Imagine a world where books not only teach children to read but also connect them deeply to their heritage and identity. This is the transformative power of culturally relevant literature, and it’s proving to be a game-changer for Indigenous students in remote areas. But here’s where it gets controversial: while these books are key to reading success, they’re still not widely available in the formats students need most. Let’s dive in.
Ten-year-old Brynetta Lewis, a Year 5 student at Warakurna Campus Ngaanyatjarra Lands School in remote Western Australia, has a favorite book about an unlikely duo—an ant and a snail enjoying fish and chips together. 'It’s funny,' she says with a smile. Brynetta’s first language is Ngaanyatjarra, yet she finds reading in English 'easy.' Her enthusiasm is part of a school reading challenge where she’s already devoured 11 books. But Brynetta’s story is the exception, not the rule.
This year’s NAPLAN results reveal a stark reality: 72.5% of Indigenous Year 5 students in very remote areas are marked as needing additional reading support, compared to just 13.2% of non-Indigenous students. And this is the part most people miss: the gap widens as remoteness increases, with reading proficiency declining sharply. Why? Haydon Staines, a coordinator of First Nations educational leadership at Charles Darwin University, explains that for many remote Indigenous students, English is often their fourth or fifth language. Add to that limited access to resources, inconsistent schooling, and assessments that feel worlds apart from their lived experiences—like questions about catching trams—and it’s no wonder students struggle.
'These concepts are completely foreign to them,' Staines points out. 'How can we expect Aboriginal students to excel when the content doesn’t reflect their reality?' Here’s the bold truth: culturally responsive texts aren’t just nice-to-haves; they’re essential. Staines argues that relatable, meaningful books foster a love for reading, which is the foundation of literacy. Brynetta’s teacher, Brendan Lewis, agrees. Students at Warakurna Campus, located four hours west of Uluru, are more engaged when they see themselves in the stories, even if the language is different. 'Without that connection, they disengage,' Lewis explains. 'But when they’re hooked, they’re more likely to tackle tricky words or unfamiliar structures.'
Warakurna Campus Principal Erin Brown adds that while the school is fortunate to have some culturally responsive texts, there’s a glaring shortage of decodable readers that progressively build difficulty. 'We need more books by Aboriginal authors and illustrators, but also materials designed specifically for learning to read,' she says. Another unsung hero? Local Yarnangu teachers. Lewis notes that when Yarnangu educators are in the classroom, students are more enthusiastic and engaged. But here’s the question that sparks debate: Why aren’t these resources and practices more widespread? Is it a lack of funding, awareness, or priority?
Reading isn’t just a skill—it’s a gateway to creativity, empathy, and lifelong learning. As Lewis puts it, 'If you can read, you’ll never be lonely. A book can always be your companion.' Brynetta, proud and excited to have completed her reading challenge, is already looking forward to her next book. 'I’m a quick reader,' she declares. Her progress, along with her classmates’, is a testament to what’s possible when students see themselves in what they read.
So, here’s the challenge for all of us: How can we ensure every Indigenous student has access to books that reflect their culture and experiences? Do you think culturally responsive texts should be a priority in education? Or are there other factors we’re overlooking? Let’s start the conversation—because every child deserves to see themselves in the stories they read.
