Can We Succeed with Inclusive Education for Sámi Pupils?

Abstract

Since Norwegian compulsory education increasingly recognises Sámi rights and the Sámi as an Indigenous people, the question of how we can provide inclusive education for Sámi pupils by recognising Sámi culture in teaching remains. I argue in this literary research, that inclusive education, both as a concept and as a practice in school, stems from a pathological field, targeting individual needs, and therefore misses the target when educating pupils with an Indigenous cultural belonging. Inclusion as a concept centres on practices such as fellowship, participation, equal access, quality, equity and justice, but its legacy is anchored in individual needs, influencing how we think about inclusion and implementing inclusive measures. This way of thinking still guides the national strategy for inclusive education but will not be sufficient for Sámi pupils, since they, as a group, are not disabled. So-called inclusive measures will rather enhance the integration of Sámi pupils into the Norwegian framework of schooling defined by the majority’s expectations for fellowship, participation and so forth. While Indigenous inclusion takes integrative measures which uphold the status quo, thus dependent on a majority perspective, indigenising has an Indigenous baseline. I argue that non-Sámi society needs to re-contextualise itself towards the Sámi society if we want an education for all.

1. Introduction

In Norwegian education, the principle of inclusive education is strongly anchored, and it was formulated as the overarching aim of the current core curriculum for compulsory education, confirming that ‘Each pupil has their own history, and they have hopes and ambitions for the future. When children and young people are treated with respect and acknowledgement in teaching and training, their sense of belonging will be strengthened’ (Ministry of Education and Research 2017b, p. 18). However, formulations targeting inclusive education or inclusive strategies are often directed towards efforts about or for individuals, and inclusive education is often associated with special needs education and special education measures (Florian 2008; Haug 2017). To the contrary, there is a consensus in the inclusive research field and in official institutions that the concept of inclusive education revolves around more general practices such as fellowship, participation, democratisation, benefit, equal access, quality, equity and justice (see e.g., Haug 2017).

By targeting persons from a cultural group, such as the Indigenous people the Sámi, inclusion takes the form of integration by integrating groups and individuals ‘into the patterns of achievement and success that, in the past, have typically been accessible only to the privileged’ (Hoskins and Jones 2022, p. 308). Hoskins and Jones (2022) pointed to two problems with this approach. The first problem is that transforming what is Indigenous into a relatively unchanged system of education will mostly maintain the status quo, although some parts might be successfully implemented. However, a fundamental understanding of Indigenous culture will remain in the Indigenous culture itself, which is not accessible outside this culture. The second problem is that these kinds of efforts mainly target the non-Indigenous culture (Hoskins and Jones 2022). By implementing specific Sámi topics, ways of acting or words, letters or phrases as a means of including Sámi culture and language in education, such efforts will mainly benefit the non-Sámi population and not the Sámi pupils themselves. For inclusive education to have an effect for Sámi pupils, it will therefore have to target the needs and rights of Sámi pupils and not exclusively non-Sámi pupils.

In this literary research, I argue that in order to educate Sámi pupils in an inclusive manner in compulsory education, it is necessary to transform how we perceive inclusive education in order to meet the needs of the Sámi people as an Indigenous people and their society. I will in this paper make a distinction between Sámi pupils in Sámi schools and Sámi pupils attending Norwegian schools, seeing as they live both within and outside Sámi core areas and that the legislation differs depending on geographical affiliation and curricula. I build my argument on Hoskins and Jones (2022), who argued that indigenisation is a qualitatively different approach, shifting accountability to the non-Indigenous society, where they will have to bear the responsibility of contextualising both themselves and the society they are a part of in relation to the Sámi people and culture. Indigenisation implies an understanding from the non-Indigenous community that the responsibility lies not with the Indigenous community to teach about what is Indigenous—for instance, what is characteristic of the Sámi culture—but rather with the majority. It should be the majority’s responsibility to contextualise themselves in relation to the Sámi society. I argue that inclusive education is not sufficient if fellowship, participation, democratisation, benefits, equal access, quality, equity and justice are the aims, including for Sámi pupils. Perhaps inclusive education is not for all, after all.

