Equity, te reo, and doing the right thing

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In her follow-up blog to Raising the equity flag – why I’m passionate about fighting inequity in Aotearoa, Dr Hana O’Regan writes about the historical marginalisation of te reo Maori, and the importance of picking your equity battles.

When I was in the 6th Form – the equivalent of Year 12 now – I remember having a debate (actually an argument!) with some of my teachers around the way that marks were allocated to schools for Sixth Form Certificate.

The number of points a school received was based on the School Certificate marks received from the year before, across all subjects. These points were then allocated to different subjects based on a curriculum hierarchy. I learnt that any points received because of the high marks in School Certificate Māori, may be allocated to the ‘academic subjects’, which didn’t include te reo.

Te reo Māori was the only language on the New Zealand curriculum not considered an academic subject. It was aligned with home economics, and woodwork.

I challenged my teachers – how could one language be separated out from all the others? I was told that it was because Māori didn’t have a literary heritage – the “standard” for a language to be considered academic.

I was angry!

This felt unjust and unfair, but I didn’t have a good counter-argument other than saying it was a stupid rule. When I was 16 I didn’t know the history around the treatment of Māori as a language, or the way that it had been deliberately marginalised. I didn’t know about the laws and policies that were imposed to silence it and those who spoke it. All I knew was that it seemed unfair, and unjust.

That frustration increased when I was 20 years old and working in the Alexander Turnbull Library in Wellington. I started going through Māori language newspapers written in the 1800s and early 1900s… I saw thousands upon thousands of examples of a literary heritage, and I was blown away with the depth and breadth of what I found. Māori were active seekers of knowledge. Newspaper stories with current affairs of the time – international, national and local – history, politics, poems, editorials all in te reo Māori! In fact, I now know that people were more likely to be literate at the turn of the last century if they were Māori, than if they were non-Māori.

I was angry that my 16-year-old self hadn’t known this to help me argue the case for te reo with my teachers.

While I now had more information to argue my case for the equitable treatment of my language, I was yet to properly understand the legacy of the fight for language revitalisation in New Zealand. I didn’t have an understanding of the breadth of policies and actions that had led to the decline of the language in Māori communities. That learning would develop over the following years. With each new piece of information, a part of the puzzle was solved, and my confidence and ability to articulate and advocate for the language grew.

I learned to pick my fights

But even having that knowledge and preparing the rebuttals was not always enough. I learnt to pick my fights, and decide when I would argue for the correct pronunciation of my name, someone else’s name, a place name and so on. I made decisions around which parts of the equity landscape for te reo I wished to address. I learnt early on that it could be tiring, exhausting, and emotionally draining to feel that you always had to be on the defensive; ready at the drop of a hat to invest your time and energy into helping someone else increase their knowledge and awareness. Calling someone out for their statements, stereotypes or put-downs, certainly has the ability to create an air of tension, even when done with empathy and patience. I also had to be prepared to fail in my goal and understand that I wasn’t always going to achieve a shift in people’s thinking or behaviour.

Some of the barriers, the blocks, and the failure to successfully raise the equity flag for the treatment of te reo and Māori culture and identity have been harder to swallow than others. The hardest for me have been when I haven’t been able to shield my own children from the negative stereotypes and treatment.

Before my children were born in 2003 and 2004, I had done my homework, prepared all the responses I thought I would need, and knew how to help people say their names correctly. I had absolutely committed to doing whatever it took, even if it meant giving personal pronunciation lessons. But I hadn’t counted on the fact that some people would not be prepared to even make the effort, and would go so far as to insist that they mispronounce my children’s names, or that I give them an English option. I wasn’t prepared to respond with one-liner rebuttals when my three-year-old son was verbally abused for speaking Māori to me in the supermarket. I wasn’t prepared for the fact that the abuser thought she had the right to swear at my three-year-old child who was simply speaking to his mother.

I was lost for words.

I also wasn’t prepared, while sitting in a doctor’s surgery, to have another person verbally attack my child at the age of six, when he was again having a personal conversation with me in his native language. I was taken aback by her viciousness, the swear words she used and the fact that she thought it was remotely okay to curse angrily at a young boy in a public space for talking to his mother.

