"What's the point?"

Before following secret orders of last-resort, the commanding officers of our Trident submarines are instructed to tune into Radio 4 and confirm that it is off the air - the thinking behind this is: if Auntie Beeb has indeed kicked the broadcasting bucket, Western civilisation really must be fucked. By similar logic, if more than 5 minutes have passed since a student has questioned the value of their education, I start to get an uneasy feeling of impending doom. For just as the frequency of news stories about speeding grandmothers, run-away dogs, royal families and other such trivia serves as a fairly reliable indicator that nothing 'too bad' has happened in the world of late, so too if kids are still asking “what’s the point of school?”, you can rest assured that no apocalyptic event dramatic enough to catch their woefully fleeting attention has yet occurred. Fidget spinners will spin. Nuclear warheads remain unarmed. The curriculum is still utterly uninspiring. We're alive. We’re okay. The status quo rocks on.

But beyond serving as an irritating retort to teacher’s requests for students to work, "what's the point?" is actually a valid and important question, and one that I think is worth constant reflection and review as education theory, the job market and social attitudes evolve with time. And can any teacher honestly claim that it isn't a question they themselves ask at least once every term/week/lesson (delete as appropriate)?

So what is the point of school, what is it’s purpose?

Well, to educate, clearly. But to educate how? By teaching, of course! And through practice, yes. So to teach and practice what?

This might sound like the transcript of one those excruciating INSET group brainstorming sessions, but seriously... to teach and practice what, then?

The cynics among you will retort that we teach to exams and students practice for tests. If you are more idealistic and high-minded in your views you will undoubtedly assert that schools are academic institutions and therefore places of enlightenment and study, sharing with children and young people all the knowledge we as a society already possess so that future generations can challenge and add to it, instilled with a love of learning and thirst for knowledge… the dream drivels on, but if this truly is your perception then the kids you teach must be very different from those I support, and you probably work in a private school -  either that, or you’re just naive and completely blind to the harsh reality staring you in the face (trust me, I know you exist because I’ve been in your lessons). Academic lust is not the reality, and exam grades should not be the aim.

No, surely the point of school - it’s primary purpose at least - is to prepare children for their life of adulthood and to enable them to function competently and happily as citizens in contemporary society? Obviously I’m not saying this is all there is to school, but surely it should be the starting point? Successful citizens first, academic achievers second. In fact, why academic achievers at all? Why not record-breaking sportsmen/women, creative geniuses, successful entertainers, entrepreneurs, inventors...? Maybe you are wholeheartedly agreeing with me.

“Yes. Yes! Of course that is what schools should be doing! Why are we even discussing this?”

Because it simply is not the case. Education aims for the academically unattainable at the expense of the utterly essential, particularly failing troubled and low-ability students. The curriculum, the classroom environment, (common) teaching methods... none of it effectively helps these children develop into content, confident and conscientious human beings. (And, let's be honest, most children are never going to break-records, or change the world, or really achieve anything at all; so successful citizenship is all we can realistically strive for with most - and what we should really aim for with all - students.)

But look at what we teach them: in English they study how to critically analyse and evaluate (does that even mean anything?) other people's work; in Maths they are taught how to follow memorised processes in order to tackle mostly abstract problems with only tenuous connections to the real world; in the Humanities we bore them with endless facts and statistics that have little meaning or relevance for them…

You get the idea.

But now think about what is actually required to succeed in adulthood. Generally, you need to achieve at least some of the following: hold down a job, minimise your debt, feed a family, cast a vote, stay out of prison and maintain your health. So why don’t we teach our students in English to read and understand legal documents, write persuasive and professional job applications, and discern the fact from the fiction in the media and political rhetoric they are exposed to; in Maths to manage their personal finances, understand the basic principles of our economy and business markets, and develop general logic and reasoning skills that they can apply in any problem-solving situation; in the Humanities to understand the foundations of the society in which they live, learn from its past mistakes, and appreciate the way in which it functions as part of an international community? Why not?

(And we haven't even touched upon the woefully inadequate timetabling of the PSHCE basics of sexual health, awareness of the law, healthy eating etc., or the general lack of provision for vocational subjects in most mainstream schools.)

