A Member’s draft Bill recently introduced by ACT MP Dr Parmjeet Parmar—The Education and Training (Equal Treatment) Amendment Bill—has sparked robust debate across Aotearoa New Zealand. The draft bill aims to prohibit universities from offering any public resources, services, or opportunities based on race or ethnicity.

Universities would still be permitted to manage funds or support given by external organisations, such as charities, even if that support was allocated to students according to their race or ethnicity.

While the issue is contentious, it presents a moment for genuine reflection on equity, inclusion, and the purpose of tertiary education in a diverse society. In her letter to the Universities Minister Dr Shane Reti, Dr Parmjeet Parmar urged the government to adopt her proposed legislation as a government bill, highlighting its significance for national education policy and the principles of equal treatment.

The Case for “Equal Treatment”

Supporters of the bill argue that race-based allocations can lead to perceptions of tokenism, a sense that minority students are being assisted not based on capability or need, but as symbolic representatives of their ethnicity. In such a framing, the intention of promoting inclusion may instead produce a subtle undermining of individual merit, leading to resentment, division, or superficial compliance.

Furthermore, critics of race-targeted funding and services suggest that such measures may fail to address the root causes of disadvantage, which often lie in socioeconomic conditions, systemic inequality, or intergenerational barriers to opportunity. If the focus remains solely on identity markers like race or ethnicity, they argue, it risks ignoring those from similarly disadvantaged backgrounds who do not fit neatly into ethnic categories, including rural, low-income, or first-in-family students of all ethnicities.

In her letter to Universities Minister Dr Shane Reti, Dr Parmjeet Parmar questioned the presence of race-based policies and compulsory curriculum content in universities. Specifically, she raised concerns about a mandatory course Waipapa Taumata Rau course. While she framed this requirement as potentially irrelevant for students intending to live or work overseas, this perspective reflects a narrow understanding of education’s role.

Academic learning, especially at university level, is not solely vocational or location bound. Across the globe, comparative studies are drawn from specific contexts—Canada’s multiculturalism laws, Germany’s reconciliation efforts, Scandinavia’s social models—all offering value far beyond their borders. Similarly, learning about Te Tiriti o Waitangi and mātauranga Māori offers insights into constitutional partnership, indigenous worldviews, and the principles of social justice and power-sharing in a modern democracy.

Understanding these frameworks is not only relevant for those staying in Aotearoa New Zealand, but also for anyone seeking to be an informed global citizen or responsible professional. To question the worth of such knowledge simply because it is indigenous is to misunderstand the universal value of ethical and cultural literacy as well as risks overlooking the global value of indigenous frameworks and the Treaty partnership that underpins our constitutional fabric.

Increasingly, universities around the world are under pressure to prioritise narrowly defined employment-related programmes such as STEM and business at the expense of disciplines that foster critical thinking, cultural understanding, and civic engagement. The quiet removal of such courses risks reducing education to a transactional pursuit rather than a transformative one.

The Case for Race-Based Support

On the other side of the debate, opponents of the bill argue that a blanket approach to “equal treatment” ignores the deeply unequal starting points of various communities in New Zealand. Historical and systemic discrimination has led to entrenched disadvantages for Māori and Pasifika students, whose pathways into higher education often involve overcoming multiple structural barriers.

For such students, dedicated scholarships, spaces, and support services are not luxuries; they are enablers. The call for race-based services is not about privilege but about correcting long-standing imbalances. Designated spaces, for instance, are not created to exclude others but to ensure inclusion for those who would otherwise feel out of place in environments dominated by majority norms. Without these spaces, many disadvantaged students would feel unable to enter or thrive in university settings thus remaining symbolically and practically disenfranchised.

Māori and Pasifika student spaces have become essential sites of wellbeing. These are places where students can express cultural identity freely, access mentoring without judgment, and counteract the everyday discrimination that persists within academic institutions. Removing such support would not level the playing field rather it would tilt it further against those already running uphill.

What Kind of Equality Are We Talking About?

The challenge we face is balancing formal equality, which means treating everyone identically, with substantive equality, which recognises that achieving fairness may necessitate different levels of input. The draft Bill tends to favour the former approach, while critics advocate for the latter.

What’s missing in this debate is a nuanced discussion of outcomes versus intentions. No policy should entrench racial divisions or presume deficits based on ethnicity. At the same time, pretending the past and present have no bearing on student experience risks erasing the reality of systemic barriers.

The debate surrounding this issue often presents a dichotomy between formal equality where individuals receive identical treatment and substantive equality, which involves providing support tailored to people’s genuine needs and experiences. However, this perspective can overlook the reality that we do not all begin from the same starting point. Support based on race, especially for Māori and Pasifika students, does not compromise fairness; rather, it recognises and seeks to rectify historical and ongoing structural disadvantages.

Proposing that “everyone should be treated the same” without considering the context can, whether intentionally or not, diminish the significance of the reasons these supports were established. This mirrors how the phrase “All Lives Matter” has been used to undermine the critical focus of Black Lives Matter, neglecting the urgency and particular injustices being confronted.

Support for Māori and Pasifika students, then, should not be debated rather it should be a given. These are obligations that arise from our shared history, Te Tiriti o Waitangi, and current inequities. At the same time, universities must also make real and proactive efforts to identify and respond to disadvantage in all its forms, whether it affects a student because of socioeconomic hardship, disability, rural background, or first-in-family status.

The path forward is not to flatten the conversation by denying difference but to deepen our understanding of how race and other intersecting factors shape access, confidence, and opportunity in higher education. To truly foster equity, it is essential to confront both the historical impacts of colonisation and the current challenges of disadvantage simultaneously.