None of the educational training and knowledge I had acquired at that point prepared me for that moment. Again, I was lost for words.

img_3847-smlShifting the equity dial

When I was 21 I was infuriated by the racial and targeted attacks on my father, and our wider Ngāi Tahu tribe, by a group who were protesting that Ngāi Tahu had asked the Crown to buy a number foreign-owned High Country farms that were up for sale. We were asking whether they could be used as part of a Ngāi Tahu Settlement. Ngāi Tahu had declared we would not be seeking any privately owned land as part of that process. This was met with bumper stickers, fliers and rallies saying (Ngāi Tahu) Hands off the Greenstone Valley.

I wanted my father to join with me in my outrage, to stand strong, and to call them out. But he responded calmly and in a matter-of-fact way; “If you only knew what they only know you probably would think the same”. Of course that infuriated me even more because what he said made perfect sense! But it didn’t help me to deal with the level of frustration and anger I felt at the overt racial slurs thrown our way over this issue. What his words did do, however, was to give me a blueprint for resolution, and an idea of where to focus my energies and attention. I needed to do what I could to help others see what I saw, to learn some of what I knew, in the hope that it might help them see a different picture.

Lifting the veil of ignorance on inequity is the first step. Being able to understand, and know, where inequities exist is a fundamental prerequisite to doing something about them. Using an equity lens to assess situations, policies, practices and behaviours, allows us to see the fuller picture – to deeply understand what the challenges are that we’re dealing with.

But it’s not good enough to know and see inequity. Once we are aware of its presence, we need strategies that help us respond to them – to shift the equity dial. This is often where things become unstuck, as the challenges can become almost overwhelming and seem too hard to change. We then run the risk of becoming apathetic, or suffering inertia, which gives them airspace and the room to persist and exist.

So what do we need to do?

We have to dig deep and find the strength to move into the uncomfortable spaces, even when we feel tired and, sometimes, overwhelmed. At those times we need to commit to the change because it is the right thing, and the just thing, to do.

I will finish this blog by using a quote from one of our tīpuna from Moeraki, Matiaha Tiramōrehu, who petitioned The Queen on the 22 October 1849, which was the first formal statement of Ngāi Tahu grievances against the Crown regarding the South Island land purchases. Matiaha asked:

 “That the law be made one, that the commandments be made one, that the nation be made one, that the white skin be made just as equal with the dark skin…”.

Now I know that the issue of equity goes well beyond skin colour, ethnicity and race, but the foundational sentiment and intent is an enduring one that lasts through the generations. We still have a way to go – but how exciting it is to be journeying together!

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Streaming – the unexamined wallpaper

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By Dr Pam O’Connell

When I was a social studies and maths teacher, I didn’t question why we streamed or ‘banded’ our learners. I just accepted this was the way it was – that it was best for learners to be sorted using a test that I did not even administer or mark, and probably did not even see the questions! I often taught the lower stream. That left me to decide what I could offer by way of resources and activities for these learners. I know I spent a great deal of time re-creating, cutting and pasting (literally!) activities that I thought my class would enjoy and be capable of achieving. Essentially, I was ‘dumbing down’ their curriculum with repetitive, mind-numbing activities; in effect, contributing to blunting opportunities for my learners and their sense of self-efficacy. I had never experienced the impact of being in “cabbage” maths or remedial classes.

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Image copyright CORE Education, all rights reserved.

Professor Richard Elmore writes about the “unexamined wallpaper” on our staff room walls. He argues that most often we do not even ‘see’ the pattern or colour as we enter it each day. The streaming of learners based on their perceived abilities is certainly part of this wallpaper. We are so entrenched in this practice that we don’t see the patterns of harm it has caused for, what is now, generations of learners in Aotearoa New Zealand. This harm has been more fully described in Ending Streaming in Aotearoa, tagged with the impact of colonialism and illustrated by the voices of young people who articulate the trauma it has caused.

