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What follows was originally intended for publication on the TES website. Following concerns about the phrasing of a particular paragraph, specifically the comments of Ann Mroz at the TES Awards evening last night, this did not happen. Whilst taking on board those concerns, I have decided to publish here the final draft suggestion as it stood, in addition to the original comments to which a modification was offered. Whilst I accept that there is ambiguity, I also maintain that my paraphrase is broadly justified. I will also post the video of Ann’s speech below – please do watch and form your own judgement. If, in time and with further reflection, I come to the view that I have indeed misinterpreted or misrepresented comments, I will happily amend accordingly.


Great Yarmouth, 71.5%. Middlesbrough, 65.5%. Blackpool, 67.5%. Blaenau Gwent, 62%. Thurrrock, 72.3%. The North East, the North West, Yorkshire and the Humber, the East Midlands, the West Midlands, the South West, the South East, the East, even Wales.

This is not some rump. This is a majority, spread across an entire country.

The reaction of some amongst the teaching profession has been disappointing. Racism, xenophobia, Leave voters as thick, or deluded, or misled – nothing has been off the table. For some, there evidently exists the belief that only they can see through media spin and cast their vote rationally, an act beyond the abilities of the poor dupes voting Leave. One need not dwell too long on the dangers inherent in such thinking: the demonization and viewpoint delegitimisation of a whole swathe of people is probably not a value that, in our more sober moments, we would seek to pass on to our students.

For some, it is worse still. Alongside the various proclamations that teachers must now work to (re-)educate our students to eradicate such impulses from our schools, I am also told that [edited out once the video became available] the opening of the TES Awards included suggestions from the editor of this publication that teachers must address the kind of thinking that underpinned the arguments of Leave it was the responsibility of teachers to counter the kind of thinking that could move someone to vote Leave. The motivating factors, it appears, could only have been malign. Like a real-time exemplification of Haidt’s Righteous Mind thesis, that there might exist a worldview, indeed a value system, that might hold legitimacy beyond the majority mindset of the teaching tribe, is clearly anathema to some.culture-war1

On one level this might not be surprising – EU support correlates strongly with educational background, with a strong majority of graduates in favour of Remain, and teaching is of course a graduate profession – though the ferociousness of the reaction is nonetheless an issue of concern. Look at those figures for Great Yarmouth again – are we, as a profession, comfortable in being so far distant from those we serve? Might there be dangers in it?

Of course this brings uncomfortable questions. Does this political chasm between the teaching profession and those we serve point toward a bigger phenomenon? Does the (I would argue) liberal uniformity of the teaching profession sit well with the socially conservative values and worldview of large chunks of those we serve? Might we need to consider if this latent orthodoxy has shaped a school culture and values system that is not only alien to some, but might even alienate? Might we see some potential new perspectives for that stubborn underachievement of the ‘white working class’?

One might also urge caution for more pragmatic reasons: there is every chance a majority of parents in our school communities voted to Leave the European Union. It would be unwise to so publicly dismiss and disparage such a large group, whilst refusing legitimacy to alternative viewpoints might just reinforce that sense of dislocation. As the dust settles, more sensible minds will urge that we come together and seek to find a way of healing the social and cultural wounds that this referendum has laid bare.

Politically, this is already happening, even if it has not yet taken hold – speaking for my own party, the work of Jon Cruddas in seeking to understand the different political tribes, and what motivates and enlivens them, will no doubt prove invaluable, whilst Blue Labour has long narrated this disastrous socio-cultural disconnect and what it means for both Party and country. As the excellent John Harris recently wrote in the Guardian, ’what is now happening elsewhere in the UK underlines a tangle of other stuff – to do with culture, belonging and community – that is going to require a completely different level of response.’

ClqVA1IWEAEz32Y.jpgPerhaps we in teaching might also need to undertake a little of that self-reflection. Explaining the current milieu away by appeal to the superiority of the educated over the vices of the masses is unlikely to prove fruitful. Before we rush to judgement, we must see that those who tread different paths to the ones we walk nonetheless have legitimate concerns and arguments too.  And indeed some of those arguments – for democracy, perhaps, or sovereignty, or subsidiarity – hold intellectual legitimacy and appeal across the social and political spectrum.

Again: this is not some rump. This is a majority, spread across an entire country. We have a duty to engage with it.



*I should also add there has been one small modification – the changing from Moral to Righetous, when referring to Haidt.

The Myth of Maximal Efficiency

The ambitions of what might (very) loosely be referred to as ‘traditionalism’ in education have certainly changed over recent years. What was once a principled defence of an educational philosophy against those who would refuse it legitimacy, seems often now to refuse legitimacy to anything else. It is in this context that the argument for maximal efficiency is often to be found – why waste time, we hear, doing those things which are least effective? The poorest, we are told, have no such time to lose. Who could deny them, it is demanded, the very best possible education?

In other words, do what works best, according to the desired outcome of immediate knowledge transfer, and don’t waste time doing anything else.

Of course, one might find it hard to argue against such an instinct. It is certainly compelling. And in its intellectual tidiness does its immediate power lie.

But one might yet quibble. After all, the idea that every moment in the classroom has to be maximally efficient can exclude from the educational encounter those things which are not so readily expendable.  It might well be hard to argue with pious appeals to helping those who struggle, but this need not lead to an embrace of the language and logic of manufacture, as if this alone were sufficient explanation for what happens in the classroom, an educational aetiological fallacy that negates competing claims for educational flourishing.