These are all failings in subject specifications that few on the education front-line are likely to dispute, and for which many hold policy makers to account. But there are other far more fundamental capacities we fail to teach our students that are absolutely essential for successful life-functioning and happy citizenship, and these we cannot blame on the shortcomings of the curriculum: determination and team-work, patience and empathy, self-belief and emotional regulation among others. Besides our moral and social duty to model and promote these qualities, trying to teach children anything else (academic material in particular) before they are proficient in these basic life skills is utterly futile, counterproductive and sometimes even dangerously damaging. And what is most notable about many of the low-achievers I work with is not their academic weakness, but their multiple deficiencies in this psychological development.

You do not need citizenship lessons to teach these skills - children learn them somewhat passively and indirectly through habit and experience, and it is our responsibility to train them effectively. This means not excluding them from the classroom for an outburst of anger, but instead exploring with them methods for managing that anger; it means not isolating them for an act of violence, but resolving the issues that led to that conflict and helping them to actively reconcile with everyone involved; it means not relentlessly forcing highly physical children to sit still and punishing them for their failure to do so, but finding creative ways for them to direct this energy productively.

Instead we - albeit unintentionally - train these children to become dependent upon support for their needs, to expect punishment for expressing their emotions, to consider themselves failures if they do not achieve academically, that there is only one way to do things and that life is about jumping through seemingly endlessly and pointless hoops with little explanation given for their existence... Indeed, we often incite these debilitating beliefs in students so much more effectively and with longer-lasting results than the material we are actually trying to teach that the lessons they take away from school are ones of failure and frustration, low self-esteem and disregard for authority, limited respect for others and reluctance to take responsibility.

Most frustrating of all, I truly believe that if we addressed this negativity more actively and creatively, a great number of disengaged low-achievers would turn out to be surprisingly academically motivated, and I expect an equally significant number of 'special needs' would quickly dissolve. There is nothing in the current curriculum - however inadequate it may be - that prevents us from teaching children those positive qualities (or indeed some of that basic real-life knowledge mentioned earlier) at the same time. Fine, you have to teach Shakespeare, but who says the class can't act out the play themselves, building their confidence and stepping out of their comfort zone along the way? And, okay, today it's algebra, but why does that mean they can't learn about the economy in the same lesson? And as for the Humanities, if the scheme of work has to be so dull, why not take the opportunity to teach them something useful by getting them to work in teams? At least that way you've achieved something meaningful.

The unfortunate truth is that we are still wedded to the horrifically traditional idea that learning must be inherently academic,, despite the inescapable fact that most of our jobs, interests and personal strengths are decidedly non-academic. Even some of our most creative teachers struggle to recognise the value of a lesson without pens, paper and textbooks and fail to see where learning has taken place if it is not visible on the lined page of an exercise book.

Realistically, most school leavers will quickly forget much of the academic material they are exposed to, even if they do go onto further education, and the vast majority of the jobs they will be employed in are distinctly not intellectual. What people retain and remember from their time at school - and what proves most valuable in their adult lives - are the skills and experiences they gain, and their developed sense of self and personalised perspective, not the facts or knowledge they are exposed to. The education we provide should be focused on enhancing and optimising these skills and experiences, with a constant focus on how they will be useful in later life and a primary commitment to our students' self-development. As it is we teach blindly for exams and kid ourselves that we are achieving something greater.

So I've given up trying to justify school work to my students anymore. Now when they ask me "What's the point?" my answer is simple:

"I don't know."

First Impressions

When I first arrived at my current school, I was struck by three things. Some may be specific to the school I'm at, some may be universal across all state secondaries - having only worked in one school I cannot know, but either way I think they are significant and therefore worthy of discussion.

1: I was taken aback by the sheer number of pupils with SEN and Access Arrangements: approximately 18% of my school's student population.

Maybe this doesn't sound extreme to you - in fact, if you're a teacher, it will almost certainly sound very familiar given that ~15% of the national pupil population has SEN - but for me these statistics were surprising for two reasons: first, because I simply would not have guessed that as many as one sixth of our country's children has learning needs; and second, because the spread and variety of these needs is not what I expected.