Even when I read Elmore’s 2002 article ‘Hard Questions About Practice’ as part of leading a national professional learning programme, I did not ask questions about streaming or the enduring grouping of learners. We knew about the importance of high expectations – studies emerging from research in South Auckland brought this to our attention in the teaching of literacy. The phrase is now everywhere in our system level policy documents but it is only over the last two years that streaming has come under scrutiny in terms of the explicit and tacit low expectations we may hold of the learners we work with.

OK, enough of beating myself up in public! Many of you will have a similar story. But we can take action now to influence change, reveal these patterns on the wall, get clarity on why streaming still exists in our communities and what forms and guises it now has.

I think the most critical question to ask of ourselves is who does this practice really benefit? It is one of Elmore’s hard questions about practice. It is also a question raised by indigenous researchers of traditional research methods, along with initiation, representation, legitimacy and accountability.

These hard questions place streaming at the heart of the current political, educational and public demand for equity.

  • Who initiated streaming in our schools, when and why?
  • Who has benefited from streaming?
  • Who is represented in decision-making about structure and policies such as streaming?
  • What legitimacy is given to the voices of our learners and their whānau in decision-making?
  • Are educators accountable to their communities around streaming and its impact?

Defining streaming seems to be the first barrier to de-constructing streaming. Indeed, it is not straightforward. The first barrage of reactions to the streaming research released by Tokona Te Raki in April (2021) was to suggest this was all about secondary schooling, just as I described above, or the entry prerequisites in place for particular NCEA subjects. It is good to see the streaming questions ramping up now, prompting social media groups to consider if this is also about gifted education options that we design.

I also began to dig deeper with my primary colleagues on this. Yes, it is an issue here too. Those reading groups often matched to levels of reading texts do have the hallmarks of streaming, which I am beginning to define as ‘fixed and enduring groups that stigmatise learners’. The reading groups may be all sorts of imaginative names, but learners still know they are in the ‘bottom’ reading group and will likely stay there. Ask them.

Interestingly, the shining light in all of this has been the teaching of mathematics in primary schools, where substantive research has shown that mixed ability grouping, alongside what is termed “low floor, high ceiling” and culturally sustaining task design is bringing the results we want. Learners who are more engaged and challenged, build agency, self esteem and achieve at higher levels as a result.

There is really not a void after taking streaming away. There are well proven equity approaches that together will replace this practice. I am lucky to be part of an organisation that is working closely with Tokona Te Raki to support their call to action to end streaming in Aotearoa. We do not think this is a centre by centre, school by school, kura by kura response.

Together we advocate de-streaming as a community response – where you work with mana whenua, with whānau, with your learners and teachers to explore the whakapapa of streaming in your rohe, hear the voices of those that have experienced streaming and determine your critical pathway together. Kāhui Ako are well set now to take on this challenge as a community with mana whenua and whānau.

In terms of pedagogical responses there is not a single answer. We think it is a collection of practice kete. CORE started in a different place though, by looking at learning approaches in Te Ao Māori to guide our thinking. Knowing more about ‘tuakana teina’, ‘ako’ or ‘talanoa’ from your own community can shape the design for teaching and learning, flexible grouping and your role as kaiako – don’t assume you know this already. My experience working as an ally with iwi is that these kupu have rich tikanga and subtle differences depending on place.

As a final thought, I offer another idea that frees learners from the ability-group confines for learning that we impose, this is multi-age learning. Check out this reading about its advantages . We already have this structural response in our early years learning and in rural education. I think I need to start looking for some research on these learning environments in terms of normalising difference and supporting cognitive, social and emotional growth.

I am setting a challenge to you as readers to ask the hard questions about streaming in your learning community.

Have a look at our three free de-streaming resources. These are prompts for you to explore further.

If you would like to start a conversation about equity in your learning setting, that includes, looking at approaches to de-streaming, please contact me: pam.o’connell@core-ed.ac.nz

References
Elmore, R. (2002). Hard questions about practice in Education Leadership, Volume 59 | Number 8 p 22-25. ASCD.
Bishop, R. (2011). Freeing Ourselves. Sense Publishers: Boston.

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Queer, Māori and young: what it means for teaching

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ko-tatou-tenei-_-this-us-us-fb-mihi-core-education

Lex Davis (he/him) (Te Rarawa) and Josh Hough (he/him) are the authors of Ko tātou tēnei | This is us, an action research report, supported by CORE Education, that shares the voices of Māori LGBTQIA+ students.