It is in this narrowing that one might take issue. Because at heart, education is about relationships – a blindspot of the educational revolution which I have previously criticised – which means that it is not always efficient. Indeed, it is sometimes messy. And it is in this messiness – the complex interconnected web which confound the calculations of technocrat and bureaucrat alike – that one can, and indeed must, find learning. And of which those philosophies which direct everything we do in the classroom must take account. In other words, our education must be human.

Education, then, can be as much a group walk as a singular sprint. One might roam through a curriculum, not to idle, but because to frenziedly press one’s nose firmly to the grindstone might mean the beauty of the wider world struggles to enter into sight. Sometimes this means learning things in different ways, not because research suggests it has greatest technical efficiency, but because it offers an alternative angle from which to approach and absorb what might otherwise be obscure. Every second in the classroom does indeed count – but it is an unwarranted logical jump to so firmly wed this to isolated task efficiency.

This is not to say that the lesson must always to bend to the will and whim of the student – the teacher is the principal agent. But neither must it require one to reject a holistic account of what it means for humans to learn, together. In other words, sometimes the teacher might choose an activity not because it is the single best strategy for knowledge transfer at a particular point in time, but because it is an effective wider strategy for creating the environment in which that knowledge transfer can effectively happen. No particular strategy should be judged from within a vacuum, but from within the wider scope of the learning milieu. The cultivation of a group, of an individual, of learning, can legitimate an approach because the whole really is greater than the sum of its isolated parts. Think of the sports team trying to address poor form with a team-bonding session at a local paintball centre, and we’re getting toward the point I am trying to make.

As for what this means in the classroom, this could be something a teacher has found to quickly settle a class into learning, or something which allows learning to proceed when her kids are tired at the end of a day, or just something which she happens to be able to deliver very successfully, through her skill and experience, irrespective of how others might struggle to do the same. It could be something which the teacher thinks will raise the mood, to improve the learning enthusiasm of the students, or because the teacher judges that this complex social organism that sits before her might just need to let off a bit off steam by trying something different.

And we could go further: it might even be something which she herself enjoys doing, to occasionally break up the monotony, and to give her the necessary boost to crack on during those bleak times of the year when teaching really is very difficult and those little boosts really aren’t luxuries. And that’s ok too, because as much as some would like pedagogy to be entirely child-centred, the well-being of the teacher is not irrelevant to the discussion either –the desire for fulfilment and the need for free-agency, within reasonable limits, are not optional extras but the very heart and soul of being human – and an effective teacher.

Perhaps, then, discussion of pedagogy, which for most teachers is a fringe issue, might begin to take account of wider realities. To say group work should never be used because it is not as effective as direct instruction is a little like saying that since fruit and vegetables are best for a healthy diet, therefore we should never eat chocolate – it is replicate in the realm of pedagogy that puritanism so triumphant elsewhere.

In other words, it is narrowing, and excludes from view the richness of life, the depth of what it means to be human, and the complex milieu in which a teacher must exist. So that, perhaps ironically, it is in the quest for maximal efficiency that one loses sight of what, in the final analysis, might be the most effective approach to teaching and learning.

Catholics, Academies, and Catholic Academies

Since academisation has taken on an air of inevitability, I thought I’d offer up a few thoughts about what this could mean for Catholic education. Whilst some are instinctively opposed to the changes, below I offer some reasons why this could present an important opportunity for us to improve our educational offer, as well as offering up a few caveats. I should add, I’m no expert on these things, and just offering a few first reflections – for any basic mistakes, blinding omissions or searing naivety, mea culpa

Structure – Catholic schools, unlike many, are not organised through catchment areas. Historically this has meant Catholic schools have had quite diverse intakes, with students coming from all over town, whilst also being culturally diverse, particularly as immigration patterns have brought with them new communities of Catholics. Freedom from catchment has also meant there is geographic diversity with regards feeder schools, particularly in rural areas. This can lead to a certain atomism, particularly within a system where each school is encouraged to look only to its own affairs. Even within cities, there can be a dislocation between primary and secondary, and indeed between primaries themselves, so that feeder and fed have not always worked together as effectively as they could.

The new academisation programme, and the MAT structures that will emerge from it, gives an opportunity to bring coherence and a more collaborative culture to our educational offer. It could help move our gaze away from supporting individual schools and their fairly loose relations with one another, toward a holistic perspective which starts with the question: ‘how do we provide a joined-up Catholic education from 3-18?’ This will bring new perspectives but also new priorities, looking toward a Common Good rather than our current archipelago approach – and perhaps with it a new era of reciprocity and achievement.

Governance – whilst we are used to hearing that schools need to attract governors with greater expertise and skills, those who make such lofty submissions do not always appear well aware just how difficult a task that is. Not all schools have available to them the local pools of expertise that might exist in abundance in the big cities, so that attracting governors with the desired skills can be quite challenge. To then find amongst that limited pool enough candidates willing to give up their time, for free, in a role that has become increasingly demanding, only serves to restrict recruitment still further.

The MAT structure could allow schools to come together under one governing body, diluting the challenges of attracting skilled governors and enabling stability across all sites. Indeed, it could also transform governance from an isolationist to a collective perspective that might seek to share resources, staffing and practice in the belief that, just as a rising tide can lift all boats, so a broad-based approach to governance can be for the benefit to the wider community of schools.

Curriculum – one of the most exciting and potentially transformative freedoms of academy status is that of curriculum. A new academies structure offers the possibility of developing the kind of holistic, integrated Catholic curriculum which serves students best. It could allow us to progress beyond the secularised model of learning, and the inflexible tramlines of subject departments, and put in place a philosophy of learning which supports our primary intention of forming both person and intellect.

