Should Te Reo Maaori Be Compulsory In Our Schools?

Should te reo Mãori be made a compulsory part of the New Zealand Curriculum? By this, I mean should it be taught to all students in public and integrated schools across a designated range of year levels (for example, years 1-10 as per Green Party policy)? It’s one of those questions that pops up every election long enough for every commentator to express an opinion before it fades back into obscurity. There are sound arguments for both sides.

Those who want compulsory te reo talk about the benefits of bilingualism, the links between language revitalisation and indigenous empowerment, the success of other compulsory language schemes in Wales and Ireland and the Crown obligation to preserve te reo Mãori, a taonga guaranteed by Article Two of Te Tiriti o Waitangi. Those who would rather it remain optional aren’t necessarily naysayers who bemoan efforts to “save a dying language”; some speak about how compulsion is a poor motivator, how integrated approaches may be more successful, how we don’t have enough teachers or resources to commit to a quality scheme and how we shouldn’t channel good intentions into a proposal that could amount to a backdoor colonisation of te reo, with Pãkehã speakers outnumbering tangata whenua and controlling how the language develops.

The commentators, be they politicians, political commentators, journalists or otherwise, draw on a range of sources to back up their arguments, but you might notice one glaring absence from the debate: the voices of children themselves, and especially the voices of Mãori children. This is no quirk of history—children, indigenous people and especially indigenous children are chronically disenfranchised and disempowered in every society, so it’s no surprise that even on an issue concerning the place of the indigenous language of Aotearoa in primary and secondary education, indigenous children’s voices aren’t being taken seriously.

 Which leads me to two important concepts: voting and human rights. First, a little bit about your vote and what it matters for children, our education system, and te reo Mãori. On October 17th, everyone over the age eighteen has the right to have their say over who governs the country. To help with this decision, each political party makes promises and policies about what it will do if elected to power. Some parties advocate for policies that make te reo compulsory, some promise to fund more reo Mãori teachers, and others don’t see it as a priority at all. Children don’t get to vote, and by making te reo Mãori a priority in where your vote goes, you contribute to building a more just educational system that directly affects them.

Second, human rights. According to our Human Rights Commission, “human rights are the basic rights and freedoms that everyone should have.” They “recognise the inherent value of each person, regardless of background, where we live, what we look like, what we think or what we believe. They are based on principles of dignity, equality and mutual respect.” In other words, human rights are premised on the idea that every person is owed certain obligations by governments (primarily, though businesses, communities and individuals also have roles to play) that guarantee them a dignified standard of life, due to the inherent value of each person. The idea is that when governments (or other actors) fail to uphold these rights or actively infringe them, individuals and groups can hold the government to account for human rights breaches (usually through the court system).

The courts can enforce rights that are protected in legislation (for example, through the New Zealand Bill of Rights Act 1990) and in case law (for example, the right to privacy is largely protected through case precedents such as Hosking v Runting), penalising infringers and compensating those infringed against. The international community has also come together and agreed on various treaties that outline the rights of various groups, for example, the Universal Declaration of Human Rights and the Convention on the Elimination of all Forms of Discrimination Against Women. These international instruments are not enforceable in New Zealand except where legislation expressly incorporates them, though judges are becoming more willing to require governments to at least consider them in decision-making, or even decide in a manner consistent with them if the government is not expressly allowed to do otherwise. 

Given that a legal system in a market economy almost inevitably favours the rich (rich people can afford lawyers to fight court cases to protect their rights; poor people often cannot), there is a certain level of myth to the idea that human rights make us all equal. However, I believe that human rights can still be a powerful tool for the last, the lost and the least in society, and that they can be a means for the bringing of the Kingdom of God through that most unlikely of spheres, the political-legal arena.

Let’s get this clear. I believe human rights are training wheels for the Kingdom that Jesus preached, rather than the way of the Kingdom itself. In a society where the lion lies down with the lamb out of love, not out of obligation, there is no need for the lamb to have rights compelling the lion to refrain from infringing personal freedoms. However, in a world groaning for the redemption of all creation, human rights are a powerful tool that can be used to help birth this Kingdom. They are premised on the dignity and equality of all people, just as the idea of Imago Dei teaches that we are all made in the image of God. They speak to a society where the hungry are fed, the naked are clothed and the sick are made well. And, used well, they are a way to take up the cause of the widows, orphans, aliens and others who do not have a voice, in a way that those in power will listen to.

So in a debate concerning indigenous children where indigenous children’s voices are not being heard, naturally I look at the human rights involved and where they come from. Rather than being strictly enforceable in domestic legislation, the relevant rights stem primarily from the United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child (UNCRC) and the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (UNDRIP), two international instruments that don’t have legal force in New Zealand but that New Zealand has endorsed at the international level so should really abide by them. I’d like to think the rights involved also stem from each child’s status as an image bearer of God, to whom has been given the invitation to become children of God and of whom was spoken “let all the little children come to me”.

 The international instruments frame this debate not only in the contexts of the wellbeing and participation of children in society, but also in the context of the self-determination of indigenous peoples to chart their course in the world as they would have it.

As Reverend Mãmari Stephens, part-time law lecturer and full-time mana wahine, thoughtfully puts it:

“These rights comprised interrelated pathways towards, or ingredients of, self fulfillment. Only when we can express and live our own cultures, speak our own languages, and have access to learning about our world, all without impediment, can we be said to have truly found a place in the world.”

To spare the legal detail (though I have a thesis on this in the making if you want to know more!) based on my interpretation of the international law, the best interests of children must be a primary consideration in the decision to make te reo compulsory (art 3.1 of the UNCRC). Adequate consultation with children of all affected ages and levels of maturity is necessary and if a clear preference existed for or against compulsory te reo this would need, at least, to be taken into account to meet, if not given complete effect (art 12 of the UNCRC). Based on the rights of indigenous children to culture, language and education (arts 28-31 of the UNCRC and arts 11-15 of UNDRIP), it looks like there is an international law obligation on the government to support the thriving of te reo and to ensure quality te reo education is available to all Mãori children (though not necessarily to non-Mãori children). Further to this, it looks like there are obligations on government to support Mãori self-determination efforts to make te reo flourish.

While making te reo compulsory is not necessarily the only way to achieve these objectives, and thus is not mandated at international law, it is arguably one good way to do this. Indeed, the arguments floated above make compelling arguments for both sides of this particular issue, and it’s up to whoever forms the next government, and so up to us as the voting population (which by definition excludes most children but that’s another article!) as to how we as a country want to meet our obligations to preserve te reo Mãori. 

Considering children’s rights does not necessarily make it any clearer whether te reo should be made a core part of the curriculum. However, it is clear that we need to reframe this debate around the rights of Mãori children (or, better yet, the love Jesus has for Mãori children).

So with all this in mind, go do your research on this issue. Talk to your friends about it as well as those who don’t move in your usual circles. Talk, also, to children you know—and especially Mãori children (bearing in mind that to love is to listen, and to give others space to talk as they wish to). Cast your vote in the election this year with this and other Kingdom issues in mind. But hear the words of Jesus as you do:

“Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these.”

~

Etienne Wain is currently a law and economics student at Te Herenga Waka - Victoria University of Wellington.