Lex wished that he had better opportunities to celebrate his queerness and taha Māori at school. Still, he is super happy that he is now in a position where he can make better spaces for others. The work that you are going to hear about is one way in which he can celebrate his work and personal identities.

Josh has worked really hard to explore what it means to be a partner in this work where he doesn’t have a personal connection. To do so, he uses loads of love and empathy and his skills in design, futures and pulling apart identity (and putting it back together!).

We decided that we would create a project to explore what it means to be young, indigenous and queer in our school environments. We worked with, challenged, and celebrated our Māori LGBTQIA+ youth – our rangatahi takatāpui.

The young people are the heart of this project. They are extraordinary, and so too was the space and time we spent together over a specially-designed wānanga at Living Springs. We had many people, ideas and skills in the space which challenged, pulled apart, and grew our understanding of ourselves and each other. We used cool design processes to explore how our schooling spaces could work for their peers. We supercharged this process by delving into mātauranga Māori to celebrate their identity as queer, indigenous heroes!

This blog recognises some of the learning we explored that could help our teachers transform their relationships with our ākonga. It is a story of two beautiful people at our wānanga – Mana, an amazing member of our trans community and Hera, their teacher at school.

The next blog – coming your way soon – will look at using a set of provocations to take stock of where you are at as an individual and school community. Our third blog is an opportunity to hear from the rangatahi takatāpui as we interview them.

Improving our relationships with rangatahi takatāpui

Hera and Mana (not their real names) are kaiako and ākonga at the same school. Though they had an established and trusting student / teacher relationship, the wānanga gave Hera a profound appreciation for the fullness of Mana’s identity.

Mana and Hera’s relationship as student and teacher, but also as takatāpui and cis-het*, illustrates the transforming relationships with takatāpui poutama and how it works at each of the three steps: sympathy, empathy and transformation.

As kaiako, this can be characterised by the nature of the relationships we seek to build with rangatahi takatāpui in our roles as bystanders, allies and partners. We will step you through this process as we saw it relate to the experiences of Hera and Mana.

*“Cis-het” refers to someone who is both cisgender and heterosexual.

Bystander

What does it mean to be a bystander? It means, as kaiako, we implement the professional and ethical obligations explicitly required by our roles. These include our obligations to health and safety, the Teacher’s Code, and human rights laws. In other words, good teachers by the book. By fulfilling our ethical obligations, we take the steps to ensure our classrooms are safe and accessible learning spaces for all students – including rangatahi takatāpui.

One way we fulfill our obligations is to pay attention to the language used in our classrooms.

As a bystander, Hera regularly challenges homophobic and transphobic language in her classroom. Mana and other students who are sexuality and gender diverse report feeling safe when they are with her.

Ignorant slang and harmful language are an unjust reality for Māori and rainbow whānau. As kaiako, we set what is acceptable and normalised within our classrooms and it’s our obligation to step in when we hear casual put-downs and verbal abuse. This may not always feel comfortable, but courage requires vulnerability, and your actions will send a powerful message that the spaces you control are safe for all students.

As teachers, we begin with relationships. Good relationships require trust. To build trust, our classrooms need to be spaces in which students know that they are safe and can be their whole selves.

Ally

Allyship is moving beyond the obligation; acting upon what we know and learn. It requires vulnerability, self reflection, and commitment to learning about one another.

As allies, we become open to discovering more about Māori and rainbow communities and what it means to be indigenous, queer and young in Aotearoa. We learn from the stories of our students; their specific experiences and how they have shaped their identity.

To succeed in allyship, it’s important to begin with a critical awareness of our own identities. This means taking time to recognise things we may often take for granted or gloss over. This often includes examining our own experiences and relationships to uncover how these shape the views that we hold.

At a design workshop at the wānanga, Hera created a simple pipe-cleaner art piece – “I am so sorry”. Hera apologised and took ownership of the responsibility for not always using the correct pronouns – they/them. Though this was simple, it was a highly emotive moment, building trust and respect between her and Mana. Using correct pronouns is critical to Mana’s wellbeing and identity as a non-binary person.

