The new social sciences curriculum appears to be written by someone who has never encountered the wonderfully chaotic nature of the classroom, writes Chris Abercrombie, a seasoned social studies and history teacher.

It was with a mixture of humour and genuine despair that I read the recently released Year 9 social sciences unit and lesson plans. These resources are theoretically intended to help teachers implement the government’s new curriculum. Theoretical is the right word – the curriculum writers have spent too long in the aspirational heights of educational theory and seem never to have encountered the wonderfully chaotic nature of the classroom. 

So, I had a chuckle at the thought of all the things that could, and certainly would, happen if I tried to teach 30 13-year-olds about Edward Gibbon Wakefield’s plan for colonisation in one sweet little hour, when they have no idea who Wakefield is before the lesson starts. 

The despair quickly followed as I thought of my fellow teachers, professionals who are experts in their subject knowledge and in the art of teaching, trying to deliver an excruciatingly prescriptive curriculum in unachievable timeframes.

Lesson one, part one begins like this: 

Teacher explanation (10 minutes)

Display a picture of Edward Gibbon Wakefield. Tell the story of his early years… Explain that his 1829 letter was very long – 250 pages! Wonder aloud: What made Wakefield think differently about colonisation?”

Ten minutes to introduce a major figure in New Zealand history, the life story of a man who went to prison for kidnapping a 15-year-old, marrying her, and then fleeing to Paris. You cannot throw a name like that into a Year 9 classroom and expect students to reply, “Fascinating, thank you,” and then quietly wait for the next piece of history to be delivered into their brains, and nor would you want them to. 

Don’t even get me started on “wonder aloud”. You’ll be eaten alive. 

The average 13-year-old is a curiosity machine powered by snacks and chaos. Mention that someone influential in colonisation had a complicated past and you will immediately trigger 12 follow-up questions, seven random sidebars, three students suddenly remembering they’re actually experts on the 19th century, and one kid asking if this will be in the test. Then someone will ask to go to the toilet. 

Exactly 10 minutes for that discussion seems wildly optimistic, even if the class isn’t straight after PE or last period on a Friday. 

Maybe, maybe, you could meet the government’s ambitious timings so long as there are no fire alarms, no students who forgot their device (or their brain), no emotional meltdowns (because teenagers), no birds or bees flying into the classroom, it’s not too hot or too cold, and no-one in your class has additional learning needs of any kind. 

If – and only if – every one of these conditions is met every single lesson, then perhaps, maybe, theoretically, you might be able to teach what the government expects in 15 hours. 

In my 20 years of teaching, I’m yet to have the planets align in such a rare cosmic blessing. 

What exactly must be taught in those 15 hours? Merely the following light material: 

• the entire landscape of 19th-century immigration
• discriminatory legislation
• the transformation of Māori and settler economies
• the New Zealand Wars (plural)
• the Kīngitanga movement
• Crown land policy
• confiscation
• the invention of refrigeration
• the rise of a settler economy

I challenge a group of adults to engage meaningfully with the complexity of that material in what equates to less than two working days. Meanwhile, I’ve seen Year 9 classes take 15 hours to choose a group for a poster.

We are talking about some of the most complex, sensitive, foundational events in our nation’s story – events that shape Aotearoa to this very day. These are not footnotes. These are not side quests. These are chapters people dedicate entire careers to understanding. 

Teachers can teach these things. They already do. They do it well, responsibly, and with nuance. They want their students to ask questions, to be curious, to engage with the material rather than just receive it. 

What they cannot do is teach them properly in a timeframe that is wedging content into lesson plans like a circus squeezing clowns into a car. 

The stakes are high, the curriculum matters. We must make sure we get it right for teachers and for students. And this just ain’t it. 

Chris Abercrombie is president of PPTA Te Wehengarua, the secondary teachers’ union.