Every few years we rewrite the curriculum, yet New Zealand continues to rank among the highest Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD) countries for school bullying, while too many of our young people struggle with loneliness, anxiety and disconnection.
Is it time to ask whether belonging is not simply a wellbeing issue—but one of the foundations upon which learning itself depends?
Could it be that we’re trying to improve the wrong part of the system?
For decades, Aotearoa New Zealand has invested enormous energy into improving education.
We have revised curricula, introduced new assessment systems, strengthened literacy and numeracy initiatives, and continually searched for ways to lift student achievement. Every government, regardless of political persuasion, has wanted the same thing: better outcomes for our young people.
A strong curriculum matters, great teaching matters, and high expectations matter.
What if we have overlooked something even more fundamental?
What if one of the most important influences on learning is not found within the curriculum itself, but in the quality of the relationships surrounding the learner?
That question has occupied much of my thinking over the past fifty years as a teacher, school leader, mentor, and author. It has become even more pressing as I have watched international evidence paint a deeply concerning picture of life for many of our tamariki and rangatahi in Aotearoa New Zealand.
For years now, international studies have consistently placed New Zealand among the highest-ranking (OECD) countries for school bullying. Approximately 15 percent of Kiwi fifteen-year-olds report being frequently victimized—experiencing verbal, physical, or relational harassment multiple times a month.
Furthermore, our students report a significantly lower average “sense of belonging” at school compared to the international baseline, frequently walking through the gates feeling detached, invisible, and isolated from the wider peer group.
At the same time, our country has continued to struggle with some of the highest youth suicide rates in the developed world.
These are two very different statistics.
One is generally discussed as an education issue, while the other is viewed primarily as a mental health issue.
What if they are telling us the same story?
What if both are pointing towards something much deeper that exists within the culture of our schools and communities?
Perhaps the question we should be asking is not simply: “How do we improve education?” but also, “How do we ensure every young person knows they belong?”
Looking Beneath the Surface
Recently I found myself thinking about an old house.
Imagine a beautiful weatherboard home. Painters are busy applying fresh coats of paint. The windows sparkle. The roof has been repaired. The exterior looks immaculate.
But beneath the house, hidden from view, the foundation is badly cracked.
No matter how beautiful the paint becomes, the cracks will continue to appear because the problem lies beneath the surface.
Sometimes I wonder whether education can be a little like that.
Every few years we repaint the visible parts of the system—new curricula, new assessments, new reporting systems, new literacy initiatives, and new mathematics strategies.
Each may have considerable merit in its own right, but if large numbers of students continue to experience bullying, loneliness, anxiety and disconnection, are we strengthening the walls while overlooking the foundation?
That is not a criticism of curriculum reform.
Far from it.
Curriculum provides the knowledge, skills and understanding that every young person deserves.
But curriculum answers only one important question: What do we want students to learn?
It cannot answer another equally important question: What helps students become emotionally ready to learn?
The Hidden Foundation of Learning
Increasingly, educational research is pointing in the same direction—students learn best when they feel emotionally safe, trust the adults around them, have healthy friendships, feel seen, and when they know they matter.
In other words, learning flourishes where belonging flourishes.
This is no longer simply the language of wellbeing advocates.
Research from psychology, neuroscience and international education increasingly recognises that belonging influences attention, motivation, resilience, attendance and engagement.
Children who constantly wonder whether they will be accepted during their breaks are unlikely to give their full attention to algebra twenty minutes later.
A teenager who walks through the school gate already carrying anxiety about rejection is not beginning the day with the same emotional resources as a classmate who feels welcomed and secure.
The brain does not separate emotional safety from learning as neatly as adults sometimes do.
The two are deeply connected.
Perhaps this is why schools with strong relational cultures often report improvements not only in wellbeing, but also in behaviour, attendance and academic achievement.
Perhaps we have treated belonging as an outcome of good schools, when in reality it may be one of the conditions that makes good schools possible.
A Conversation We Need to Have
None of this diminishes the extraordinary work being done every day by teachers across Aotearoa New Zealand.
If anything, it highlights just how remarkable they are.
Teachers, today, are expected to be educators, counsellors, behaviour specialists, administrators, data managers, technology experts and community builders—all while nurturing thirty very different young people in a single classroom.
It is little wonder that many describe themselves as exhausted.
The answer is not to place another programme on already overloaded staff, nor is it to ask teachers to somehow “try harder.”
The issue may be much more structural than personal.
If the architecture of a school unintentionally creates anonymity, isolation, and social fragmentation, then even the most gifted teachers are constantly working against the design of the system itself.
We cannot continue asking individuals to compensate for structures that may no longer serve our young people well.