In this one moment, Hera’s relationship with Mana transformed from sympathetic to empathetic. They were able to move beyond the surface and develop a shared understanding of Mana’s identity. It was a humbling moment for Hera, who recognised the power dynamic in their relationship and what it meant for a teacher to say sorry.

Mana later told us this made them feel safe and connected at school which made them actually want to go there and learn.

Hera’s pipe cleaner statement to Mana: I am so sorry. A powerful moment in allyship with her student. Credit: Lex Davis
Hera’s pipe cleaner statement to Mana: I am so sorry. A powerful moment in allyship with her student. Credit: Lex Davis

Partnership

The next step in transforming relationships with rangatahi takatāpui requires interrupting the traditional teacher as leader and student as follower power dynamic. It demands growth beyond listening and understanding.

Partnership is an equitable approach where we as kaiako take action to empower rangatahi takatāpui to construct thinking, lead, and teach us as we teach them. We actively create space where rangatahi takatāpui co-construct approaches to leading and learning.

During the wānanga Mana shared their knowledge around indigenous gender and sexuality. Hera was a part of this process, as was Mana’s father. Both of these important adults in Mana’s life were able to celebrate them as tuakana in this learning. Mana expressed their pleasure at holding this space and the mana this gave them. They were also going to use this as an opportunity to take an active role in sharing this with others back at their school. Hera will support this by co-creating space through her roles as social studies teacher and supervisor of the SAGA (sexuality and gender awareness) group.

This example illustrates Mana’s shift from participant to leader – co-constructing their learning and relationships with their teachers.

One of the rangatahi takatāpui hugs kaumatua, Teoti Jardine, at the end of the wānanga. Credit: Lex Davis
One of the rangatahi takatāpui hugs kaumatua, Teoti Jardine, at the end of the wānanga. Credit: Lex Davis

No matter where you sit on the bystander-ally-partner continuum, there will be challenges which require you to lean into vulnerability. You won’t always know what to say or how to say it, and sometimes it won’t go quite right. But, it is the conscious choice and the courage in these choices that demonstrates your commitment to your students.

As you read about and recognise the importance of relationships, what stories from your own life do you have where you have been a bystander, ally or partner to your students?

Share your thoughts with us on Twitter by tagging @coreeducation and using the hashtag #HearTheirVoices

View the research report Ko tātou tēnei | This is us and access free resources to ensure that rangatahi takatāpui feel safe, valued and heard >

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Raising the equity flag – why I’m passionate about fighting inequity in Aotearoa

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By Dr Hana O’Regan, Tumu Whakarae CORE Education

I was raised in a family that was consumed with the issue of justice and equity. We had incredible opportunities to discuss these kaupapa when other New Zealanders, and those from overseas, came to our home. When I was about nine years old a West Papuan man visited my father. It was a meeting that would leave a deep impression on me. He was living in exile from his country and had committed his life to raising awareness about the genocide his people were suffering.

The man took some time to tell me about his fight for justice, and about petitioning our Government, and the Australian Government, for help and recognition. I remember getting really upset by his stories, and demanded that my dad do something about it! Surely if the Prime Minister knew, he would do something to help? I couldn’t reconcile that people might know about such cruelty and injustice, and not do anything about it! I still find this hard to reconcile.

As I grew up, the dining room table discussions of my youth were often focused on the kaupapa of injustice – from my own Ngāi Tahu tribal Treaty claims and grievances, the histories surrounding the Highland Clearances and grievances of my Irish and Scottish tīpuna, to stories of the Welsh Coal Miners on the West Coast, their welfare and employment rights. There were also family stories of the roles people played in the riots around the Springbok tour / No Māori-No Tour campaign, the waterfront strikes, and protests around continued land alienation policies through the Public Works Act or other such mechanisms of the State.

My personal equity journey, especially in terms of my Māori heritage and identity, underpins the passion that I bring into this debate. My first-hand experiences of inequity – directed at me, at those around me, and what I have seen – have profoundly impacted the way that I have viewed myself, and others, in terms of access, opportunity, and potential within education and wider society. While my reaction to those experiences has been tempered by time, they have ignited a fire in me that seems to grow with time.

