My dad just refitted his small cottage kitchen. He is over 6ft tall, so wanted the worktops raised 6 inches, precluding his need to bend.

However, his circumstances may change. Aside from his possible shrinking, he might one day want to sell the house, or even welcome a ‘lady-friend’ who is less than 6ft tall. Needless to say, after acknowledging the trade-offs, a worktop compromise has been made.

We are all making trade-offs all the time, accepting the pros and cons and getting on. New Zealand’s national qualification NCEA is no exception, except that many of its cons fall on our most disadvantaged children, who have little voice in any debate.

When conceived, NCEA’s purpose was very different to that of the old system. No longer would our national assessment be about equipping universities to select between candidates. Instead, NCEA was designed to motivate lower-achieving students and provide enough flexibility that everyone could leave school qualified.

These social justice objectives are clear and worthy. But worthiness is not enough.

The economic wellbeing long-associated with success in School Certificate and University Bursary had always been hard fought. Simply shifting the goal-posts would not suddenly ensure educational success for all. And yet, this is what NCEA tells us. That ‘Prepare and present espresso beverages for service’ has equal value to ‘Apply the algebra of complex numbers in solving problems.'

Of course, readers of Insights recognise the absurdity in this. But if you are a child growing up without parents who can advise, and where barista courses are offered at your school, then what madness would drive you to complex numbers over coffee cups?

Elsewhere in the OECD, a core curriculum communicates minimum expectations for all students. It provides a safety-net against premature specialisation and immature decisions. But in New Zealand it is perfectly possible to graduate with NCEA Levels 1, 2 and 3 having never completed a national assessment in English, maths or science, let alone a humanity or language.

This truth is sold as flexibility. But flexibility comes at a cost. For one, circumstances change. In the same way that a petite ‘lady-friend’ might appear, young adults sometimes change their minds about their life-goals.

A core curriculum protects against the worst foibles of youth. But until adults are prepared to acknowledge this, already-disadvantaged young New Zealanders will continue to slip through the net