2. The Sámi Context, from the Norwegian Side

The Sámi people live in four nation states, Norway, Sweden, Finland and Russia, where Sápmi/Sábme/Saepmie, as a nation, spans from the northern and central parts of Norway, Sweden and Finland to the Kola Peninsula in the Russian Federation. Even though the Sámi do not have their own national state, they are still considered a nation, since they share a common history, culture and language. Across the nation states, the situation for the Sámi people is very different, including in education. Norway and Finland have acknowledged the Sámi as an Indigenous people, but Sweden refers to them as a national minority. In the Russian Federation, the Sámi are guaranteed the Rights of Indigenous Numerically Small Peoples (Ravna 2015). Even so, the Sámi are Indigenous people, according to the International Labour Organisation Convention No. 169 on the Rights of Tribal and Indigenous Peoples (ILO 169), though the recognition in the four states varies (Ravna 2015).

For educational purposes, the recognition of the status of Indigenous peoples has consequences for educational rights in each country. Norway ratified ILO 169 in 1990, recognising the Sámi as an Indigenous people. According to the UN, Indigenous people are typically understood to be marginalised people in a majority society and were affiliated with specific geographical areas prior to the establishment of state borders (UN n.d.). Furthermore, they have a distinctive culture stemming from natural resources that culturally and/or linguistically separates them from the dominant population socially (UN n.d.). The ratification of ILO 169 entailed committing to follow the content of the convention, consult with the Sámi on issues concerning them and ensure that the Sámi, as an Indigenous people of Norway, have equal opportunities to maintain and develop their culture, use and learn to use their own language and establish their own institutions in order to represent themselves with the government (The Norwegian Government n.d.). The Government of Norway has stated that the Sámi are the Indigenous people of Norway and that as an Indigenous people, they should be given opportunities to maintain and develop their own identity, language and religion within the limits of the national state. These rights are carried forth in the Education Act, where the right to learn the language is based on geographical locations, seeing as today Sámi people live all over Norway but are historically affiliated within a specific area.

In Norway, the first curriculum for Sámi schools was implemented with the reform of 1997 (Ministry of Education, Research and Church Affairs 1997). With the Norwegian curriculum of 2020 (Ministry of Education and Research 2017b), the Sámi people were recognised as Indigenous for the first time in a Norwegian curriculum. The same rights were formalised in the Framework Plan for the Content and Tasks of Kindergartens of 2017 (Ministry of Education and Research 2017a). In addition, Sámi children’s rights have been formulated in several national laws and international conventions. Constitution §108 states that ‘The authorities of the state shall create conditions enabling the Sami people, as an Indigenous people, to preserve and develop their language, culture and way of life’. This is also stated in the Sámi Act, which strengthens Sámi rights in Norway, since ILO 169 covers more than a single paragraph in national legislation. In the aftermath of establishing Sámi law and the Constitution, Norway, as a state, ratified several conventions strengthening Sámi rights, such as the Convention on the Rights of the Child (1991), the UN International Convention on the Elimination of All forms of Racial Discrimination, the UN International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, the European Human Rights Convention and the Council of Europe’s Framework Convention for the Protection of National Minorities. The implementation of Sámi topics is also incorporated into the Educational Act and the Act of Early Childhood Education.

These rights are important due to the extensive policy of assimilation of the Sámi people in Norway, also called ‘Norwegianisation’. The efforts and consequences of this policy are widely recognised in Norwegian society, and the process is documented and discussed in various scientific journals, in mainstream media and through the Truth and Reconciliation Commission, which delivered its report on 1 June 2023. The policy of Norwegianisation stretched from 1850 to 1980 (Minde 2005), but although the official policy has ended, the ripple effects are still in play. For instance, teachers have little to no knowledge of Sámi languages or Sámi culture (Lile 2011); textbooks used in general education have little or even incorrect content about Sámi topics (Aamotsbakken 2015; Folkenborg 2008; Mortensen-Buan 2016; Somby et al. 2024); the Sámi as a people are presented in a stereotypical manner, constructed as ‘the other’ (Eriksen 2018); and the narrative of Norwegian literature does not include Sámi literature (Bakken 2023), while Sámi history is absent from the great writings on national history (Andresen et al. 2021). Thus, opportunities to recognise and learn about Sámi topics are left to chance and depend on the teacher’s knowledge. The situation in Sámi schools in specific Sámi areas would be different where both teachers and pupils probably are Sámi or have extensive knowledge about Sámis, since the educational language is Sámi.

