​Pat Newman has watched fetal alcohol spectrum disorder change the landscape of New Zealand classrooms over the past 40 years, but support for students and teachers to deal with it has been sparse.

Newman is the president of the Tai Tokerau Principals Association and suspects the disorder is widespread in Northland. He is calling on the Government to dig into its pockets and help the children suffering from the condition.

And that lack of any real funding from the Government has meant schools have had to dip into their own accounts in a desperate bid to ensure no child is left behind.

“To get a diagnosis for FASD, there is a waiting list of about a year to get it done up here and that’s only the ones that are getting referred,” Newman says.

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Even when children do get referred, there doesn’t seem to be much help available.

Students with FASD display a raft of behaviours in the classroom from disengaged and quiet, many with concentration problems, right up to full-scale outbursts Newman says.

He says FASD is the scourge of the north, with minimal support from the Ministry of Education.

Newman says the ministry will fund only two hours of support a day for high-end behavioural problems.

“I’d describe it as ‘stuff all’ … You can say, ‘Pat Newman said stuff all funding.’

“What we should have is the funding that allows us to run programmes that suit the child and that should be the same for every kid in school, whether they have FASD or not.”

Newman says the issue is dire and it’s time for the Government to step in.

“We always need more support. Schools are used to putting rubber bands and stoppers around things, but we have so many kids with needs these days that it’s becoming a bottomless pit.”

Concrete thinkers in an abstract world

The halls of Berhampore School in Wellington are no stranger to students with FASD.

Principal Mark Potter describes those tamariki as “concrete thinkers” who need to physically feel and see things in order to understand them.

Potter wants more help given to teachers so they can understand FASD and tailor classroom activities to suit their needs, and thinks it would be helpful for FASD to be classified as a disability, so students can access extra learning support.

“There are people who say that we shouldn’t have to have the title disability to get support,” Potter says.

“However, in our education system, the reality is that it really does help if people have that recognition that this is a disability … right now we’re being very stretched on what we are being resourced for.”

Doctors and agencies also needed to be more open to diagnosing children with FASD, he says.

He says there have been several occasions where teachers pick up on a child’s FASD, but that had been ignored for fear of the child being labelled.

“And so often we find that once the children leave us to move further up the education system, they get diagnosed with FASD …

“People are very reluctant to classify and label children early on but, in actual fact, that can be a real challenge for FASD children, because the earlier intervention is put in, the more chances of success that child has,” Potter says.

“So people standing back not wanting to label a child, we can actually miss a real window of opportunity to get their child’s learning developing the way we need it to.”

Indigenous model that’s making a difference

One programme that does seem to be making a difference is Te Haerenga day programme in Whangārei, run by Maggie Flood.

Funded through Oranga Tamariki, the programme follows an indigenous model of practice, which allows for a more holistic approach as opposed to a rigid mainstream structure.

There are ten rangatahi under Te Haerenga, two of whom have been formally diagnosed with FASD. Like Newman, Flood believes many have gone undiagnosed.

Most of the students at Te Haerenga have been excluded from mainstream school or have been asked to leave due to their behaviour. Some schools refuse to formally exclude students, so it doesn’t affect their future enrolments.

But for kids with FASD, there often isn’t a next enrolment, Flood says.

It is a big task getting kids with FASD – or any kid for that matter – back into education when they have wholly disengaged with it.

The solution begins with building a connection and helping rangatahi find a sense of belonging and value, Flood says.

Consistency, care and boundaries are key.

“I think the most important thing is having an assessment, gauging where they are as an individual in learning,” says Flood.

“Because our mainstream [education] is mainstream. This is nothing against mainstream, but I’m just saying, if you’ve got a learning disability, and you’re in the mainstream, you can’t always swim upstream with the mainstream, you’re sort of flapping on the sides …”

When it comes to FASD, small educational group settings work better.

“You’re trying to find what their gift is, what do they love? What are they great at? And build on that,” she says.

The young people with FASD she works with may not make it back to mainstream education, but with the right support they can enter employment.

Support from the top

The Education Ministry says it is strengthening support for neurodiverse students and their teachers.

Neurodiversity is a term which describes neurological differences in the human brain.

The supports included tools and resources which could be easily adapted for the diverse needs of ākonga (students), such as the use of visual and assistive technology in the classroom.

“We have commissioned a report, Poipoia ngā ākonga kanorau ā-roro by Dr Melanie Riwai-Couch, to understand neurodiversity from a te ao Māori perspective,” said the ministry’s operations and integration leader Sean Teddy in a statement.

“This report provides a Māori-centric view of neurodiversity that will benefit practitioners and educators, helping them to work more effectively with ākonga kanorau ā-roro (learner neurodiversity) and their whānau.”

Teddy said if a student was excluded from school, the ministry would work with family and educators to find the right schooling option for them.

The statement did not mention any additional funding or teacher aide support.

Money better spent

Back at school, Newman sometimes thinks about the cost of holding someone in prison for a year. It’s roughly $150,000 according to some reports.

He talks about Ngāwhā prison in particular, a minimum to high security facility just outside Kaikohe in the Far North.

“Give us $50,000 a year for each kid and by God we’ll make some changes,” says Newman.

Supporting tamariki from the start, so they don’t fall off the cliff and into the justice system later on.