What Professional Courage Looks Like In Aotearoa Right Now

By Rebecca Thomas

Photographs by Krista Rossow

Courageous Dr. Claire Coleman — the first academic in this moment willing to step into the light and say out loud what many have only whispered.

Tonight, as my fingers move across a keyboard that has held joy, rage, grief, and hope in equal measure, they do so with a little more lightness.

On the drive home I listened to Claire Coleman speak truth into a space that has felt heavy for many educators and policy workers for a long time.

Yes — I did punch the air.

Yes — the oncoming traffic probably thought I was warning them about a speed camera van.

And yes — my SENCO to-do list is sitting there judging me.

But this moment felt too important to let pass quietly.

In true academic fashion, she didn’t just speak to the media first. She put her concerns into parliamentary record — evidence, process, accountability — before stepping into the public light. That process matters deeply. Because what is being debated here is not whether governments can set direction for curriculum. They always have. The question being asked — publicly, now — is about how that direction is shaped.

How much evidence is honoured.

How much expertise is invited in.

How transparent the process is for the people whose children live inside these decisions.

RNZ reporting today outlines serious allegations about curriculum rewrite processes — including claims that expert voices were sidelined and that some decisions were not formally documented.

Legally, these are allegations only at the moment. But I take comfort that at least these allegations are now part of the public parliamentary record.

Education in Aotearoa has always been bigger than political cycles.

Education belongs to tamariki. To our whānau. To our dedicated and tired communities. And to the collective professional wisdom built across decades of classrooms. And right now — across staffrooms, lecture theatres, kura, and offices — there are people quietly deciding what professional courage looks like for them.

Some will speak publicly.

Some will keep doing the quiet, relational, integrity work that keeps education human.

Both versions matter.

If you are reading this and you feel that anxiety and dread in your chest — that moment where you wonder if speaking up is worth the cost — know this:

Sunlight is rarely found by one person alone.

It is built slowly.

By those quiet conversations in staffrooms. By carefully worded emails that ask hard questions. By professional challenge spoken respectfully but firmly. By refusing to let evidence be pushed quietly to the side.

Professional courage does not always look like headlines.

Sometimes it looks like staying grounded in what you know is right for tamariki — even when it would be easier not to.

And when one person steps forward, it does not make others smaller. It makes the path easier to see.

The past two years (after nearly three decades in education) has taught me so much.

Admittedly, I used to be quite naive in how our schools run. When I closed the classroom door I believed that what happened in the moments that followed was the only thing I needed to worry about. But I have learned that our curriculum is never just content. It is our identity. It can be driven by power. And most importantly it is whose knowledge gets to stand in the sunlight.

And in this moment — at least one academic chose sunlight.

And sunlight, once found, is very hard to push back into shadow.