More Than a Behaviour Problem
Bullying is often approached as a discipline issue.
Someone breaks the rules, the school investigates, and consequences follow.
Those processes are necessary, as schools must protect students.
However, what if bullying is also telling us something about the health of the community itself?
The bullying many adults remember from decades ago was often physical, while today’s bullying is frequently relational.
A student may never receive a punch—instead they experience exclusion, humiliation, social manipulation, cyber-harassment, being quietly ignored, being left out, or having no one to sit with at lunchtime.
The wounds are less visible, but they can cut just as deeply.
Repeated experiences of rejection slowly communicate powerful messages:
“You don’t belong.”
“You don’t matter.”
“No one notices.”
Human beings were never designed to flourish in isolation.
It is hardly surprising that international research consistently links frequent bullying with increased risks of anxiety, depression, school avoidance, and suicidal thinking.
Bullying alone does not cause suicide, as life is always more complex than that.
However, it can become one of the experiences that slowly erodes hope.
Ancient Wisdom, Modern Research
Interestingly, some of what contemporary research is discovering has long been recognised within te ao Māori.
The concept of whanaungatanga reminds us that healthy relationships and connectedness lie at the heart of strong communities.
Manaakitanga speaks of caring for one another with generosity, respect and dignity.
Neither concept is simply an educational strategy, for they describe a way of living together.
Modern neuroscience is increasingly affirming what many cultures have understood for generations: people flourish in relationships.
Young people grow when they are known, and communities become stronger when every person knows they have value.
Perhaps our schools have never needed these principles more than they do today.
Curriculum Matters—But Connection Comes First
Please don’t misunderstand me, as I am not arguing against curriculum reform.
Far from it.
Every child deserves access to rich knowledge, excellent teaching and high academic expectations, but curriculum alone cannot overcome chronic disconnection, replace trusted relationships, compensate for loneliness, or, by itself, create belonging.
Curriculum tells us what students need to learn.
Relationships often determine whether they are emotionally available to learn.
That is why I believe we need to broaden the national conversation.
Perhaps alongside discussions about literacy, assessment and achievement, we also need to ask questions such as:
- Does every student have at least one adult at school who knows them well?
- Does every young person feel noticed?
- Do students genuinely know one another across year levels?
- Are we intentionally building communities, or simply managing cohorts?
- Does every whānau feel they belong within the life of the school?
If we continue to focus only on the visible parts of education, we may unintentionally overlook the foundation upon which everything else depends, and perhaps that foundation is not another programme—perhaps it is belonging.
Designing Schools Where Belonging Can Flourish
If belonging is one of the foundations of learning, then perhaps we need to ask a different question.
Instead of asking, “How do we teach wellbeing?” we should ask, “How do we organise schools so that belonging becomes part of everyday life?”
There is an important difference.
For many years schools have introduced excellent wellbeing programmes, anti-bullying campaigns and pastoral initiatives. Many have made a genuine difference, and those efforts should never be dismissed.
However, programmes are often temporary.
Structures shape daily experience.
Students may attend a wellbeing session once a week, though they experience the architecture of the school every single day.
That is why I have become increasingly interested in structural approaches that intentionally create relationships rather than simply hoping they will develop naturally.
One example is the Vertical Tutoring System (VTS).
I first encountered this model while working alongside retired UK principal Peter Barnard—who designed and implemented VTS in two UK schools where he was the principal— in Australia. Since then, I have observed a few schools adapt it in different contexts, each according to its own character and community.
What impressed me was not simply the organisation of tutor groups, but what happened to relationships, and how the school culture was positively transformed.
From Year Groups to Communities
Most secondary schools still organise students almost entirely according to age.
Year 9 students spend most of their day with other Year 9 students.
Year 10 with Year 10.
Year 11 with Year 11.
This arrangement feels so normal that we rarely question it, yet it unintentionally creates intense peer pressure.
Status becomes concentrated within one age group, and friendship groups become rigid.
Young people often feel they must find their place among thirty others who are all at exactly the same stage of adolescence.
Vertical Tutoring quietly changes that landscape.
Instead of grouping students solely by age, tutor groups intentionally include students from several year levels.
A Year 9 student enters a tutor group already containing older students who know the school, understand its culture, and naturally become guides for those who follow.
Within weeks, something interesting begins to happen—older students begin looking after younger students, and younger students begin imagining the kind of senior students they hope one day to become.
Leadership becomes part of everyday life rather than something reserved for a handful of prefects or student leaders.
Relationships become richer because they are no longer limited by age alone.
The school begins to feel less like a collection of year levels and more like a community, or even a village.