Before I took up my post, I assumed there would be a small but significant number of children with severe learning disabilities along the lines of Asperger’s, Autism etc. and a similar number with physical disabilities, whilst the majority of learning difficulties would take the form of relatively mild dyslexia, dyscalculia etc. Instead, what I have encountered is a much less polarised - but generally more acute - spectrum of need than anticipated: only 1-2% of students exhibit autistic spectrum disorders, with just a handful of physical difficulties, but those who are on the SEN register almost always experience a variety of difficulties much more complex and challenging than ‘simple’ dyslexia.

Why am I telling you all of this? Surely it’s simply an embarrassing reflection of my own unfounded presumptions, formed by a privileged and somewhat sheltered educational background, one in which high-ability students were assigned a laptop if their handwriting was illegible and children who failed to achieve an A or above at GCSE were mockingly branded ‘retarded’?

But despite taking this into account and digesting my initial surprise, I still find these statistics strangely difficult to come to terms with for reasons that I think are worth reflection and consideration, even by those who have had direct experience of special educational needs for many years.

If 1 in every 6 children experiences (generally quite significant) learning needs then, by implication, that one sixth of the population does not conform to our educational expectations. Now, any scientific study that found 15% of its participants lay outside the accepted ‘normal’ range would have a hard time concluding anything other than a hugely statistically significant result that seriously challenged the models and knowledge taken as fact at the start of the study. My point? Well, assuming all those learning needs are indeed legitimate (which is another question for another time), I struggle to understand how we can maintain those current educational expectations - if such a large proportion of students fail to meet them, surely they must be intrinsically misguided?

My instinctive conclusion at this early stage  is that we are trying to achieve things with children which they simply are not academically programmed to achieve (hence the massive demand for access arrangements and other accommodating support).

Something to be reflected on further as I gain more experience in the role...

2:  I was actually shocked (can I say appalled without sounding old-fashioned and out-of-touch?) by the utter disrespect for authority that pervades the entire school.

I strongly believe (to a seemingly greater extent than some of the teachers I work with) in empathising with children - treating them with the same respect you expect in return, attempting to see things from their perspective, resolving rather than punishing them for their mistakes... Often I question whether the empathy I offer is undue; I accept their reluctance to work as a reflection of my failure to engage and motivate them, recognise their poor behaviour as a misguided expression of anger or frustration at a situation that is out of their control, and prioritise their presence in the classroom over the upholding of sometimes arbitrary rules.

Thus, I do not believe that a student who struggles to sit still and keep quiet should be punished when they contribute in class by shouting-out, but I am unsettled to see that pupil literally ignoring a teacher who is trying to get their attention. Similarly, I do not believe a child should be punished for swearing and lashing out at their bully, but I am disgusted when that child says things to a member of staff for which they would report the teacher if the exchange was reversed. And I do not think a child should be made to complete prescriptive work if they are learning in their own way, but I am shocked when they flat-out refuse to do as they are asked simply for the sake of confrontation.

As someone who relished the opportunity to rebel at school, and resented the plethora of apparently pointless rules that were sometimes aggressively enforced, I do understand expressions of reluctance and recognise that adults often assert authority in unnecessary and unfair ways; but why argue when asked simply to stand behind your chair, and why continue to shout to your classmate when your name has been called multiple times?

Call me innocent and naive, but these are all assaults against authority that I am now witnessing for the first time.

3: There is no school life! 

Kids cannot wait to rush home at the end of the day to play on an armada of screen-based devices and the school does little to offer opportunities for alternative activities - lunch and after-school clubs are few and far between (even sports teams prove surprisingly unpopular) and the school site is near-enough deserted by 3:15 PM. But besides lamenting the (subjectively) unhealthy and wasteful way in which most children seem to pass their time, I find this lack of extra-curricular stimulation disappointing for other reasons.

First, there are the missed opportunities to offer those who fail academically a chance to excel in physical or practical pursuits - and, therefore, the chance to enjoy positive experiences at school. And what about the valuable skills of teamwork, determination and leadership that are most effectively developed through non-academic activities? Then there is the fact that many children come from homes which they probably don't actually want to rush back to, and keeping them occupied in school for as long as possible is in everyone's best interests. And don't underestimate the value for these children in particular of simply spending time with adults in a relaxed environment and on a completely optional basis, where they are not forced or expected to achieve anything and students and staff alike can walk away without consequence if they no longer want to be present - that alone is a positive and often rare opportunity. 