Independence – whilst Catholic schools work closely with their LA, they also collaborate with one another through the diocesan education structures. This has been fruitful and allowed the sharing of expertise and viewpoint across diverse regions. However, it has not always been as effective as it could, especially since so many schools are in entirely different LAs, indeed entirely different socio-demographic or cultural situations, and are thus often ploughing different fields.

The development of deanery-based MATs could offer an opportunity to usher in a new era of collaboration and, importantly, allow diocesan education services an enhanced role in overseeing but also directing those schools. Whilst schools have historically worked with LAs for improvement and development, this could (and should) now fall to diocesan education services. This might represent a capacity increase that not all education services can currently meet, but exciting possibilities present themselves for those who would grasp them – alongside Section 48 inspections, an opportunity for more direct collaboration and oversight between cathedral house and schools arises which, whilst bringing with it a heavy responsibility, can provide an opportunity for taking a more prominent role developing the Catholic ethos and academic excellence of our schools.

Conditions – there is a genuine and entirely understandable concern from many quarters about what academy status means for terms and conditions of those who work within. There is a danger I am being overly optimistic on this, but academisation could allow Catholic schools to lead the way in showing others how we believe schools ought to be run (I think of one MAT not far from me which abolished Performance Related Pay), and put in place our own vision of management and accountability that better reflects our concerns with the welfare of all those who contribute to our education offer. We are a pro-family and pro-life faith – could academy status allow us the power to witness, so far as is possible, to those two things in a way that had not been entirely possible up until now?

Leadership – it is difficult to find leaders in Catholic schools due to the limited pool of eligible applicants. Whilst in some places this might be because those who are eligible simply never receive the kind of training that could prepare them for leadership, there are other places which do not have enough suitable candidates to train up even if they wanted to do so.  MATs could offer a streamlining of leadership structures within a certain locale, sharing expertise and training opportunities across a group of schools. This could improve succession planning and staff development, ensuring we have a pool of well-trained future leaders to call upon when required.

There are, however, some challenges to be acknowledged:

Ghettoisation – a collection of Catholic MATs, which seem to be the most natural forming for our schools, could risk isolation from the wider educational community. It would be vital that Catholic MATs were important voices in their local educational contexts, alongside their collaboration with one another. We are, and ought to be, an outward looking institution – we need to ensure our schools would continue to do the same. A case of both/and rather than either/or.

Leadership – Whilst the presence of good leadership could be used to improve a wider variety of schools within a MAT structure, this can go both ways. At the moment, poor leadership in one school need not impact the chances of another school down the road. Within a MAT, the potential impacts of poor leadership can be magnified, trickling down across a broader number of schools, thus drawing a whole cluster of Catholic schools into a negative spiral. This would not be good for the children in our schools, or the reputation of Catholic education more generally. Diocesan authorities and MAT governance would need to be vigilant here, and willing to be involved to ensure no such outcome could be allowed to occur.

Conditions – as above, it could go the other way. Concerns about staff welfare and working conditions, and the new powers academies have which might further erode these two things, are entirely fair. Faithful MATs, and possibly also diocesan educations services, would hopefully recognise management and leadership to also be opportunities for witness, and have in place floor standards and levers that can be pulled when it is deemed a serious issue arises.

Supportit might well be the case that many diocesan educational services do not have the personnel or the budget to be able to provide the level of support which a properly reformed and unified MAT structure might demand. Indeed, some other dioceses may deem that such an enhanced level of support is an investment that cannot be justified in straitened times, when the Church takes on so many other responsibilities alongside education, each with their own competing demands on time and resources. Should this be the case, then a gulf could open up between those dioceses than cannot or choose not to support a reformed model, and those that can and do. From a wider Catholic perspective this is clearly less than ideal, and would do little to challenge (and might even entrench) the already existing divide between different dioceses and their schools.

One for the Dads

Sometimes one hears recycled the kind of slogan that has become normative within political circles but which, on reflection, does not bear much critical reflection. One that has cropped up again over last few days is the suggestion that women have to make decisions about career and family from which men are immune. The first of which I am not seeking to deny, but the latter of which I can absolutely dispute. It is lazy cliché more than malicious slur, as if males throughout the land are but unreformed cavemen, each of them their own Wolf of Wall Street refusing to let minor matters like love and commitment inhibit their own sense of career progress and achievement.

Which is nonsense. Fathers love their kids too. And their wives. And they make sacrifices to be the kind of father and husband that they feel they ought to be. Fathers, too, are faced with difficult decisions about career and family, and will opt to postpone personal career ambitions for the sake of their loved ones. Sometimes this is leaving work; sometimes it is going part-time; sometimes it is foregoing a tilt at promotion; sometimes it is simply trying to keep a healthy balance between work and family life, such that one is de facto ruled out of the promotion field anyway.

And others try to juggle both. To ‘have it all.’ We work hard because we want to provide for our family and make them proud, and because we feel compelled by the same call to service, the same guilt, and the same determination to do well for the kids in our care. And then we come home and put in a shift there too. Before starting all over again and working late into the night ready for the grind to begin again in the morn.

We do this not because we want a medal, or special praise, or think it makes us any different from anybody else, but because it is both our duty and our calling – we love, too. Because we love, we care. Because we love, we make sacrifices. And it is in these sacrifices we feel we are really being a man.

If some make different choices then, male or female, that is their call.