Belonging by Design
One of the most encouraging discoveries from psychology is that belonging does not happen by accident. It can be intentionally designed.
Schools already design timetables, curriculum, and assessment.
Surely, we should also design opportunities for meaningful relationships, which Vertical Tutoring does.
Every student belongs to a stable tutor group that remains together over several years.
Every student is known by an adult who walks alongside them throughout much of their secondary schooling.
Every student has older peers who have already navigated many of the challenges they are about to face.
In many respects, this reflects the Māori concept of whanaungatanga—the understanding that strong relationships create strong communities, and it also reduces one of the greatest enemies of adolescent wellbeing—anonymity.
It is much harder to disappear when somebody notices your absence; much harder to struggle silently when someone knows your story, and much harder to believe you do not matter when adults and peers regularly remind you that you do.
Reimagining Pastoral Care
Perhaps one of the greatest opportunities for schools lies in reimagining pastoral care.
Too often it becomes something that happens only when problems arise. A student is referred, a counsellor becomes involved, parents or whānau are contacted, and upport begins.
Those systems remain essential.
What if pastoral care began long before a crisis?
What if it simply became the culture of the school?
Imagine every student beginning each day in a small community where they are greeted by name.
Imagine older students naturally mentoring younger students.
Imagine every member of staff—not only teachers but office staff, teacher aides and senior leaders—sharing responsibility for building relationships.
Imagine a school where no student can honestly say, “Nobody knows me here.”
That is not an impossible dream, it is an organisational choice.
The Partnership That Changes Everything
One feature of Vertical Tutoring particularly impressed me.
Rather than treating parent interviews as hurried five-minute conversations focused almost entirely on academic performance, schools schedule longer Academic Tutorials involving the student, tutor and parents or whānau.
The student leads much of the conversation—together they reflect on learning, relationships, goals, participation, wellbeing, and future aspirations.
The conversation changes from, “How are they doing?” to, “How are we helping this young person flourish?”
The difference is profound, as responsibility becomes shared, parents become genuine partners, students develop ownership, Tutors gain deep understanding, and trust grows.
Over time, these conversations create something precious: continuity.
The same tutor often remains alongside the student for several years, and relationships deepen rather than beginning again every twelve months.
Changing the Culture Without Burning Out Teachers
Whenever educators hear about new ideas, an understandable question follows: “Who is going to find the time?”
Teachers are already carrying enormous responsibility, but the answer is not to add another initiative, rather it is to rethink how existing time is used.
One of the strengths of structural approaches is that they reorganise what schools are already doing.
Morning tutor time becomes purposeful; relationships become intentional rather than incidental; leadership becomes distributed rather than concentrated; the existing school day begins working harder for everyone, and, more importantly, relational responsibility becomes shared across the whole staff.
No single teacher is expected to carry every burden alone.
A Different Measure of Success
Educational success will always include academic achievement, as should be the case, for schools exist to help young people learn.
However, there is another question every school could ask at the end of each year. This is not simply,
“How many students achieved excellence?” but also, “Did every young person experience belonging?” “Did every student have an adult they trusted?” “Did every student leave knowing they mattered?”
Those questions may ultimately prove just as important, because achievement opens doors, and belonging changes lives.
The Foundation Beneath the Future
As I reflect on nearly five decades in education, one conviction has only grown stronger. Young people rarely remember every lesson we teach. They remember how people made them feel, the teacher who believed in them, the coach who encouraged them, the mentor who listened, the friend who stood beside them, and the adult who noticed.
Perhaps that is why I remain hopeful.
Across Aotearoa New Zealand I meet extraordinary principals, teachers, counsellors, youth workers and volunteers who are already creating schools where relationships matter deeply.
This article is not a criticism of them, but an invitation to support them by designing systems that make those relationships easier to build.
The challenges facing our rangatahi are real.
Bullying remains a concern, and too many young people continue to struggle with loneliness, anxiety, and hopelessness.
We cannot ignore those realities, and neither should we accept them as inevitable.
Schools have changed before, and they can change again—not through another programme, or another initiative, but by thoughtfully redesigning the daily experience of school so that every young person is known, valued, and connected.
Perhaps modern educational research is simply confirming something human beings have always known—people flourish in communities; children learn best when they feel safe.
Hope grows through relationships, and every young person deserves a place where they know they belong.
In te ao Māori, there is a beautiful concept: tūrangawaewae—a place where a person has the right to stand, where they know they belong.
Surely that should be one of the defining aspirations of every school in Aotearoa New Zealand.
Curriculum shapes what students learn, but belonging shapes who they become.
Perhaps the strongest foundation we can give the next generation is not another curriculum document, but a school where every young person is known, valued, and connected.