3. Inclusive Education

Globally, there have been initiatives and efforts to promote inclusive education for all. UNESCO stated in the Salamanca declaration that ‘the fundamental principle of the inclusive school is that all children should learn together, wherever possible, regardless of any difficulties or differences they may have’ (UNESCO 1994, p. 11). UNESCO has also developed guidelines for ensuring inclusion and equity in education (UNESCO 2009), in which it is stated that ‘education is a basic human right and the foundation for a more just and equal society’ (p. 8) and that inclusion is ‘seen as a process of addressing and responding to the diversity of needs of all children, youth and adults through increasing participation in learning, cultures and communities, and reducing and eliminating exclusion within and from education’ (p. 8), thus going beyond access to education. Also, inclusive education is viewed as a measure for sustainable development (UN 2015). Even so, the initiative emerged from a special educational field and thus was not necessarily suitable for Indigenous people.

3.1. Inclusive Education in Norwegian Education

Inclusive education is an overarching aim of Norwegian compulsory education and was formulated both in the curriculum and in white papers targeting educational quality: ‘Schools shall develop an inclusive environment that promotes health, well-being and learning for all’ (Ministry of Education and Research 2017b, p. 18). Beneath this headline, inclusive education is operationalised in formulations that target the learning environment; pupils’ academic and social development and diversity should be recognised as a resource. Pupil involvement is key, with everyone having a place in the school community and there being variations in the form of learning areas, including other communities and across ages. The political aims and regulations place the understanding of inclusive education primarily on the level of the learning environment, then on diversity as a resource and participation for all, then on connection with others both inside and outside the school premises and then as a possible result of various pedagogical options, thus, primarily on relational or environmental factors.

The political aim of inclusive education has evolved since the concept was introduced into the Norwegian curriculum with the educational reform of 1997. However, the movement towards more inclusive schools began decades earlier. At the end of 1960, a committee led by Blom suggested a reorganisation of the state’s special schools. These institutions were specifically designed to accommodate children and youths with special educational needs, such as social and emotional disabilities, general learning disabilities and physical impairments, and thus had a pathological perspective at the individual level (see e.g., Skidmore 1996; Hausstätter 2011). The Blom Committee’s recommendations led to a reform that integrated (close to) all children into their local schools and thus an ordinary education, and in the 1990s, special schools were (mostly) closed down (Strømstad et al. 2004). The integration movement also included other Western countries in the 1970s and 1980s (Vislie 2003), leading to the Salamanca Statement in 1994 (Strømstad et al. 2004). Hausstätter and Jahnukainen (2014) claimed that the movement was a counter-reaction to a previously segregated educational system. In the Norwegian educational system, the transition between state special schools and local ordinary schools has led to efforts to integrate children with special educational needs by placing them in ordinary schools, thereby giving them access to the same educational arena as ‘the ordinary pupils’. In the USA, for instance, the integration of pupils into ordinary education came with the passing of Public Law 94-142—Education for All Handicapped Children Act in 1997 (Strømstad et al. 2004, referring to Sarason 1993). Strømstad et al. (2004) explained that the law sought to solve the overrepresentation of children from minority cultures in segregated special education programmes or facilities. However, the reform did not solve the issue but increased the number of children categorised as disabled.

In the Norwegian educational system, efforts towards the integration of pupils with special educational needs have been particularly concerned with how to safeguard the children’s needs within ordinary education, and that these efforts entailed a reform of the system (Vislie 2003). A comparison can be made with the Finnish strategy for maintaining individual needs by Hausstätter and Jahnukainen (2014), in which the strategy was to focus on special educational needs rather than reforming ordinary education. Either way, reforms were made to integrate children with special educational needs who had been receiving their education or had been provided for in other institutions (see e.g., Vislie 2003).