But I know one thing: if ever the day arrives that I choose to leave teaching, it will be because the current workload and job demands turn me into the kind of individual that cannot also be the father and husband that my wife and children have every right to expect.

In other words, juggling a career and bringing up a family is not a challenge exclusive to women. It hits us men too. This is not to say that it does not affect women more acutely – one can quite believe it does – but there is no need to question the commitment of fathers in seeking to right that injustice. If women are discriminated against because they are women, then we should be exploring that with a view to eradicating it. But one needn’t make the case by talking down the sacrifices men make, too.

Because we are parents too. And that impacts upon us, too. And it means we often have difficult choices to make about our careers, too. But I reckon it might just be that little bit easier if we all stood together when declaring that any job which puts us in such a position in the first place, male or female, is the real problem.

Did we create the ‘cry-bullies’?

A toxic new phenomenon is hitting our universities and is causing concern amongst the commentariat. It is the increasingly muscular determination of student culture to shut down viewpoints with which it disagrees, which usually breaks along lines defined by an evolving identity politics. With the no-platforming of individuals long-associated (in the minds of a certain generation) with free-speech and the challenging of social injustice, the situation has taken on a new urgency, with more and more sharpening their nibs and drafting the same conclusion: the kids are out of control.

And since these students arrive at university following 13 years in the state education system, one is forced to consider the question: have we helped create this phenomenon?

In our schools, the importance of ‘safe spaces’ is something that has long been recognised. Perhaps not in the way that term has come to be applied in our universities today, but certainly in the recognition that the learning process requires a certain protection which allows us, and our students, to address challenging issues honestly and openly. In short, one is less likely to get kids to engage with a discussion if there is a fear of mockery and shame associated with it.freespeech-SamGraham-flickr-370x242

And in a way, this is unsurprising – we rightly promote tolerance, respect, and equality, all of which directs the outer limits of both how and what we communicate. Kids need to have a comfortable environment to grow, develop, to be – it is our duty to provide that.

But if the outcome is what we have now, then we must surely ask: are we getting it wrong?

Now, to change tack a little, a question: how often, during their whole thirteen years year at school, do students receive a consistent socially conservative message? How often in thirteen years do students have a sustained critical engagement with socially conservative viewpoints? Indeed how often, during their entire schooling, do students ever receive socially conservative viewpoints presented in sensitive and sympathetic tones?

Answer: very rarely. And when they do, it is too often framed in the language of rejection. The socially conservative viewpoint has been ‘othered’ – something to be acknowledged, for sure, but usually to deny. Such that the fundamental legitimacy of these beliefs are rejected, the property of ‘others’, people not like us, with our education and our civility and our morally superior ways. In other words, mirrored in our schools is something of what Jon Cruddas has diagnosed as Labour’s alienation of ‘the Settlers’, ‘who are socially conservative and are concerned with home, family and national security. They value safety, a sense of belonging, their own cultural identity and the continuity of their way of life. They want to avoid risk. Tradition, rules and social order are important to them.’

The problem is this creates a cultural vacuum between schools and home, since it means students are only ever likely to come across socially-conservative viewpoints at home, and most likely to hear them challenged at school. Whilst one might think this natural, indeed defensible, it also inculcates a subtle prejudice against social-conservatism as being anti-intellectual, the articulation of ignorance, something ill-associated with the scholarly. It not only forces a choice upon a student, but also reinforces a sense of intellectual superiority in having made it in a particular direction. To be liberal is to be more intelligent. Haidt’s dilemma plays out in our schools every day.

Which is ironic, since there is little doubt that the cry-bully phenomenon is a deeply anti-intellectual movement, with the collapse into the personal really representing the disregard of the academic. But this also interweaves with wider educational presumptions and forces us to ask another difficult question: does our child-centred approach elevate the self-referential as beyond critique? Does it mean our students are less likely to be challenged, to be told they are wrong, their views lacking validity, having been elevated well above their role and status (student interview panels, anyone?)?

One might be inclined to say yes, but there is an obvious caveat here: those students with socially conservative views, which (as a rule of thumb) quite often means the poorest and the religious, will very much be challenged when they are perceived to be wrong. In other words, safe spaces tend to exist in one direction, defined by a hierarchy which takes particular form according to wider social mores, and that overarching injunction to provide a safe space, which usually means for the expression of the transgressive against presumed historical norms and prejudices. This elevates the perceived transgressive to the progressive, for which we are morally obliged to provide platform and a ‘safe space’ for expression.

downloadOf course none of this explains the cry-bullies phenomenon, which is as much about methodology (no platforming and denying freedom of speech) as opinion (why students are embracing this way of thinking.)

But I wonder if, putting the two together, a potential perspective emerges: a new liberal ethic which demonises impediment to personal gratification and agency, combined with a moral demand for safe spaces which castigate the closing down or challenging of this new liberalism (again, this tends not the case for socially conservative viewpoints – except for the issue of abortion, perhaps, which has proven more resilient), which produces a sense of both entitlement and superiority that renders alternative narratives simply beyond the pale. Such that we send students off to university with all the mission of a moralist but none of the skills the apologist. Their views appear self-evident, having been incubated in an environment in which schools are more inclined to protect them from scrutiny. Or, in the words of one American student, in a recent iteration of this phenomenon: ‘it is not about creating an intellectual space. It is not. Do you understand that? It is about creating a home here.



And so we observe the new phenomenon, of ‘cry-bullies’ in university shutting down any and all expression they dislike. Feelings of community override intellectual dispute, precisely because for those who hold to it, the alternative lacks intellectual merit and is solely an expression of malice or prejudice designed to hurt feelings.