Raising the equity flag

I’ve been challenging my understanding of equity issues, and where possible, the understanding of others, for decades now. My own understanding has grown considerably. I have learned about the history of inequity in our country and its origins, and about how specific parts of that historic narrative have impacted where we are now as a nation.

I have found myself vigorously wanting to raise the equity flag across the motu, and to help construct a new narrative in those spaces where I can see the existing narrative perpetuates negative outcomes for certain groups in our society.

I’m also doing a lot of thinking about the issue of equity and education and what that means within the context of Māori learner engagement and achievement.

CORE Education Tātai Aho Rau is committed to an equitable and thriving Aotearoa through learning.
CORE Education is committed to an equitable and thriving Aotearoa through learning.

I am excited by the current levels of discussion and, for the first time in my life, I am starting to see the equity kaupapa actively addressed across many spheres. It is true, we have a considerable journey to travel, but how exciting to know that the journey is now on our immediate horizons.

But I am also anxious about how well prepared we are as a country to move ahead on the journey. So far, we have not told ‘our story’ as a nation well. This means we don’t have a clear view of what the issues are or how they have come to be.

As a nation we have become very accustomed to putting out defensive or deflecting responses. We have also become very good at justifying inequities or ignoring them. I understand that discussing the issue of equity and being open to identifying inequities can be hard to do and uncomfortable for many reasons. It takes a strong level of commitment and resilience to push ourselves, let alone whole communities, into uncomfortable spaces. Despite this, there have been times in our collective history where we have been able to do just that on a number of issues, so my anxiety is tempered with a certain level of optimism, that this is something we can do and should do together as a nation.

This will be in part addressed by the introduction of Aotearoa New Zealand histories into the national curriculum in 2022. It means more people will have access to a wider and more informed narrative.

A number of other waves of thinking and information on the tides of our national consciousness are continuing to gain momentum, like the Unteach Racism campaign being led out by the Teachers Council and the Human Rights Commission’s work on tackling racism in Aotearoa. The combination of these efforts will serve to help develop a movement of change that I know will help us shift the equity dial in a positive direction for future generations. We just need to prepare and be brave enough to withstand the challenging currents swirling around us that may try and pull us in another direction, or stop us from moving forward.

I want to further explore my understanding equity and its nemesis – inequity – and I will be sharing some further thoughts on the topics of inequity by design and the Aotearoa experience, the kaupapa of streaming in education, and the steps and leadership required to achieve more equitable outcomes. But in this first blog I wanted to locate myself in the equity story – and to reflect on a few of the factors that have motivated me and brought me to this point, working here at CORE Education, and our vision of equity in learning for all New Zealanders for a thriving Aotearoa. It’s an acknowledgement that to do so is challenging, it can be heartbreaking and uncomfortable, but it’s also a story of change and transformation, liberation and hope.

I hope you will join us in the journey ahead.

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Games-based learning: the door to equity through agency

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Did you know that in Aotearoa only 4% of digital technology employees are Māori? and 27% are female? (New Zealand Digital Skills Forum, 2021) Perhaps you could have guessed that. We know digital content affects almost every aspect of 21st century life. Our future digital creators need to reflect our varied cultures and world views. Games-based learning might help bridge the gap.

As you reflect, while reading this blog post, see if the penny drops and you can uncover the hidden kīwaha.

Engaging ākonga

CORE facilitator, Viv Hall, has many stories of deep engagement in learning when facilitating students creating and developing their own digital games. Games-based learning allowed the students to engage in new ways.

She recalls a group of girls coming up to her after a session and saying, “Miss, Miss, guess what we’ve discovered? Girl power. We can all do it, we can all code.” (CORE Education, 2020b)

She talks of a year 6 student who had struggled to engage with learning at school. “He stayed there coding and watching the videos and working away for an hour. He was in front of his computer, he was engaged, and he was creating … He displayed amazing resilience. It was magic totally!” (CORE Education, 2020a)

Games-based learning can lead to high engagement and could increase the diversity of those involved in digital technology.

