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We Should Be Renovating NCEA, Not Demolishing It

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A corkboard with the words 'Renovation' and 'Demolition', in between a collage of words: NCEA? Yes! No! Design: Mili Ghosh

We should be renovating NCEA, not demolishing it: What it could mean for disabled ākonga

Disestablishing NCEA won’t solve the problems in our education system, especially not for disabled ākonga, says Nikita Van Dijk.

  • We should be renovating NCEA, not demolishing it: What it could mean for disabled ākonga
    Nikita Van Dijk
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  • When the Government announced their proposal to disestablish NCEA in favour of a new, more standardised secondary school qualification, my first thought was this: have we learnt nothing from our history? 

    The last time our secondary education system for Aotearoa operated under such a rigid, standardised system - School Certificates or 'School C’s' - disabled ākonga (learners) were systemically excluded. Not only was it exam-based, which is widely known to be an inaccessible method of assessment for disabled ākonga, but the exams themselves were not accessible or inclusive in any way, shape or form. They weren’t accessible in their formats, in their designs and they were certainly not inclusive regarding the attitudes surrounding them. Too many rangatahi (young people) left school. Not because they lacked ability, but because they were made to feel 'dumb' and 'not good enough'. And that damage didn’t stop at the school gates, that damage followed them for life. 

    The proposed changes echo School Certificate far too closely — bringing back the same rigid, standardised approach that funnelled ākonga into pre-determined pathways. This new system isn’t inclusive or trying to teach our rangatahi the skills they need for the future, it is just tracking. It is removing the right for ākonga to choose their own path and shaping their futures based on narrow measures of academic worth. The new system risks reinstating the same gatekeeping as School Certificates, just under a different name.

  • With these proposed changes, it’s not just a possibility that our disabled rangatahi will lose access and support; in my opinion, it is inevitable. We run the risk of rebuilding a system that reflects past discrimination of disabled ākonga, just with newer and shinier branding.

  • With these proposed changes, it’s not just a possibility that our disabled rangatahi will lose access and support; in my opinion, it is inevitable. We run the risk of rebuilding a system that reflects past discrimination of disabled ākonga, just with newer and shinier branding. This is not just poor educational policy, but it is also a breach of our obligations under the United Nations Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities (UNCRPD) regarding Article 24, which guarantees disabled people equitable access to inclusive education.

    The Government may say this overhaul is about “lifting standards” and “ensuring consistency”. But, consistency without flexibility and adaptability is exclusion, plain and simple. A single, one-size-fits-all model completely ignores the real differences in how ākonga learn, communicate and demonstrate their knowledge and what they have learned. 

    Don’t get me wrong, NCEA is far from perfect. It, too, is a model that is exclusionary of disabled ākonga, especially when schools are unable to resource it properly, or when teachers are not trained in inclusive practice. However, one of NCEA’s core strengths was its adaptability. It allowed a more individualised approach to obtaining a qualification through obtaining grades and skills in subjects of interest to ākonga, and allowed ākonga to be assessed on a more internal basis in areas where they needed more support or struggled. It tried to show that you can set strong requirements and still provide the scaffolding each learner needs to meet them. 

  • ... having high standards and having genuinely accessible education are not goals that are mutually exclusive.

  • See, having high standards and having genuinely accessible education are not goals that are mutually exclusive. Abandoning NCEA instead of refreshing it is like scrapping a house because the paint is peeling. It makes no sense, fiscally or otherwise. We should be renovating, not demolishing. 

    The proposed overhaul also has an incredibly Western-centric mindset. Where does Te Ao Māori fit into a rigid, standardised national examination system? Kura Kaupapa Māori models have proven that culturally-grounded education works. It empowers ākonga, rather than measuring them against a colonial standard of success. This new system does not seem to respect and protect that. There is a real risk that, yet again, Māori learners could be forced into a box that was never built for them, utilising standards that aren’t culturally aware. 

    Furthermore, disabled ākonga who are also Māori, Pasifika, LGBTQ+ or from low-income backgrounds could continue to fall through the cracks under this proposed new system. When you layer systemic ableism on top of racism, homophobia, transphobia and classism, the result isn’t just inequity, but generational harm. 

  • Dis-establishing NCEA won’t solve the problems in our education system, especially not for disabled ākonga. It will make them worse.

  • No matter what assessment model we use, whether it be NCEA or School Certificates 2.0, it must be grounded in Universal Design for Learning (UDL). That means designing assessment criteria and delivery from the start for a wide range of ākonga, not bolting on accommodations later. It also means ensuring every teacher understands both UDL principles and the fact that they will be teaching disabled ākonga.

    Disestablishing NCEA won’t solve the problems in our education system, especially not for disabled ākonga. It will make them worse. If we truly want an equitable, high-performing education system that “lifts standards” and “ensures consistency”, we should be improving what we already have by embedding UDL principles and resourcing teachers properly. Above all else, we should be making sure every ākonga — disabled or not — can see themselves reflected and respected in their education. 

    Because the “bad old days” weren’t just bad. For too many disabled ākonga, they were the end of the road.

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