In the case of Norway, special schools had been closed down in 1993, and children with special educational needs were already integrated into ordinary education, which was strongly recommended by the Salamanca Statement in 1994. However, inclusion goes beyond integration, urging ‘schools [to] accommodate all children regardless of their physical, intellectual, social, emotional, linguistic or other conditions’ (UNESCO 1994, p. 6). The goal is then to accommodate a diverse group of pupils, not only placing them in an ordinary educational system. The solution was to offer special education within ordinary education where needed. In Norway, attempts at this transformation of education were made at the teaching level, providing teaching that would support all learners (Hausstätter and Jahnukainen 2014), but any debate on inclusion as a concept or phenomenon was absent (Haug 2022). Instead, inclusion was introduced in the 1997 curriculum. The right to receive special education is anchored in The Education Act (1998): ‘Pupils who either do not or are unable to benefit satisfactorily from ordinary teaching have the right to special education’ (§ 5–1). At the time, the system was not able to handle the needs of such a diverse group of pupils, resulting in a significant increase in pupils receiving special education and the establishment of ‘adapted education’ (tilpasset opplæring), a concept broadly discussed in Norwegian educational and research literature (see e.g., Fasting 2013). Together, adapted education and inclusion should be able to meet the needs of the individual within ordinary education, directing education and school efforts towards increasing fellowship, facilitate participation and democratisation and provide social and academic benefit for all pupils (Bachman and Haug 2006), thereby directing the responsibility at the school level for facilitating an education that should benefit the diversity of pupils rather than pupils’ diversity needs. However, the formulation of adaptive education in the Education Act reads, ‘Education must be adapted to the abilities and aptitudes of the individual pupil, apprentice, candidate for certificate of practice and training candidate’ (§1–3), which has a rather individual phrasing. The consequence for Norwegian education has been a stronger emphasis on individualised teaching (see e.g., Flem and Keller 2000), even though adaption also includes variations in teaching and learning resources, arenas, methods, organisation and learning environments (see e.g., Nordahl 2012). With the most recent Norwegian curriculum (Ministry of Education and Research 2017b), the National Curriculum for Knowledge Promotion in Primary and Secondary Education and Training, we can see efforts to safeguard these elements in the core curriculum, as shown at the beginning of this article. Still, the legacy of inclusive education, as well as adaptive education in the case of Norway, is built upon efforts to include children and youths with special educational needs in ordinary education, assessing these needs from a pathological perspective and targeting individual (dis)abilities. This is also visible and has been discussed in the research literature and will be discussed in the following section.

3.2. International Research on Inclusive Education

Twenty years after the World Conference on Special Needs Education, resulting in the Salamanca Statement, international research on inclusive education is still struggling with the same concepts within the paradigm of the special and the normal. Although there seems to be a common understanding that inclusive education has various definitions (e.g., Artiles et al. 2006), the discussions in the research field still point towards efforts to solve a heritage of the past that is built upon disability. Discourses seem to revolve around meeting the needs of children with disabilities, children with special educational needs or children in other marginalised groups in one way or another (see, e.g., the literature reviews by Göransson and Nilholm 2014 and Kiuppis and Hausstätter 2014), and some of these discourses still question the issue of placement (Nilholm 2021) and the effect of inclusion for some (see e.g., Avramidis et al. 2002; Banks et al. 2015; Hong et al. 2020). The link between inclusive education and special educational needs is not unknown (Göransson and Nilholm 2014; Hausstätter and Vik 2021; Magnússon 2019). There have been thorough discussions on being disabled due to individual disposition, either physically or mentally; the social processes that prevent some from participating; and society’s organisational structures, such as the organisation of schools or curricula (Persson 1998; Skidmore 1996), pointing towards relational structures creating disabilities and exclusive practices. Examples of this might be when a pupil with dyslexia is more able when issues are being talked about in a classroom, rather than reading about the same issues. The structures of the teaching might disable a pupil from learning. Still, at the core of these discussions are the main individual needs and whether education is meeting individuals and their needs. The dichotomy of normal/special is still the upholding mechanism of how we understand inclusive education (see, e.g., Vik and Somby 2018; Somby and Vik 2023; Skrtic 1991, 1995). Some authors, on the other hand, have advocated transforming education, focusing on the educational system rather than on certain groups of learners (Ainscow 2020; Muñoz-Martínez et al. 2020; Opertti et al. 2014).