In other words, exactly the kind of thing over which schools would (rightly, I think) intervene.

But it seems to have become something else. And now we’re hearing about it. Not because it is terribly new – it has been an issue for years depending on your moral and/or political compass – but because it is turning upon itself and putting into the firing line precisely those who, historically, were at the forefront of challenging the prejudices of a previous generation with their own cries of ‘bigot!’.  In other words, the hunters have become the hunted. And yet now, perhaps, both must stand together, to combat a more pernicious anti-intellectualism that risks the dignity of something bigger than both: the point of having any education at all.

RE and Masculinity

Last night I came across these two excellent blog posts (here and here), exploring the tension between masculinity and our English curriculum and, secondly, our approach to dealing with the (social and physical) challenges of being a teenage boy. I commend them both fully – well written, thoughtful, and admirably honest.

And they rang true for me for various reasons. In the first instance, it reminded me of something I had read a while back by Cardinal Burke, talking about the ‘man-crisis’ in the Church. For Burke, the root of the problem stems from radical feminism, which in an American culture-war context might make sense, but which I’m going to steer well clear of here, not least because I’m not even really too sure what feminism means anymore, with each subsequent wave seemingly disagreeing with those previous in ever more acrimonious circumstance. For Burke, however, it is a key issue, and he has been at the forefront of a new cultural movement within the Church trying to appeal to the masculine, purposely using the language of (spiritual) warfare and militant service as his perceived antidote to the crisis he identifies. Whether one agrees with his diagnosis or his cure is moot – he is surely on to something in identifying the problem.

765438276292d90a29c0add0a4a5833eA little closer to home, it also reminded me of a chat with a parish priest, during a 40 hours’ devotion we held last year. For non-Catholics, the 40 hours is a period of continuous prayer and devotion to the Blessed Sacrament, day and night. I remember the priest telling me how the night/early-morning ‘watching’ used to be known as the ‘Dads and lads’ slots, as the males of the community took it upon themselves to do the more anti-social/difficult hours, an act of service but also responsibility traditionally expected within the community. In this sense it was both a ritual and a rite of passage – it shaped and identified the role of the male within the community. One might bray at this nowadays, but it was considered an act of service rather than superiority, or the suggestion that ‘Mams and lasses’ were incapable. Alas, this practice had fallen away now and, along with it, so has the attendance of ‘Dads and lads’ more generally.

There is nothing much new in any of this – Benedict’s reform of the liturgy was itself often framed as a return to the kind of ritualism that appealed to the minds of young men (the context being a catastrophic drop in seminarians in the West) – and the idea that the Church has abandoned a consideration of the masculine is a long and well-tested thesis.

But it had me wondering about what we do in our schools too – and I should say at this point that I’m thinking about Catholic education, the only type I really know. Have we done the same? How often is faith deemed to be a bit, well, un-manly? How often are prayer groups and social justice projects female-dominated? How often do boys see it as an assault on their masculinity, rather than an affirmation of it? Increasing the general involvement of boys in our academic and spiritual programme is a constant source of discussion – is this unique to our particular locale, or is this a wider trend?

And one wonders if our RE curriculum can sometimes be the same. RE is often very good atRE-logo tackling difficult issues, but how good are we at proposing difficult solutions? Generally speaking, it is all too easy for RE to be transformed into a gospel of nice – think ‘gospel values’ and the Golden Rule and you’ll be getting close – but does this talk to all students equally? Do the general tropes and slogans and images, common to all RE, have equal appeal across the board? Does the drilled repetition to ‘Love thy neighbour’ get through the gender gap? And why is it so tempting to edit out the less fashionable things Christ talked of – his vision of hell, his call for sacrifice, his bringing of the sword (and the spiritual warfare, but also Judgement, it pointed toward)?

Indeed, therein lies a good example: God is Love, I’m certain all students will know that, but He is also Judge – do we hold both equally? And if we don’t, what is the impact of that?

Or to bring this down into my own practice, how often have we explored the gospel through the lens of heroic sacrifice? How often have we really thought of why Christ might have flipped those tables, or Peter slice that ear? How often do we speak of heroism of martyrdom, the joy of sacrifice, or the sheer bloody-minded revolution it really is to proclaim a gospel of Love in a world that despises it? Christ said we should expect to be hated for His sake, and that takes some guts. Do we make faith something altogether much easier than that? A kind of safe-space spirituality where nothing should be allowed to be difficult? And how often have we discussed whether that is justified? Indeed, how often have we challenged males with just such an injunction, a calling to sacrifice – an important virtue whether one holds faith or not – as a choice that is (dare one say it), ‘manly’?

Of course, I fully understand why some might think this exclusionary – there can certainly be no suggestion that women do not also fully take upon themselves heroic sacrifice, dutifully and joyfully. But is our language unwittingly exclusionary is another sense, too, that being in its appeal to masculine self-image? One must tread carefully here; there are potential landmines all over the place (policies aimed at boys, despite their huge comparative underachievement in school, often seem less popular than one might hope for). But at the very least, this: is this issue something of which we even take account?

And with all these questions, I have no easy answers – I’m not decided one way or the other. But it’s got to be a perspective that warrants inspection. Any thoughts?

