I would say the average reading level is about the same as it is in the United States—eighth grade or age 13. There are wonderful and accessible libraries and a lively national literary scene.

There is a big push for literacy and numeracy in schools. With NCEA, the new programme of achievement standards, a certain number of standards have to be achieved in reading and maths to go on to the next level.

Café culture is different than the pub culture, as you can imagine. Both are popular. While Kiwis get along very well with Americans, I think the influence of Europe is greater here, hence the popularity of cafes. McDonald’s even has a McCafe! Don’t know if they have hit the United States yet. 

Cafes seem to be more for inner city working people, tourists, young people who enjoy being in the city, people with some free time. Magazines are available in them and are often read. I see people having business meetings in cafes;there is one in the city called The Board Room.

Lyttelton, where I live, has been described as a combination of working class and intelligentsia! I would say that reflects New Zealand in general. Here in my town, the two mix together very well. Remember, that people originally came to New Zealand to get away from the class structure of Britain and Europe, so there is often a discernible disdain for anything that smacks of elitism.

For the most part in New Zealand, if you look on the bright side of life, are productive in any way and contribute positively to society, you don’t have to worry about how educated you are.

What is expected of students in the classroom?

I am going to assume this question refers to the high school classroom. Expectations are the same as everywhere: no one is to hinder the learning of another. At my high school, Respect is the big word this year--Respect for self, respect for others and respect for the school. Students are warned once, maybe twice, if their behaviour is out of order. Following that, we have a referral room students can be sent to. So many referrals lead to something else and so on. When a student is finally dismissed from a school, if they are under 16, the school has to find another school to take him/her. 

Homework is expected to be done. I teach at one of the schools known as a tough place to be. I have found the staff to be wonderful and always trying to think of ways to help the students do better in life and learning. Having a “rich repertoire of thinking skills” is part of the vision for our students as well as “resilience under pressure.” 

What about the attitude of students towards teachers?

Much the same as anywhere in western culture today: students who bring the bad elements of youth culture into the school are often in trouble because of negative attitudes toward authority. That said, for the most part, students respond in kind. Teachers at my school are striving to display “flexibility, tolerance, open-mindedness, reliability and inner strength” as values.

One of my sons was asked to leave a public high school in his last year on his 17th birthday due to a poor attitude toward teachers and lack of seriousness in the classroom. (He was the same in America.) When he was leaving, the principal said to him, “This may be the best thing that has happened to you. I hope that you can come back here some day and tell us how well you have done.”

My son didn’t want to leave school and wanted to gain university entrance, so after talking with some home school parents, we arranged for him to take correspondence courses. As New Zealand is basically a farming country, correspondence school is very organized, accessible and financially reasonable. He studied from the dining room table for the next six months (I don’t remember where we ate!), took his exams and was able to enter university when he was still 17!

One time, in our early days in Christchurch, before I had found work, my husband and I decided to go out to eat at a good restaurant by the Avon River which runs through the city. It should have been a romantic time, but it was not. When a person immigrates all that you are is shaken. You hold onto what you have known from the old culture and try to fit into the new one in the same way. It doesn’t always work out smoothly or easily. I can’t remember any of the words we said to each other, but Tom, my husband, must have said something that made me feel a little too much pressure (You must handle each other with care in immigrating—hey, at all times!) and, even though we had placed our order, I said something in anger, left the restaurant and wasn’t going to go back!

I found myself walking on a pathway beside the meandering, weeping willowed bank of the river. As I got closer to a busy street, I noticed a group of “glue sniffers” (not so many of them visible six years later). I slowed down and began to watch them, thinking about being miserable and at rock-bottom myself. The two women and one man seemed to be dressed well enough. It looked as if the women had gotten up in the morning, put some neat and tidy clothes on and even make-up that was not over-done. The man’s hair was cut neatly and he wore a long overcoat. They might have been in their late 20s or early 30s, so this was not a youth problem.  Around their relaxed mouths were blotches of the gold or silver paint they were inhaling from bags.

I had been watching a while, when one of them spoke to me. He asked me what a word meant—I don’t remember the word. But, I told him the meaning as simply as I could. His face brightened up and he responded with an example of how the word could be used. I got excited and said, “Yes, that’s right.” They were all smiling at me now with their dopey and lop-sided silver and gold grins, looking a bit like clowns from some strange circus of life. Then, I said, “I am a teacher.” My need to have an identity emerged.

The three sniffers must have each jumped back about a foot it seemed. Communication was broken. They no longer wanted to talk. They returned to their bags. Something must have happened to the three of them during their school years, I thought, and I was seeing real example of the separation between teacher and student. I also saw the pitiful need I had for something “to do” that gave me an identity. I learned, too, that putting an identity forward, especially one as strong and powerful as that of a teacher, DOESN’T have to be stated. The “teaching moment” had already happened with these “students.” The delight at having their brains register knowledge had taken place. I didn’t need to stick my need for an identity into the picture.

My husband and I expressed our forgiveness to each other when we met later on the river bank.

Next in Answers & Anecdotes, Part 2:  The Outs and Ins of Immigration

To read Candy's first article Click Here

To contact Candy Email: nzcrgreen@hotmail.com
Phone: 011 64 3 328 9565

Return To Magazine Index