Anyway, surely what many children stand to gain most from school is not exam grades, but the positive, eye-opening and challenging opportunities which would not otherwise be available to them: exposure to everything from the arts to extreme sports, trips to places beyond their local square mile, training for a future job or expert advice in a field of personal interest? And anyway, isn't this what school is really meant to be about? Community, happiness, friendships. Realising that the world really is your oyster and gaining the skills, ambition and confidence required to reap it's rewards...

Instead everyone rocks up, drags themselves through a tedious timetable of lessons (all too long) punctuated only by lunch (all too short) and a break (which really is just that), then as fast they can (and quite understandably so) fucks off home.

Not the most glamorous lifestyle, is it?

Who Am I?

For now at least, all that is relevant about me is the following:

I work in a state secondary school, rated Ofsted 'good', as a teaching assistant.

"Pfff, 'teaching assistant'" you sigh with snobbish disappointment, dismissively hovering your cursor over the browser search bar, ready to check out a different, 'better' education blog. "Why should I bother taking the time to read this - the stories and reflections of someone who isn't even a real teacher - when I struggle enough as it is to sift through the thousands of more qualified and more experienced (and therefore more authoritative) teacher-bloggers that are out there?"

Well, if you're still with me, let me tell you...

1: As a teaching assistant I am perfectly positioned between teacher and student to understand the needs, ambitions and challenges of both parties better than any other member of staff in the school. This is not an arrogant self-judgement but merely a fact of my role. True, the school counsellor might be better informed (on paper at least) as to the details of exactly what is going on inside the head of troubled little Johnny, or for that matter what is happening at home that is causing him to be so troubled. And true, the headteacher undoubtedly has a better idea of the pressures faced by each classroom teacher - their exam targets, planning expectations, observation feedback etc. But when a student mutters under their breath as they leave the classroom after a particularly bad lesson that they 'fucking hate school', and then less than 5 minutes later their teacher complains in the staff-room that said student is 'such a pain in the arse', I can confidently say that I am the only one to have witnessed the hour-long build-up to this shared feeling of frustration from a truly neutral perspective, or rather from both perspectives. For I will have spent at least some of those 60 minutes sat at a desk with the kids, suffering with them the boredom of an un-engaging lesson and an uninspiring teacher, and equally I will have stood at the front with the teacher looking out over a tumultuous sea of provocatively disruptive and aggressively reluctant teenagers, trying desperately to cajole them into work whilst simultaneously teaching them what it means to be a decent person. That is what I mean when I say I am perfectly positioned to understand both sides.

2: Add to this the fact that I happen to be closer in age to the kids I help than the teachers I work with and I think I am fairly unique within my school, at least in so much as I am employed in a position of authority but can often better sympathise with the kids over whom I am meant to exercise that authority than the teachers who confer it upon me. I can still remember exactly what it felt like to be stuck in school, I still find it funny when a student intellectually undermines a teacher, and I can certainly better empathise with a 15 year old who has just broken-up with their first boy/girlfriend than a 35 year old who is having a new kitchen fitted in their first marital home.

3: I haven't been in the teaching game long. Surely that just means I'm inexperienced? No it doesn't. (Well, yes, admittedly it does mean I'm inexperienced, but there's more to it than that.) It means I do have an understanding of the demands and challenges faced by teachers, but I have not yet grown accustomed to classroom apathy and commonplace disrespect for authority; I have not yet accepted the unnecessary tedium of jargon-filled INSET sessions that tick the CPD box but little else; and I have not yet been brainwashed by the widespread belief that learning objectives, success criteria, coloured-pen marking and modelled answers are the key to effective teaching. (By the way, apologies - in a 'sorry, not sorry' kind of way - if you hold that belief because some of what you read here will challenge it.)

4: When was the last time you listened to someone like me? I'm a teaching assistant, I'm young, and I'm new to the profession. It never hurts to hear another point of view does it?