4. Inclusive Education for Sámi Pupils?

Although some research has discussed how transforming education and being sensitive to the heterogeneity of learners encompass inclusive education, would these be sufficient for Sámi pupils? Or does the prerequisite of inclusion lie in the understanding and premise of disability? A thought experiment might be to change from a general individual perspective to a Sámi pupil’s perspective that would include their cultural background and consequently see what emerges. In the Norwegian context, Bachmann and Haug (2006) argued that inclusive education should aim to give all pupils the opportunity to be part of a fellowship and to partake in social life at their local schools. Inclusive education should aim to give all pupils opportunities to be active participators in teaching and training, in addition to being heard and influencing their own education. Inclusive education should give all pupils learning outcomes, both socially and academically, such as competence in collaboration, empathy and responsibility in addition to reading and writing. These four aims for action have been used extensively in the Norwegian literature on both inclusive education and adaptive education and are used as a template for discussing inclusive education for Sámi pupils in the following sections.

As mentioned in the introduction, Hoskins and Jones (2022) argue how the term inclusion is actually integration, and they saw two problems evident when educational institutions sought to include Indigenous students and culture in their educational systems. Their context was education in Aotearoa (New Zealand) for Māori students, where universities have a duty to protect Indigenous rights and develop educational settings in which Māori students can thrive. Although they acknowledged that the intentions and priorities were admirable, Hoskins and Jones (2022) argued that the efforts towards Indigenous inclusion were ultimately aimed at fitting Māori students into existing structures, which, in their opinion, would mostly maintain the status quo. Second, efforts towards enhancing cultural competency were mainly directed towards the non-Indigenous students, building competence for understanding Māori, thereby targeting the non-Māori students.

In the Norwegian context, although the history and context might differ, the premises are still transferable and relevant to the Sámi as people and Sámi education. Transforming or adapting what is Sámi into a relatively unchanged educational system will once again be an integrational effort whereby some parts can be implemented, but the foundational understanding of the Indigenous culture will remain within the Indigenous culture (e.g., Hoskins and Jones 2022), and these efforts will target the non-Sámi population. For instance, building on examples from Hoskins and Jones (2022), Sámi languages, ways of greeting and design are not limited to words, names or aesthetic artefacts. Sámi knowledge and intellectual traditions permeate all forms of everyday life, as is the case for all cultures. In a Sámi context, there is no need to explain why people present themselves first with one of their grandparents’ first names, then with one of their parents’ first name before their own first name. This is a cultural characteristics which you, as a child, are brought up in. As a child in Sámi culture, you continue to present yourself in that manner because this is how you have learned to present yourself. When teaching non-Sámi pupils about how Sámi culture, this is something different and it needs explanation because in Norwegian culture, you present yourself with your first name before your surname and you do not mention your family affiliation. When Sámi and non-Sámi people meet and greet, the Sámi person would maybe need to explain this, but the non-Sámi does not because the non-Sámi way of greeting is widely known. In addition, an Indigenous culture has a history of colonisation and cannot be equated with any other culture. The collective traumas and discriminatory history towards the culture and all bearers of the culture cannot be bypassed. Although knowledge building in the majority society is a necessary measure for tolerance and understanding, the measure is based on the needs of the majority society. Responding to a diversity of needs (as stated in UNESCO 2009), or facilitating education around, for instance, active participation, equity or justice, should therefor also be applicable viewed from a Sámi point of view. Thus, acknowledging Sámi ways of knowing and facilitating education for Sámi pupils fosters opportunities to develop their own identity as an Indigenous People, as stated in ILO 169. Balto (2023) exemplifies how the transferring of traditional knowledge is central in Sámi upbringing, dependent on practical working arenas and cross-generational practices. Norwegian school, on the other hand, is more theory-based and structured into age-segregated groups. In many ways, the Norwegian school has prioritised classroom exercises over practical experiences (The Norwegian Government 2023), a practice which also applies for the Sámi school.

