Kaiako Highlight: Whaea Tania Jackson

In Tauranga Moana, Whaea Tania Jackson is a secondary school kaiako of science and te reo Māori, and an emerging curriculum leader in kaupapa Māori. Her mahi spans both the classroom and the wider community, where she volunteers as a secretary at Ngā Kīkini o te Rehutai - Tauranga Moana Māori Teachers’ Association.

Raised across Aotearoa, Australia, Japan, and the Pacific, parts of Tania’s early life were shaped by movement. It wasn’t until later, through wānanga and reconnection with her whakapapa, that her inner fire and sense of belonging truly awakened. Image supplied; © Tania Jackson.

Tania's grandmother was a traditional healer. Her ancestors were navigators. And from a young age, she always knew she was drawn to the sea. “I always knew I was going to do science after high school,” she says — and that knowing gave her the determination to keep going. Although the formal education system, particularly in secondary science, felt like something to endure rather than embrace, she held fast to her purpose, eventually becoming the first in her whānau to earn a master’s degree specialising in marine aquaculture.

I feel like the way we teach science is still very compartmentalised. We split things up — physics, chemistry, biology — but Te Taiao doesn’t work like that. Even when I studied oceanography, when I grew up around the ocean, it was all connected. That’s how science should be taught.

With a background in marine biology and strong connections to mātauranga Māori, Whaea Tania’s approach to science education — or more aptly, learning the many ways of understanding our natural world — offers a range of outdoor and experiential opportunities for rangatahi to reconnect with place.

Today, her vision of science education extends far beyond the boundaries of school and curriculum. “It feels like I am walking between two worlds,” she reflects — one shaped by formal science education, and the other rooted in mātauranga Māori.

Whenever possible, she takes her students into real environments — to explore, observe, and connect. Tania offers a vision for what science education could be — one where Māori and Indigenous knowledge is not an add-on but the foundation. One where learning is relevant, relational, and grounded in place. One where rangatahi, including ākonga Māori, can thrive not by splitting themselves across systems, but by being supported to bring their whole selves into learning.

To understand more about what drives Tania’s approach to science teaching, we asked her a few questions about her journey through science and schooling.

1) What did you enjoy about science at school — and why?

I always said I wanted to be a marine biologist — swimming with whales, being out on the ocean. There’s something about the deep blue sea… even now, I go out there and feel this deep connection, this knowing in my bones. I think it's ancestral. Our people were navigators. That’s science to me — the kind of knowing you carry in your body.

Whaea Tania's early experiences with the ocean helped her develop positive relationships towards learning about the natural world, as well as her sense of connection to people and place. Studying oceanography was one way she chose to deepen those relationships. Image supplied; © Tania Jackson.

I grew up with that connection. I was conceived on an island, raised near the ocean, and spent time across Aotearoa, Japan, Australia, and the Pacific. My mother flew home to have me in the far north with my grandparents as they called her home to birth me here in NZ and plant my Whenua (after birth) here so I would always be connected to home no matter where I roamed. Wherever I was, the moana always grounded me. My grandmother was a traditional healer. My family held on to rituals. Those early experiences shaped how I saw the world — not through subjects or categories, but through relationships.

But school… school wasn’t always easy. I didn’t hate it, but I didn’t love it either. I could feel I was in a system. Especially in secondary science, I often felt disconnected. Still, I kept going. I’ve always been strong-willed. I knew what I wanted — and that helped me push through.

I wasn’t the kind of student who loved textbooks. What I loved was being outside. Being in the water. Watching patterns in the natural world. Science, to me, was never about memorising facts. It was about noticing. Feeling. Listening. It was in the way a bird builds its nest. In the spiral of a shell. In the quiet wisdom of the tides.

That’s why I believe the curriculum needs to shift. Science shouldn’t be boxed into subjects like chemistry or physics that feel disconnected from the real world. It should be a lived experience — grounded, relational, local. That’s how we bring our rangatahi back into connection.

2) What led you to consider science education as a career path?

I never planned to be a teacher. I remember my chemistry teacher once turned to me and said, ‘Tania, you’re going to make a great teacher.’ And I thought, what is this lady on about? I wasn’t interested in standing up and talking about the periodic table.

But what I’ve learned is that teaching isn’t about the periodic table. It’s about people. And it’s about remembering. I’ve come to see that my journey — through marine biology, through wānanga, through being a māmā — was always leading me back to this: helping others remember who they are, and where they come from.

Science education became part of a much bigger healing journey. There was a time when I felt lost, unsure of my purpose, even depressed...

...But then I was called into a Māori movement retreat — and that weekend changed everything. It reminded me that our knowledge systems are held in the body, in movement, in the land. Teaching, for me, became a way to bring that healing into schools. To show that science isn’t something we receive — it’s something we remember.

I believe science education in Aotearoa is at a turning point. Now is the time to elevate Māori and indigenous knowledge. Our people have always practised science — through observation, connection, and whakapapa. These ways of knowing have been side-lined in education for too long. Restoring them will enrich learning for everyone — not just Māori.

Amongst Te Taiao, Whaea Tania finds the kind of wonder and curiosity she hopes to spark in her ākonga — a reminder that science begins with noticing, feeling, and connecting. Image supplied; © Tania Jackson.

3) What do you see as key learning experiences for students in science?

Take them outside. That’s the first thing I’d change. Science doesn’t live in a textbook — it lives in the ngahere, in the soil, in the wind, in their hands.

With my Year 7s and 8s, I take them out to the field, to the māra, to the kura grounds. We talk about the plants, their uses, their whakapapa. I watch them come alive — they start asking questions, noticing patterns, making connections. You can see it in their eyes: the inquiring mind switches on.

I remember watching them crouch down and gently lift the leaves to see what was underneath. They started asking questions like, ‘Why is the cloud shaped like that?’ and ‘What kind of grass is this?’ and ‘Is this plant medicine?’ It might seem small, but it’s everything — because that’s when their being comes alive. That’s when they’re connected to something bigger, and the curiosity comes from within, not because it’s written on a worksheet.

Just minutes from Whaea Tania’s kura, Te Ara o Wairakei flows between Te Rae o Pāpāmoa and Pāpāmoa Beach — a landscape where rangatahi can explore the deep connections between the land, sky, and sea. Image supplied; © Lian Soh.

In the future, I’d love to see every science classroom rooted in local curriculum — where you’re outside, working with kai, water, plants, energy. Where it’s not so separated into categories, but holistic. Because that’s how the natural world works. Everything is interconnected. That’s how our young people learn best — when they’re invited back into those relationships.

If I could design the classroom of the future? It would be outdoors, every single class grounded in local curriculum. Local stories, local ways of knowing, local science, local whenua. That’s where real learning happens.

Acknowledgements: Ngā mihi nui, Tania, for sharing your personal story and journey through science education. Your insights invite all of our kaiako readers to reflect on the system-level barriers that need to be challenged so that science education is inclusive of all ākonga. Our rangatahi Māori are fortunate to have champions such as yourself, and we hope that stories like yours also affirm and uplift the efforts of those working toward similar goals.

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