Back from the brink

Three years after an embarrassing government shake-up, Te Wananga o Aotearoa has rebuilt its tattered reputation and is looking to a bright future.

Late at night a couple of years back university lecturer Te Aroha Anderson-Lemke was on a bus going to a tangi. She overheard a couple of teenagers talking in the dark about the fact that they were attending Te Wananga o Aotearoa.

"Aren't you guys shamed?" asked someone in reference to an embarrassing shake-up of the tertiary educational institute after deep financial problems were discovered in 2005.

One of the teenagers responded that the wananga was the first institution to take any interest in him. "I'm doing much better than I did at school, I don't care what the media says about us. They always say that about us (Maori), don't they?"

Anderson-Lemke who had spent 10 years teaching in universities was considering an offer to join the wananga. For years she had been frustrated at Maori students' lack of success at university. That moment, the unfailing faith in the organisation from a young stranger despite all the damning headlines, moved her. It helped her make her decision.

These days she leads a teaching degree at the wananga's Te Rapa campus. She thrives in an environment which uses a more holistic teaching style and she wishes she had made the move years ago.

Three years after the huge education institution's meltdown, the smiles have returned at the wananga. Last week, Tertiary Education Minister Pete Hodgson confirmed that a Crown manager put in place to control its finances would leave later this month. The wananga, which made a $4 million surplus last year, has actually been in control of its finances since December. But Hodgson's statement was a symbolic pat on the back for an institution which has been through the mill.

Created out of a building scheme at Te Awamutu College by founding father Rongo Wetere in 1983, the wananga's rise to prominence was like a fairytale. In 1993 it was the first private training establishment to register with the New Zealand Qualifications Authority. The wananga profited from the Government policy encouraging educational institutes to attract students by funding them per student enrolled. From 2000, enrolments at the wananga soared. By 2004 nearly 67,000 students (34,280 equivalent full-time students, or efts) were enrolled across a network of campuses nationwide.

The phenomenal growth proved too hard to handle and huge cracks started to appear. The wananga got flak for giving away cellphones to induce people into courses. There were also complaints from universities about the wananga pitching itself as a university in advertisements. Over- spending was a problem; for example the wananga paid $5 million to buy the ageing Glenview International Hotel and Conference Centre and spent $11.2 million to renovate it as a learning centre. By the time it tried to sell the building its value was put at no more than $10 million.

In February 2005 there were allegations of meaningless courses, financial mismanagement, and nepotism which nearly saw the wananga scuttled altogether. A public investigation was followed by a painful rationalisation which saw course options trimmed, operations centralised and jobs lost.

Now the dust has settled, the wananga's operations are smaller than at its peak although it remains a huge operator. Last year it catered for 37,000 (18,578 efts) students at 141 sites. Sixty-one per cent graduated. It appears to have a steadier, better managed infrastructure, a communicative chief executive and vastly improved morale. Better days have arrived.

On a crisp sunny afternoon this week a hundred shoes sit outside the door of a meeting house at the wananga's Te Rapa campus. Inside, chief executive Bentham Ohia chats to about 50 staff, one of many catch-up sessions he holds up and down the country. Standing in front of the group, bald-headed Ohia appears a relaxed character. He listens to complaints, nods in agreement or responds and sometimes cracks a joke.

"I come to talk to them because I want to know what's happening," he says afterwards."I don't like hearing it second-hand."

Over the next two months Ohia and other senior managers will attend most of 45 graduation ceremonies around the country. They started in Christchurch last week.

After the meeting, Ohia joins some of the staff in the cafeteria. He looks around. A dozen years ago he painted these walls when he got a job at the wananga part time while he studied for a teaching diploma. He went on to complete a Master of Arts at Waikato University but never left the wananga.

A woman he refers to as "auntie" serves afternoon tea.

Ohia, deputy chief executive under Wetere, was appointed in May 2006 after Wetere left under a cloud. Ohia was initially on a short-term contract but it has been extended to 2012.

He acknowledges things are going well but says his only emotion is gratitude towards staff and students.

"It's humbling. The credit goes to our students and staff who have supported us during some very tough times."

They could have been even worse.

There were suggestions the Government may hugely down-size the organisation so that it catered for only Maori students.

Ohia acknowledges the wananga could have been "extinct".

Loyalty of staff and students was a big factor in its survival. Even when its reputation was in tatters in 2006 it was still enrolling about 40,000 (20,000 efts) students.

In April 2006 the Government revamped tertiary education; basically becoming more selective about the courses it funded rather than funding institutes purely on number of students.

Gone were the likes of courses including twilight golf, Maori sing-alongs and dog grooming which attracted so much criticism.

The wananga was bleeding money and needed to restructure anyway. In mid 2006, 330 staff lost their jobs as the number of sites were cut back and the variety of courses trimmed.

Ohia says he is still getting over having to take the action and lay off staff "who in essence were not to blame for what happened to our institution".

So far this year the wananga has about 30,000 students (16,000 efts).

The wananga offers programmes from certificate level to degree. Ohia says there is an intention to offer Masters and possibly PhD options. The wananga's bread and butter is its array of courses around Maori language and Maori studies. It also offers humanities studies including social work, teacher training and environmental management. Other options are business and information technology, computing and sports.

About 60 per cent of students have no tertiary or high school qualifications. Last year nearly 50 per cent were Maori, 24 per cent Asian, 20 per cent European and four per cent Pacific Islanders. Ohia loves the inclusiveness; the wananga is by no means just for Maori.

The wananga's low overheads through less advertising, a lower wage bill than universities and its new centralised structure means most courses are either free or low cost.