Going back to Bachmann and Haug’s (2006) unpacking of the aims of actions for inclusive education, and with the arguments from Hoskins and Jones (2022), let us take a closer look at how the four overarching actions will play out for Sámi pupils. All Sámi pupils have access to education, but not necessarily within a Sámi community or a Sámi fellowship. Some Sámi pupils live in Sámi areas where Sámi is the majority language and within a Sámi culture (although imprinted by the ripple effect of assimilation). Although they attend Sámi schools where the educational language is Sámi and the majority of their teachers are Sámi, the school and educational structures are still based on the Norwegian school system. The Norwegian school has served as a template for both content and extent. Some Sámi pupils live far away from Sámi areas, and even though the Education Act states they have the right to learn the language, this right is anchored to being a Sámi and lies at the individual level. The right to develop culture and societal life is at the group level—as a people—and is only valid in the Sámi curriculum, thus mostly for pupils in Sámi areas. The responsibility for following the Education Act and other relevant Acts is left to schools and the teachers responsible for Sámi pupils, independent of where the schools are located, often without specific knowledge of the Sámi language and culture (as shown in Lile 2011). Teaching and training for learning the Sámi language for pupils living outside Sámi areas are often provided via digital teaching, where the teacher and the student only meet online in language lessons. Learning the language is therefore contained in a space only for the Sámi pupil, not their peers or together with their regular teacher. Cultural aspects might be education topics, since language and culture are intertwined, but they are still only available to pupils through these lessons and not through in-life experiences or in equality-based fellowships together with peers. The access to education in a fellowship then seems to take an individual standpoint, not taking into consideration what norms lie in a fellowship and that having access to a fellowship does not challenge the cultural aspects of this fellowship.

Looking at the point of participation (Bachmann and Haug 2006), all pupils should have the opportunity to participate, regardless of their abilities and prerequisites. Here, the point is that simply having access is not enough; there needs to be active participation, regardless of abilities and prerequisites, for it to be an inclusive education. Yet, for active participation to be an option, understanding cultural codes is a condition, and co-participants need to have an understanding of the cultural basis. Sámi pupils in Sámi schools, and thus Sámi areas, are surrounded by Sámi ways of being and have a more solid starting point for being active participators in their own education, although teaching and learning materials in Sámi languages are scarce. Sámi pupils living outside Sámi cultural areas will need to translate and explain basic cultural values and traditions for non-Sámi pupils and teachers who are not familiar with them, thus hindering actual and natural participation for the Sámi pupils. In Norwegian society, regardless of whether it is in or outside a Sámi area, Norwegian culture is present at all arenas: locally, at each store, with Norwegian names for food and other supplies; as language and topics in public media, such as radio and TV; in regulations based on Norwegian values; and in schools with curricula and textbooks based on Norwegian-formulated aims of competence. Being able to participate depends on a certain common understanding of ‘whats’ and ‘hows’ and tacit knowledge of norms and deviation. Sámi and Norwegian norms do not always coincide, leaving Sámi norms and values vulnerable to a majority understanding. For instance, when transferring traditional knowledge in cross-generation fellowships as a key activity for Sámi parents or when discussing peoples’ connection to land and water, a central Sámi value. If a fellowship has coinciding norms and values, active participation will, to a larger extent, uphold an individual’s ability to actively participate. The aim of participation therefore seems to be anchored at an individual level, overlooking the cultural aspect.

