By Rebecca Thomas
For a brief moment, as we admire the meticulous school grounds and laminated displays surrounding organised desks, we bask in the illusion of order before the whirlwind of learning begins.
But first, we must muddle through teacher-only days—complete with planning sessions, administrative tasks, and those familiar team-building activities.
You know the moment.
You're settling in with your coffee, scanning the day's agenda, when you see it:
"9:00 AM - Ice Breaker Activity."
The internal monologue begins:
"Oh no, not another 'get to know you' game..."
"I came here to prepare for the year, not to play trust falls."
"We've worked together for five years—why are we doing this?"
"Can we just get to the stuff that matters?"
A ripple of barely concealed sighs sweeps the room. Teachers exchange knowing glances. Ironically, the very activities designed to engage and energise often achieve the opposite—leaving us feeling anxious, silly, or disconnected.
If you lose teachers in these first moments, it’s an uphill battle to win them back.
In Aotearoa, we’re fortunate to have access to deeper concepts of relationship-building through te ao Māori. My own journey with this understanding has been humbling and, at times, deeply uncomfortable — but in the best way.
When I first started incorporating te reo Māori into professional development days, I did so with the best intentions. I wanted to honour and include te ao Māori concepts. An icebreaker became a “whanaungatanga activity,” a conference became a “wānanga,” and I felt like I was contributing to a more culturally responsive space.
But as I’ve grown in my understanding, I’ve realised that simply swapping words, no matter how innocently, doesn’t make the practice meaningful—or even accurate. In fact, it risks trivialising the richness and depth of these concepts.
This realisation didn’t come easy. It led to some hard, personal questions that I had to sit with:
Am I using these terms because I truly understand and can honour their meaning?
Have I created the conditions necessary for these concepts to be expressed authentically?
Can I honestly call this whanaungatanga or wānanga? Or am I just rebranding a standard practice with a Māori name?
I had to admit that, in many cases, the answer was “no.” I wasn’t creating true spaces for whanaungatanga or wānanga—I was just renaming activities to feel like I was doing the right thing. This wasn’t about guilt or Pākehā paralysis—it was about wanting to go deeper, to genuinely use te ao Māori principles to enrich my learning, practice, and understanding.
Whanaungatanga te aroha ki ngā hononga
I love how conceptual and deeply layered te reo Māori is. The richness of the language lies in its ability to hold multiple definitions, thoughts, and beliefs within a single concept. To this end, there are many perspectives on Māori concepts, each offering its own depth and insight.
What I share here is only a glimpse—just a few examples that resonate with the situations I’m reflecting on. The definitions I draw on come from my journey of learning, but I know that the interpretations grounded in true mātauranga Māori are even richer and deeper than I can fully comprehend.
Rameka (2018) describes whanaungatanga as “a closeness that one person has with another by a shared philosophy or spiritual harmony.” It’s a concept rooted in authentic, lasting relationships built on mutual respect and shared experiences. It’s not something you can achieve in a 10-minute icebreaker.
Similarly, wānanga isn’t just a fancy word for a PD session. True wānanga is about creating a space for deep discussion, collective wisdom-sharing, and meaningful reflection, all aligned with tikanga and kaupapa Māori principles.
By swapping these words without truly understanding their essence, I realised I wasn’t just missing the mark—I was missing an opportunity to do something transformative.
By sticking to surface-level changes, we miss the chance to embrace the depth and richness of te ao Māori concepts.
Understanding these concepts challenged me to rethink my approach entirely. This isn’t about saying others shouldn’t use these terms—it’s about me holding myself accountable to use them authentically and meaningfully.
At the same time, I’ve also come to understand that adults don’t learn in the same way children do, and meaningful professional development needs to reflect that difference.
Malcolm Knowles’ principles of andragogy provide a framework for this understanding, highlighting seven key insights:
Adults need to know why they are learning something.
Learning builds on their prior knowledge and experience.
They are most motivated when learning addresses real-life challenges.
Content should be immediately relevant to their roles.
Adults prefer to be involved in planning and evaluating their learning.
The focus should be on solving problems, not rote memorisation.
They thrive in environments that are respectful and collaborative.
This journey isn’t about achieving perfection—it’s about striving for authenticity and being willing to learn. If you’re incorporating te ao Māori concepts, start where you are. Be honest about your intentions, seek to understand deeply, and remain open to feedback.
As you prepare for your next teacher-only day or professional development session, take a moment to reflect on your agenda:
Have you used words like wānanga or whanaungatanga? If so, why?
Have you transformed something about these 'sessions' that reflects the true depth of these te ao Māori concepts, or have you simply renamed them?
Have you included an icebreaker? If so, why? What purpose does it serve, and how does it align with the way adults learn?
What will the adults in the room be learning, and how have you designed the session to respect their experiences, motivations, and expertise?
When leaders and PLD providers reflect and plan with purpose, they can foster spaces where genuine connections and real learning flourish. Whanaungatanga is not just an icebreaker; it is the foundation for cohesion and unity, as expressed in the whakataukī,
Whītiki te tangata, mārama te kitea—the tighter the bond, the brighter the light.
References:
Rameka, L. (2018). A Māori perspective of being and belonging. Contemporary Issues in Early Childhood, 19(4), 367–378.
Smith, M. K. (2002) ‘Malcolm Knowles, informal adult education, self-direction and andragogy’, the encyclopedia of informal education, www.infed.org/thinkers/et-knowl.htm
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