competitors in a system.
So instead of forcing quick alignment, focus on:
Creating space for dialogue – Collaboration starts when people feel heard, not rushed. Across-school leaders need to go beyond structured meetings and spend real time with each school in the Kāhui Ako. Walk their halls, sit in their staffrooms, listen to what weighs on them. What’s their daily grind like? What pressures are they under? When you understand someone’s reality, you build trust—and that’s when the meaningful, unscripted conversations (the ones by the photocopier or on duty at lunchtime) start to matter.
Acknowledging tensions – Conflict isn’t a failure; it’s part of the process. When frustrations surface, it’s easy to dismiss them as just ‘more moaning.’ But moaning is communication—frustration is a sign that something isn’t working. Instead of shutting it down, listen for the patterns. That tension often holds shared histories, struggles, and deeply held beliefs. If we ignore it, we miss the opportunity to create real shared understanding.
Building relational trust – Schools won’t truly collaborate unless they trust each other. And that’s tough when small rural schools are in competition for enrolments just to stay open, or when a bus route depends on getting enough kids heading in the same direction. When high schools ‘poach’ students from others because perception doesn’t match reality, trust is naturally eroded. It’s completely understandable for principals to want to protect their student numbers. But here’s the shift that needs to happen—Kāhui Ako aren’t about protecting turf. They’re about lifting all of us together. A rising tide floats all boats, and we need to commit to that idea: every child in our Kāhui Ako belongs to all of us. Their success is our success.
Solution #2: Recognise When You’re Flogging a Dead Horse
The next step? Acknowledge that if you’re flogging a dead horse, it’s still a dead horse. Kāhui Ako typically have two or three across-school leaders. But no amount of passion in your two days of release time will make collaboration work—unless everyone sees themselves as part of the Kāhui Ako.
Ask yourself:
Do teachers, students, and whānau even know they belong to a Kāhui Ako?
Do they recognise the different school logos and understand the connection between them?
Could each CoL leader name all the schools and key participants in the Kāhui Ako?
If people don’t see themselves in the Kāhui Ako, they won’t engage with it. The work isn’t about forcing alignment from the top—it’s about making sure every school community sees itself as a vital part of the whole. And that starts with leadership actively bringing people into the conversation.
Solution #3: Shift Towards a More Inclusive Approach
Kāhui Ako were created to support Māori and marginalised learners, yet too often, they are approached with structures and frameworks that don’t always reflect te ao Māori ways of thinking. If the system itself isn’t working, we need to consider different ways of approaching collaboration—ones that honour Māori principles of connection, identity, and shared responsibility.
A Kāhui Ako isn’t just its leaders and principals. It includes every teacher, student, whānau member, and community voice. True collaboration starts with identity and connection—knowing who we are, where we stand, and what unites us. This is the essence of whakapapa—understanding our place in the bigger picture and recognising how our histories and connections shape us.
Start with a name. Why does your Kāhui Ako have this name? What does it mean? Think about your place. What unites you—waiata, art, whakataukī, whenua? What stories and experiences do you share? And most importantly, how will you contribute? Kāhui Ako should be places of ako—of reciprocal learning—not competition. That responsibility belongs to everyone—all 700,000 students and two-thirds of New Zealand’s schools
Solution #4: Tell the Story of Your Kāhui Ako
One of the first things you could do that is effective as an across-school leader is to share the story behind your Kāhui Ako logo. Why? Because storytelling is powerful.
Think about your Kāhui Ako’s name. Why does it have that name? What’s the story behind it? Share it with your students. A simple way to do this is to tell the story, then give students picture cards to help them retell it in their own way. When people connect with a name and its story, they build empathy.
This isn’t just branding—it’s about identity, belonging, and connection. If we want our Kāhui Ako to mean something, we have to make sure people see themselves in it from the very beginning. This reflects the principle of tūrangawaewae—having a place to stand and a sense of belonging
The truth is, Kāhui Ako aren’t broken.
But for many schools, they aren’t working as they should.
The solution isn’t more meetings or more top-down initiatives or busyness. It’s about making Kāhui Ako real for the people in them—by fostering trust, telling their stories, and helping every educator and student see themselves as part of something bigger.
What’s the first step you could take to reconnect your Kāhui Ako?
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