Having the ability to influence one’s own education and to be heard in such matters was originally worded as ‘democratisation’ (Bachmann and Haug 2006), implying how education should be a democratic institution in which the pupils should be heard on matters concerning them. However, in a school society, this also entails a somewhat common baseline and arguments being brought forth. From a Sámi perspective, trust in how authorities attend to Sámi rights and Sámi issues is up for debate and is discussed in the report by the Truth and Reconciliation Commission (2023)1. The report points out that there is a gap between established juridical rights and the following-up of these rights by the authorities. One example is the government establishing a new Education Act even though the Sámi Parliament broke off consultations with the Department of Education due to a lack of willingness to take the Sámi Parliament’s suggestions into consideration (Lægland and Sandblad 2023). The Sámi Parliament argued that access to Sámi teaching and learning material should be anchored in the Education Act, on an equal basis to Norwegian textbooks; they argued that there is a need to facilitate that more Sámi pupils outside Sámi areas should have the opportunity to learn subjects such as mathematics and social sciences in Sámi, not only as a language subject. Although such issues are at a high political level, they still serve as an example of democratic solutions misrepresenting Sámi interests. Thus, being able to influence one’s own education based on cultural prerequisites is dependent on local schools’ willingness to understand and take this into consideration. It is likely that Sámi pupils in Sámi schools have a higher potential for being heard in matters concerning Sámi issues than their peers attending Norwegian schools, even if the school is not able to adjust to their requests. However we look at the requirement for democratisation, it still seems to be targeting an individual level.

The final area suggested by Bachmann and Haug (2006) is learning outcomes, both socially and academically. First, learning outcomes are usually measured at an individual level, mainly as grades in different subjects or as comments on a pupils’ orderliness and conduct, hence individual assessment. Second, this raises the question: what is the desired learning outcome? A recent report evaluating the Norwegian curriculum (Somby et al. 2024) found that the aims of competence in which Sámi content was explicitly mentioned were phrased from a majority perspective. For instance, ways of understanding learning as a phenomenon differ between Sámi and Norwegian points of view (Aikio 2010; Buljo 2020). In the Sámi tradition, learning is strongly connected to actions and experiences based on trying and failing, not something to be transferred from others. In the curricula, aims of competence with explicit Sámi content were mainly phrased as ‘getting insights into’ or ‘talking about’ Sámi topics (Somby et al. 2024). For Sámi pupils, academic learning outcomes are thereby derived from a Norwegian understanding, not only of learning as a phenomenon but also of content. Turning to social learning outcomes, social ways of being and acting naturally depend on cultural traditions in the local environment, transferring socially acceptable acts and cracking down on socially unacceptable acts. Thus, a transferring of values is dependent on what is accepted by a society that consists of a majority. Enabling pupils’ potential for learning outcomes would not only be targeting the individual, but also be culturally dependent in terms of the expected academic achievements and social interactions.

The way we have understood and worked with inclusive education seems to be by using efforts directed towards the individual, specifically the individual with special educational needs. The individual would benefit from being part of a fellowship and actively participating, regardless of their abilities and prerequisites. The individual would benefit from being able to have a say in matters concerning their own education and from an education aiming for the best possible social and academic learning outcomes. For the generic pupil, these efforts will also enhance the individual’s potential for a good education. For the Sámi pupil, however, this has led to an education promoting a non-Sámi way of living and learning, integrating Sámi pupils into the existing Norwegian framework of schooling, as Hoskins and Jones (2022) suggest. Thinking that inclusion will benefit all pupils seems to be built on understandings stemming from an educational system that has been sorting pupils by abilities, anchored in a pathological and medical paradigm, and that has not been sensitive to cultural differences. Even though the concepts describing inclusive education mentioned earlier, such as participation, quality, equity and justice, seem relevant and important for Sámi pupils, as concepts, they are vulnerable to cultural understandings. If we were to discuss Sámi pupils with special educational needs, we would need to have another type of discussion, but for the Sámi pupils as a group, inclusive education has its limitations. The baseline has emerged from the field of special education; understandings and actions for inclusive education will therefore, to a greater extent, be connected to individual prerequisites than culturally based ones, but still sound like efforts with good intentions. This also raises the question of who’s needs are served in education and who defines these needs. If needs are anchored at an individual level in compulsory school, those would easily overrun Sámi community needs—for example, whose language we prioritise in education or the prioritisation of teaching and learning material in Sámi languages.