Game creation

As educators, we may have heard of or studied the zone of proximal development, the theory that scaffolding and working alongside more capable peers can strengthen the learning experience for ākonga. How does this change when ākonga are the designers and creators of games? Games can be transformative. Participants can create and play characters they are not in the physical world, and that reflect their cultures.

Marlborough secondary school kaiako, Duncan, took part in CORE’s games-based learning online programme. “It has changed my practice and others because we have used elements of games-based learning and have incorporated these into some of our new junior courses. For example in Ancients Alive, a year 9 and 10 social studies course, the students use the creativity element to help build a structure in Minecraft that reflects a cultural narrative.”

CORE’s unique games-based online programme design includes many games-based learning practices that help participants’ reflect on their own behaviour to gamification. Duncan says, “Reflecting on the elements, competition drove me and the side quests as someone who far prefers a narrative as opposed to problem solve and badges.”

Games-based learning practice programme with choose your path options. Characters used with permission from Gamefroot.
Games-based learning practice programme with choose your path options. Characters used with permission from Gamefroot.

Gamification elements

A feature of games-based learning is the many elements that make it accessible and engaging for different students. It can provide plenty of agency. Games-based learning can allow for students to be successful as themselves as they take up different roles in game creation.

Te Mako Orzecki noted in a recent CORE blog post on engaging Māori students in design thinking, the “notable rise in Māori role models in tech and innovation industries”. With role models to follow, and the variety of elements available through games-based learning, it can allow a variety of ākonga to engage with their learning in different ways. For the ākonga who like to push the boundaries, they can find extra information or add in hidden side quests or touches of detail. Gamification gives the agency and space for them to be creative. Another example was a student with autism spectrum disorder in a class working on game development. They made a brilliant tester of a game because of their skills in looking for perfection.

Gamification elements used with permission of Andrezej Marczewksi, Gamified UK.
Gamification elements used with permission of Andrezej Marczewksi, Gamified UK.

Games-based learning in the classroom

Viv Hall worked with students in game creation within a schools’ local curriculum. She says part of their mahi was to retell some of the stories they’d learned about the local iwi. “We had the mahi they had already done, that was place-based learning and they had their context and that was the knowledge of what happened and tying it back to a modern day application which was something they were used to which was gaming.” (CORE Education, 2020c)

University of Auckland used games-based learning techniques to help engagement at tertiary level. During online learning, the principles of game design in design programme lessons proved to be engaging and motivating for their students. Attendance at the online classes had a 90% attendance, which previously face-to-face lectures never achieved. “We’re using the mechanics and principles of successful game design, to teach and motivate students,” former head of their Design Studies programme Associate Professor Deb Polson said. Deb is now Professor and Associate Deane at RMIT University, Australia. The lecturers also noticed that as students started to engage with this approach it fostered creativity and the social side of online learning – strong friendships started to form.

Games-based learning has exciting possibilities and can make for more equitable outcomes, particularly if everyone – students and teachers – collaboratively learn a game platform together.

 

Did you find the hidden kīwaha? How did knowing something was hidden, this element of gamification, affect your engagement with reading this blogpost?

References

CORE Education. (2020a). Engagement with Gamefroot by students who often struggle with other mahi. Games-based learning | CORE Education [Podcast]. Retrieved 16 May 2021, from https://core-ed.org/research-and-innovation/podcasts/game-based-learning-channel/showPodcast/153

CORE Education. (2020b). How to embrace your coding fear with Gamefroot. Game-based learning | CORE Education [Podcast]. Retrieved 16 May 2021, from https://core-ed.org/research-and-innovation/podcasts/game-based-learning-channel/showPodcast/152

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Orzecki, T. (2021). Innovation is in our DNA: engaging Māori students in design thinking [Blog]. Retrieved 17 May 2021, from http://blog.core-ed.org/blog/2021/03/innovation-is-in-our-dna-engaging-maori-students-in-design-thinking.html

University of Auckland. (2020). How the principles of gaming are being used in the remote Design Programme classroom – The University of Auckland. Auckland.ac.nz. Retrieved 17 May 2021, from https://www.auckland.ac.nz/en/news/2020/04/21/how-gaming-is-being-used-in-the-design-programme-classroom.html

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