Marking Policy Review – Tilted Perspectives

We’ve already had a workload review from the DfE. It didn’t achieve much. Still, at the end of last year the DfE announced another review, with three panels created to assess the impact of workload in our schools – Marking, Data and Planning. One can hardly doubt that this is in response to the recruitment and (more significantly) retention crisis facing our schools, however much Nick Gibb might deny that such an issue exists. Still, I thought I would blog a few thoughts, specifically about its Marking Policy Review panel, as I believe this to be the key driver of so many workload issues facing teachers today. Below are three key areas where, and why, I think it will be disappointingly limited in perspective.


School contributors

Nine representatives from schools have been invited to contribute to the panel. These are:


St. George’s RC Primary School – inspected 2007, interim letter 2011 – Grade 1

Churchend Primary – inspection 2008 (EY 2015), academy conversion 2012 – Grade 1

Wensley Fold CofE Primary Academy – inspected 2009, academy conversion 2013 – Grade 1

Shaw Primary Academy – inspected 2011, academy conversion 2013 – Grade 2

Plantsbrook School – inspected 2011, academy conversion 2012 – Grade 1

Rise Park – inspected 2011, academy conversion 2014 – Grade 2

Barr Beacon School – inspection 2014, academy conversion 2012,  – Grade 1

The Wroxham School – inspection 2014, academy conversion 2012 – Grade 1

Portsmouth High School – no OFSTED inspection


So what does this tell us? That the majority of schools contributing to a review of marking policy and workload have had no recent contact with OFSTED, and the majority have been graded as outstanding (with a couple ‘good’) meaning they have had no negative recent contact with OFSTED either. Of the nine schools represented, seven have not had an OFSTED inspection in four years or more – in that same time other schools could have had two or three.

This really matters. As I have written previously.

It should be noted that those schools graded ‘outstanding’ and ‘good’ have more latitude in being magnanimous with their marking policies. I wish they would keep this in mind when proclaiming to the rest of the world how else it could be done. It is no surprise that schools in the lower grade categories implement such onerous policies upon their staff (further reinforcing that cycle which really they need to break.) After all, at the very least they need to show that Something Is Being Done.  Yet those at the top end, with consistently strong results and the kind of intake that almost locks in the top category grades (hot air about coasting schools notwithstanding) can experiment with different strategies and a more imaginative marking approach that will be tolerated by inspection teams so long as positive results keep landing on the doormat each August.

Those at the bottom simply do not have that freedom. And in fairness it might be considered reckless to do so: should they try, then they immediately hand OFSTED a great big stick to hit them with should their results fail to do anything other than transform overnight.

In other words, a huge blind spot appears – the impact OFSTED inspections can have on workload and marking policies, particularly in those schools given a poor grading (we’ll leave for now the correlative link between socio-economic indicators and OFSTED gradings). Meaning that those schools whose workload issues derive from OFSTED intervention and feedback, and the necessity that this should be the case, are without a direct voice.

This seems such an obvious statement, and such an evident issue, that one would naturally be inclined to question why such perspectives should not be included. To suggest, as some might, that outstanding schools are designated as such precisely because of the impact of their marking and feedback policies, such that their wisdom and best-practice should be allowed to trickle down to those who need to improve, is such a flimsy and disingenuous claim that I’m doubtful anybody would ever seriously make it. As such, it would not be a huge leap of the imagination to wonder if the composition of the panel might just be ordered toward downplaying the detrimental impact OFSTED can have on schools, and more particularly the workload and well-being of the staff in those schools upon whom it delivers its judgement.



I would never suggest that any one full-time classroom teacher has a harder time with marking than any other. I simply couldn’t know and wouldn’t presume to ask – I assume that every subject has its unique challenges and every teacher works hard to meet them. I would also be unwilling to say that marking in secondary is any tougher than it is in primary, or vice-versa – I take it is as axiomatic that the demands of each are excessive, and trying to turn this into a comparative issue for bragging rights is not particularly helpful.

However, it is a truism that the nature of a marking policy can impact different departments in different ways. For example, to take a secondary marking policy, then (all things being equal) a policy with a specific focus on literacy intervention is going to have a different impact on PE than it will, say, History (which is not to downplay the extensive commitments PE colleagues have to after-school activities, which History doesn’t). This is just a statement of the obvious.

And this is important. A typical humanities teacher in a secondary school could have 17+ classes with 30+ children. That is 500 children per week – not to mention homework and assessment. And, being a literacy-based subject, there will tend to be copious amounts of writing. This means its challenges are unique – even different from other literacy based subjects, the obvious example being English, with fewer classes (6? 7?) and smaller sets, and more opportunity (due to much more regular contact) to be able to implement the feedback and marking strategies directed within a marking policy.

Again, this is not to downplay different challenges or to indulge in comparative tales of woe – marking the sheer amount of writing students must get through in English is a challenge I would not relish – but it is important to ensure alternative perspectives are given airing. Yet on this panel, of the three secondary schools represented (one an independent all-through school), there is just one contributor who seems to have a full-time teaching/marking timetable, a teacher of MFL, the other two contributors being a Deputy Head and a Head of English at an independent school (another of the independent contributors, David Didau, was also a former Head of English.) Indeed, of the nine represented schools, the composition is: one Executive Headteacher, two Headteachers, one Deputy Headteacher, one Assistant Headteacher, one Head of English (independent school), and three class teachers, two with TLR responsibility, both of whom are primary based.

In other words, of a panel of 14, there is just one voice representing the challenges of a full-time secondary teacher. Considering the recruitment but, perhaps more significantly, retention challenges facing secondary, I’m not convinced this is sufficient. Indeed, so far as listening exercises, it feels a bit tin-eared.