Indigenisation

Hoskins and Jones (2022) suggested that indigenising educational institutions is a way to move forward from Indigenous inclusion. Nakata (2006) explained how ‘‘Indigenisation’ is a strategy that seeks to define a space that is recognisably Indigenous’ (p. 270), but he goes on to warn against simplifications of Indigenous topics and issues when building knowledge, often brought on by so-called Western ontology. Hoskins and Jones (2022) also added that ‘the normalisation of Indigenous ways of being and knowing’ is part of indigenisation (p. 307). Indigenous ways of thinking must then be given space in the educational system, specifically for Indigenous pupils, by introducing and developing Indigenous peoples’ ontology and epistemology as academic ways of understanding. Nakata (2006) underscored the difference between studying Indigenous knowledge in a Western institution and learning it in its own context, whereby the former distorts and reduces its meaning to fit into the ontology of Western understandings and the latter emerges from Indigenous knowledge and experience. He goes on to advocate for the understanding of relationships with the surroundings, not necessarily physical, but also theoretical and historical. In this ‘intersection between Indigenous and Western systems of knowledge’ lies the possibility to negotiate them, he claims (Nakata 2006, p. 274).

Based on Hoskins and Jones (2022), indigenising education with regard to Sámi pupils and students would involve education and training whereby Sámi traditional knowledge is valued and used as a resource, space is established for Sámi presumptions, and their priorities are supported and recognised as a resource. As I see it, such efforts would benefit both Sámi and non-Sámi pupils, students and their teachers. When trying to make sense of other languages, one also develops more understanding of one’s own language. When trying to make sense of other cultures, one starts observing one’s own culture and maybe questioning issues previously invisible or taken for granted. When at the intersection between different sets of knowledge, deeper discussions of negotiations can take place within a community.

By indigenising education, it would not be the Sámi’s responsibility to explain ‘what is Sámi’ but it would facilitate efforts to investigate how to know and understand. Non-Sámi educators would have to take responsibility for understanding their own context and position, facilitating for non-Sámi pupils and students an education that would provide opportunities for also understanding their own identity in relation to Sámi culture. This would include understanding one’s own history in relation to Sámi history and orienting these efforts towards Sámi knowledge and history without demanding explanations from the Sámi community. By this, I do not mean to say that the non-Sámi community should not be allowed to ask Sámis questions, but that attention should be directed to who has responsibility. By taking responsibility and contextualising oneself in relation to the other, one can actively position oneself by drawing up boundaries for what is taken for granted in one’s own culture. For instance, in Sámi teacher education, it is my experience that student teachers continuously address the Sámi school, the Sámi teacher and the Sámi pupil. In Norwegian teacher education, student teachers talk about the school, the teacher and the pupil without the need for specifying further. Sámi student teachers are used to contextualising themselves in relation to the society of the majority. Norwegian student teachers have the privilege of not needing to. By being aware and taking the responsibility of seeing oneself and one’s work in relation to a larger community, awareness and sensitivity to norms will become more visible.

Even though there is potential in the principle of inclusive education, as it is formulated in the current Norwegian core curriculum, it still carries some unspoken premises. In contrary to inclusion, indigenisation stands on Indigenous ground and explicitly promotes it. Nonetheless, indigenisation carries a presumption that non-Sámis are willing to do some of the work by questioning their own assumptions and potentially changing their base of knowledge. Rather than learning or teaching about Sámi issues from a so-called Western point of view, it also involves learning and restructuring what you already think you know. Rather than assessing and facilitating an individual or a group based on what you already think you know, it also entails changing your own set of beliefs. It could be that inclusive education is a more comfortable educational aim for education authorities.

5. Conclusions

Since inclusive education has emerged from special educational needs and efforts to bridge the gap between what is normal and what is special, the concept and actions for succeeding are not culturally sensitive and will not benefit Sámi pupils as a group. Efforts to provide inclusive education as a measure benefitting all are based on individual needs, not taking cultural diversity into consideration. Thus, expecting education to be inclusive by targeting individuals will rather have an integrating effect, upholding a majority understanding of values and norms and working against its aims of participation, quality, equity and justice based on a Sámi perspective. For Sámi pupils to experience these aims, indigenisation seems to be the way forward. Indigenising education can open up possibilities for non-Sámi society to contextualise itself in relation to the other and raise awareness of positionality. Such efforts could potentially benefit Indigenous peoples in a longer perspective by creating space for developing their own perception of their own culture and a basis of knowledge less dependent on majority needs and premises. It would demand a huge ask, but both the Sámi and the non-Sámi community could benefit both socially and academically from it.