’Twas the Week Before ERO

by Rebecca Thomas

AI image — no actual children were exploited, measured, rated or placed in a coloured box for this blog.

’Twas the week before ERO, and all through the school,

The teachers were humming, pretending we’re cool.

The classrooms were buzzing with real boys and girls,

With meltdowns and laughter and fights in their worlds.

The whānau, oblivious — we mean no disrespect —

Had no idea what next Tuesday might suddenly affect.

For seven days from now, when the reviewers appear,

We’ll discover which colour defines us this year.

Perhaps a red square and a special umbrella,

A commissioner appointed — some very clever fella.

Or perhaps we’ll escape with a slap on the wrist:

“We’ll come back in three months to see what you’ve missed.”

But whatever the punishment, the carrot or stick,

There’s something about it that makes me feel sick.

For our data hasn’t shifted in decades — not one little bit —

Yet we measure the same children with the same measuring stick.

It’s not for lack of trying.

It’s not that we don’t care.

You only need to walk through our classrooms

To see the aroha there.

We’ll sing waiata and stand on Taumata with pride,

With manaakitanga and whakapapa walking beside.

Our values are lived here, not printed for show,

And there are things about our tamariki that spreadsheets won’t know.

Yet measure us they will with their Western-made sticks,

And a curriculum still being unwrapped brick by brick.

They’ll examine our numbers, our graphs and our plans,

Then somehow explain who we are where they stand.

The squares may be coloured some shade of orange or red,

There may be stern conversations and things that are said.

But Friday will still be Crazy Hair Day instead,

With glitter and ponytails piled on each head.

And we’ll probably roll our eyes at those cards on the wall,

Because stars never told us who mattered at all.

Whatever the judgement, whatever they see,

Our tamariki are more than a colour could ever be.

So come Tuesday morning, let ERO arrive,

With rubrics and ratings and measures besides.

We’ll open the doors. They can look where they please.

So colour your squares — let the data decide,

We are who we are, and we wear it with pride.

For our kura is more than the numbers you provide —

Who are ERO to measure the hearts that are inside?