Finally, here’s the contributing schools mapped (I have put the two secondary schools in yellow, with the third being an all-through school):


Notice anything? We northerners, so frequently told we need to get up to speed, to get with the game, nonetheless rarely seem to find ourselves with a voice at the table and are hugely under-represented when we do (this applies to ‘the regions’ more generally). For example, taking all the three DfE workload panels as a whole, London has more representatives than the whole of Lancashire, Yorkshire, Cumbria, Cornwall, Dorset, Somerset, Northumbria, and East Englia put together.* As Laura McInerney put it recently, the North is sick of being gawped at – get us involved.

On a related note, I have to confess to being a bit angry when I first saw that Sir Michael Wilshaw had decided to aim his Piety Pistols at the North in a recent speech. Not because our kids don’t deserve better – but because there is already an institutional inequality that neither he, nor OFSTED, nor politicians ever seem willing to grasp when taking potshots at those of us exhausting ourselves at the coalface. After reading the speech a couple of times, I cooled a bit – Wilshaw does offer up a recognition of the need for political will, but mostly just as another angle from which to have a dig at northern education, and his superficial recognition of some of the challenges northern education faces (such as recruitment, training and leadership) yet contain no consideration whatsoever of the pernicious and corrosive influence OFSTED itself has on these key challenges (I have written of some of them here). After all, when Sir Michael was working wonders in Hackney he was getting £10,335 per student; a Headteacher in Stockton-on-Tees, of Benefits Street fame, can expect to receive around £4,486 and then be told their results have to be the same. Wilshaw is right to say poverty is not excuse – however, lack of funding clearly is.



The make-up of contributing schools to this policy review is largely southern, outstanding/good, and without recent OFSTED experience – with an obvious tilt toward primary.

I am not questioning the integrity or value of any contributors – I’m sure they all have vital insights to share – but this feels like a missed opportunity to really get broad and diverse testimony about the issues facing many in our school system today. Some topics, if not off-limits, are certainly beyond the recent collective experience of the schools represented. As such, one can’t but help feel there will be a tilted perspective, away from the realities of teachers working in our toughest schools, where recruitment and retention is most difficult, and where workload plays a huge part in that. And indeed, where OFSTED plays a huge part in that. As such, I’m not sure there any grounds to be optimistic that this workload review will be any more effective than the previous one.


*the wider composition of all three panels joined together can be seen here (for the sake of ease I have not listed all the schools of the Ark Schools or the Rowan Learning Trust, both of whom appear on the Data Management Review Group – the Ark network consists of 34 schools based in London, Portsmouth, Hastings and Birmingham, whilst the Rowan Learning Trust has 3 schools, two in Wigan and one in Liverpool. Link: https://www.google.com/maps/d/edit?hl=en_US&app=mp&mid=zOHsNRts1Djg.kmuSw4yDOKuo


Marking – In Defence of SLT

OFSTED has a problem with its image problem. Acutely aware of its disastrously low standing within the profession of which it is supposed to be the guardian, it has sought to transform its austere and inward-facing image into that of an open and responsive organisation capable of addressing the concerns of ordinary teachers about the quality of its operation and the nature of its impact. It was from here that OFSTED – employing new opportunities afforded through social media to engage in dialogue directly with teachers – has set about trying to slay some of what it calls the ‘myths’ associated with its name and which wreak havoc throughout the education system. Which, so far as any recognition that the existence of OFSTED has indeed wrought havoc throughout the education system can be considered progress, is something to be welcomed.
The latest clarifications surrounding marking have been particularly well received. Teachers, some of them living at the sharp edge of ridiculous marking policies, see OFSTED explicitly stating they are not looking for what is contained in said ridiculous marking policies and immediately sense that OFSTED is on their side against a capricious or at best ignorant SLT. Indeed, for SLT to persist with such policies, even after OFSTED have made such clarifications, further fuels the fires of injustice – for many, OFSTED are potential allies against a common foe.
And yet the hard fact is that many schools do indeed continue with ridiculous marking policies. And many teachers do feel exasperated. For all that OFSTED might try to paint themselves as blameless in this, there nonetheless still exists so much poor school policy being peddled under the guise of ‘what OFSTED want’. The busting of myths, in other words, is having limited impact.
But to defend SLT members for a moment here, one can perfectly understand why this might be*. After all, it is all well and good publishing a list of things you are not looking for – but if the things you explicitly declare you are looking for are most easily evidenced through those things you claim you are not looking for, then the incentives for such practices to remain.
To take the hot button issue of marking, one might welcome the clarification that ‘there is no particular expectation about seeing written records from oral feedback.’ But if this is followed by the demand that there is evidence a) student understands that feedback, b) has acted upon it, and c) evidence that it has made an impact on their learning, then guess what school leadership teams might just be inclined to suggest we do?
In short, if you say ‘oh we don’t need to see X, just Y and Z’, whilst the easiest way to evidence Y and Z is through X, then of course schools will keep pushing X, whatever ‘myth-busting’ documents teachers wearily wave in front of their leadership.
And who can blame SLT for that? The reality is that inspections are short and there is a lot to fit in. Inspectors need to see hard evidence. Written records and feedback is hard evidence. And however much OFSTED protest their innocence, with Therouxian levels of faux-naivety, inspectors can nonetheless conveniently have their evidence box ticked by precisely that which OFSTED are so clearly at pains to suggest there is ‘no particular expectation’ to see.
With the stakes so high, and the quality of inspection teams so variable, and consistency so lacking, and the chances of appeal so non-existent, and the potential impact on careers, schools and the local community so harmful… well, would you take the chance?
This is not to wave through the weak-kneed leadership teams who knowingly implement the impossible at the cost of the health and sanity of their colleagues: the ridiculous and wrong-headed marking policies one can find in so many of our schools are a just cause for resentment. I’m just not so sure we can so easily transfer the blame away from OFSTED for this, and dump it all so squarely on to the shoulders of leadership teams. The incentives in the system are perverse – it should come as no surprise that the policies adopted to meet them are likewise. A perfectly rational desire for (institutional) self-preservation would have it so.
A final comment. It should be noted that those schools graded ‘outstanding’ and ‘good’ have more latitude in being magnanimous with their marking policies. I wish they would keep this in mind when proclaiming to the rest of the world how else it could be done. It is no surprise that schools in the lower grade categories implement such onerous policies upon their staff (further reinforcing that cycle which really they need to break.) After all, at the very least they need to show that Something Is Being Done.  Yet those at the top end, with consistently strong results and the kind of intake that almost locks in the top category grades (hot air about coasting schools notwithstanding) can experiment with different strategies and a more imaginative marking approach that will be tolerated by inspection teams so long as positive results keep landing on the doormat each August.
Those at the bottom simply do not have that freedom. And in fairness it might be considered reckless to do so: should they try, then they immediately hand OFSTED a great big stick to hit them with should their results fail to do anything other than transform overnight.
Which is interesting. Because when one considers the geographic and socio-economic disparities amongst those grade categories, then yet another perspective emerges to that evolving debate about the challenges faced by schools in different locales, and ways in which education policy, and no less the inspection framework, might be neglecting or indeed hindering their progress.
*for clarity, I am not a member of a school leadership or management team. Just an ‘umble teach.