Ohia talks repeatedly about challenges ahead. It's all about ensuring quality learning experiences for each student. A big challenge is the sheer scale, with students on campuses from Kaikohe to Bluff.

Another challenge is to repair the damage to the wananga's reputation. Ohia says the key here is for staff and students to feel positive.

"If we are not confident about ourselves, how can we expect anyone else to be confident about us?"

Ohia has received good news on that score.

A comprehensive anonymous online survey of employees in February showed a dramatic change in morale from an earlier survey in 2006. For example, to the statement "the Nga Kaihautu (leadership) are inspiring", 79 per cent agreed - up from 43 per cent two years ago.

The wananga's "reputation with the Government" rated at 81 per cent - up from 45 per cent. "The current structure helps me get my job done" rated 72 per cent - up from 46 per cent in 2006.

FOR years Te Aroha Anderson-Lemke has wanted to contribute to a more positive outcome for Maori students.

"What attracted me to the wananga initially was that after 10 years teaching at mainstream universities I was alarmed at the number of Maori students not completing studies."

The former journalist turned academic says the wananga's approach is far different. Lecturers and students are on equal footing, which makes for a closer relationship.

The wananga acknowledges the financial constraints of students and also provides a strong support system. For example, teachers will phone students who are absent or ill. This type of thing would not happen at a mainstream tertiary institution.

Anderson-Lemke says there is a level of academic snobbery in mainstream tertiary institutions.

"We are expected to use a vernacular that is often out of reach of the students."

At the wananga she will use humour and street language if it helps get her point across.

"I wish I had made the move earlier."

Anderson-Lemke, who was involved in Maori Television's controversial early days, says she is used to Maori initiatives being criticised. Ultimately, though, "grander" things come out of them.

The criticism the wananga received three years ago still rankles. Does she not think the wananga was in the wrong? Anderson-Lemke acknowledges mismanagement took place. But the sweeping criticisms of the institution ignored the fact that many good people were involved. "It can be wrapped up in the way the word `Maori' was used. We were all implicated because of the deeds of a few."

When the accusations against the wananga were at their height Act deputy leader Ken Shirley led a crusade from Parliament for an investigation into what was occurring. It led to the Government taking control.

A subsequent auditor-general's report went on to find there was inappropriate use of taxpayers' funds but didn't uphold some of the spicier allegations such as nepotism and fraud.

Shirley is no longer an MP and works as chief executive of the Researched Medicines Industry. He isn't up with details of the wananga's situation, but feels the organisation is now probably on track.

He says he never had any problem with much of what the wananga was trying to do. "In principle there was some very good work in providing education for people who were falling through the cracks."

But he says the wananga's actions epitomised what was wrong with the tertiary sector. The wananga's annual budget at its peak was close to $240 million (it is now $120 million) and it stood out as the worst example of wastage. Shirley says the taxpayer picked up the tab for some very spurious programmes.

"The irony was that the Act Party supported private provision of education in principle but the wananga was giving that principle a very bad name."

ROHA BALLARD, a student and single mum with four kids, can't get enough of the wananga. She's been attending for four years. Initially she studied Te Reo and now she has switched to Maori studies. Ballard studied part time for three years and this year she is full time. She hopes to teach at a kohanga reo. "I love it and it's free. I can't understand why more New Zealanders don't take advantage of it. That's what I say to my kids all the time get educated." She has an "awesome" teacher and only eight students in her class. Like all students she was all too aware of what was going on in 2005.

"(But) you just rock on. It felt like people were watching everything we did. I didn't take it personally. Everyone just sort of soldiered on. The teachers kept a lot of stuff away from us. They didn't want us to be discouraged. They said our programmes were safe and that was our main fear. There was even a couple of teachers who offered to tutor us in their own time. They were prepared for the worst."

Lisa Goddard, 35, studying primary school teaching at the wananga, has had a variety of jobs throughout her life. She was a teacher-aide for two years and wants to teach. But she doesn't have a strong academic background and was a little worried about how quickly she would pick things up. "Even though I'm Maori I've never learnt Te Reo."

But she loves the smaller classes and has adapted well.

The relationship with teachers is such that she describes them as more like her aunties.

Her seven-month-old baby stays in a creche on site while she attends classes. The problems reported at the wananga barely concern her. In any case it's past now. "Me, I never look at the bad side of things."

ALTHOUGH there have been changes, Ohia is quick to reiterate the commitment of Wetere who set up the wananga and the reasons for his actions.

Wetere and others were responding to the high numbers of expulsions and student failure rates of Maori and non-Maori in the school system. That problem hasn't gone away. He acknowledges the work done by schools to address these issues, but says the wananga can play a huge role. During tough economic times the wananga can continue to offer vital educational opportunities for people at low or no cost.

Anderson-Lemke is in no doubt that the skills of wananga teaching graduates will be sorely needed in schools. The new teaching curriculum demands a huge focus on building a relationship with Maori children. "We are confident that our graduates will be head-hunted."

Ohia finds the job rewarding but treats it as a very serious business. He rubs his bald head. "Mate I had an afro when I started this job," he laughs.

There's a huge sense of responsibility to ensure the organisation's sustainability and success.

Despite the demand for study at the wananga there will be no repeat of the ridiculous growth that nearly saw its demise in 2005. The system is harder to manipulate and the wananga is being much more carefully managed.

"We have no ambitions in terms of growth. I'm more focused on what we can do better," says Ohia.

"The key is in doing the ordinary things well. I'm a realist.

"We've come so far but we've got so far to go."

- © Fairfax NZ News