The Dignity of Being a Teacher

From Labour Teachers:

The reality of being a teacher is very different from what one supposes when first reflecting on whether to enter the profession. For here, giddy notions of broadening horizons and expanding minds abound; the Grind, which we all know so well, does not tend to feature. We think we’re going to change the world, or at least the lives of those who come before us. Which might make us egotists, but at least it gets the value of a good education about right.

Of course, we know the reality is different. Retention rates tell us so, whilst recruitment rates might just mean that the message is starting to filter through. There are many explanations for this, but roughly speaking three key issues seem to present themselves – poor management, poor behaviour, and finally (and most commonly) excess workload.

As I have explored elsewhere, a focus on workload as the core issue for our stressed-out and anxious workforce is not entirely wrong, but it might not be the entire picture either. After all, plenty of other professions have serious workload issues but do not have the same retention issues that teaching has. Looking at meaning and value in work, and the absence thereof, can perhaps provide one further explanation for why this should be so.

The relationship between workload, responsibility and control is long established – it is no surprise that those at the bottom of the ladder, with the least control, tend to suffer most acutely from the stress/anxiety problem. Having too much to do is one thing; not having the power or the control to be able to do what you are asked to do is quite another. The rise of managerialism in our schools has often lead to a centralised, command-and-control approach to school leadership – it is not uncommon for teachers to be given responsibility for a predicament, without any of the control which might allow them to improve the situation. Here, the feeling of powerlessness, indeed of uselessness, proliferates.

But not only that. One thing that might strike those who enter teaching later than has become the norm is how little teachers are actually able to do. Not in terms of quantity of work, which is huge, but of meaningful responsibility. As hard as excess workload might be, one wonders if it is more acute when placed alongside other feelings, in particular the feeling of being underused and undervalued, which is the result of our shaping teaching into a low-control profession.

Teaching, in many ways, can be infantilising to those who thought it would be the very opposite – and all the more so to those who have experienced other career paths where this was not the case. Thus the chaffing juxtaposition between that person who entered teaching full of romantic ideals of self-agency and fulfilment, and the one grinding it out three years later – the feeling one has something to contribute runs up against the reality of not feeling like one is being allowed to meaningfully contribute. As such, teachers are increasingly the passive agents in the classroom – they deliver processes and follow systems over which they have little control or say, whilst those things that define who we are, that shape the unique contribution we could offer, rarely get space in our busy schedule.

And this is hard. Feeling underused makes that mountain of work appear all the more insurmountable. And the feeling of being undervalued which inevitably follows probably makes us all rather more sensitive than we should be. One wonders if this lack of meaning-making and value, intertwined as it is with a sense of self-worth, is what drives the recent focus on pedagogy and the fashion for turning teaching into a science – are the increasingly volatile debates over pedagogy symptomatic of the fact that this is the last place where teachers have some element of free agency? If so, one can understand why our new definitions of professionalism have come to be located there.
In other words, teachers are grasping for control, and pedagogy is (largely) the only place where we still have a trace of it – non-conformism here thus becomes an assault on our professionalism and is perhaps behind the desire to submit so much of what happens in the classroom to the demands of evidence and research. One cannot help but feel that relegating teacher judgement, skill and experience to the declarations of research journals doesn’t end up committing the same assault on the dignity of the profession it originally sought to counter.

As such, when we talk about the root cause of anxiety and stress in the profession, perhaps we need to unpack that ‘workload’ section a bit, and move understanding away from solely volume-based models of workload and toward terms like dignity, meaning and value of work. Which is a tad more ambitious than just having to write shorter reports or attend fewer meetings, but which might also provide a means of articulating why quite so many feel quite so disempowered in a profession which should, in theory at least, demand rather a lot more of us.