|I'm warning you|
Have you heard of Parent Power? Stupid question; when they aren't demanding to know why their children haven't completed their A-level in Further Maths in year 7, setting up a Free School, or crucifying you with league tables, they're logging onto the new 'Rat on a school' website designed specifically for people with personality disorders and bleak, flavourless lives to bleed their neuroses online while cry-w*nking into a sock.
Have you heard of 'Teacher Voice', the bold new initiative launched by the DfE to create a representative body that regularly polls and consults acting teachers, asking them about issues of pedagogy, how children best learn, what needs to happen in schools, classroom design, etc.?
NO YOU HAVEN'T UNLESS YOU LIVE INSIDE MY MIND. That's because it doesn't exist. Everyone BUT teachers has a megaphone in the meetings where nuts and bolts are cast. We don't even get an invite.
I am put in mind of this point because of the #askGove project that is currently lighting up the switchboards of Twitter like a pinball machine. It's an attempt, it says here, for the education select committee to get the views of teachers, ahead of a meeting with G-Diddy on Tuesday. Well, excuse me for pissing on your camp-fire of I AM LISTENING, but what on EARTH is this designed to prove? We can send him questions any time we like already. Does anyone seriously think that all their questions are being put, as we tweet, into a big sack, and the Education Select Committee will rummage round it, arm deep like Jimmy Saville, and pluck out something to ask M-Gove? 'Now then, now then, here's a question from Beth from Middlesbrough, and she'd like to know if you've ever gone full pelt with a tranny. Minister?'
I SUSPECT THIS IS NOT A THING THAT WILL HAPPEN. No, what will happen is that they ask the questions that they wanted to ask anyway, and use any goddamn data they fancy from the #askgove pool of tweets to justify their interrogation. It isn't an exercise in listening, it's exactly the opposite; it's an exercise in appearing to listen, which as we all know from classrooms is ANNOYING AS HELL. It's also deceptive, and patronising.
Who devises policy? Who decides how best children learn? Who works out if class sizes are important or not? Who creates systems of assessment? Who says if a subject, a skill, a project is workable, or a laboratory Frankenstein, engineered in a Petri-dish of good intentions? Everyone BUT us. Now does that sound sensible to you? It doesn't sound sensible to me. In fact, it sounds perverse. It sounds like education is the ball everyone wants to play with, and the ones who actually do...you know, the educating thing....are the ones most removed from its design and execution. Isn't that odd?
|In the Land of the Deaf, the big-eared man is King.|
We, as a profession, have been muzzled, fixed as neatly as any castrato. When Ofsted ties its horse to the front gates and bowls in like Berty-Big-Balls, it consults the school leadership, the students, even the parents. How are teacher views taken into account? When, apart from the ballot box, when single issues conflate into a million others, are teachers asked to indicate their preferences for how they would like to teach, for how they think children learn, and what they think about the latest oh-boy initiative doomed to die, like mortal men in Middle-Earth?
Don't the Unions speak for us? Well, they have a different purpose these days, being focused more on pay and conditions- thanks for that, incidentally-than matters of pedagogy. They do act as a funnel for ideas and debate, but I don't think I'm ruffling any feathers here when I say that's not really what they're about any more. Also, their intrinsic aim of defending the lot of the teacher, while admirable in many ways, isn't the same thing as defending education itself, although it often identical. The GTC? The GTC is/ was a miserable embarrassment, because it could have been so much. It was meant to be a representative and regulatory body that ensured the profession was a profession. What it became also damned it; a punitive organ you only heard about when you had to cough up your fees so that you could receive a tatty circular sent to your previous address. Sometimes you heard about it when somebody got busted for downloading porn. It was the Vito Corloene of the quangos, awkward and unloved and it will not be missed.
|'Oh we can HEAR you; we just don't have to GIVE a sh*t.'|
This situation will last as long as we permit it. We are legion because, of course, there are many of us. Every teacher needs to wake up; to remember that the duty they serve is greater than any directive or article of best practise. If you saw a child being man-handled on the street would you ignore it? I hope not. If you see a child's future being wrecked in an act of abstract abuse, should we look away. Worse; should we enable it? Of course not. Teachers, we need to speak up and tell people when they're doing it wrong. You have every right; YOU are the expert on education.
And what of the commentators, the Professors of Education, the advisers, the talking heads? They too have their place in the discussion on education. Their ideas are useful, and important too. For all the faults I sometimes paint, we need them to act as a check and balance on us, to detect the counter-intuitive flaws of the classroom, to advise and challenge. They also care about education, and often, they have skills we lack and need. But that isn't what they are right now. Right now, they are the ruling class, the Alphas to our Gammas. We barely register on the RADAR of the war room. In the Secret Garden of Education, the gardeners are now absent, replaced by flower arrangers. Like bee-keepers; they want the honey, but they couldn't make it themselves. If ministers ran a hive, they would probably advise apiarists to wake the bees up with Radio 4 and warm air because 'research suggests honey production accelerates in these conditions.' Either that, or they would slice each tiny insect open, looking for the honey.
So from now on, I invite you to remember that you have a teacher voice. We are the only missing guest at the party; in fact, there isn't even a seat for us.
Teacher Voice Manifesto:
- Realise we are a marginalised group.
- Admit that we know most about what happens in classrooms
- If educational research contradicts classroom experience, and the shared experience of your peers, then defer its acceptance until the research has been explored and reviewed
- Speak. Up. Raise your voice at every staff meeting; email the HELL out of people with whom you disagree.
- Ask for explanations of every policy you feel is damaging and dangerous to children
- Raise your points with line management, governors, anyone you feel needs to know.
- Seek positions where you can influence policy yourself.
- Discuss and debate and defend your experience in every arena, virtual and solid, from chat-rooms to the staffroom.
- Always stay focussed on what we should be doing- educating children to the best of our ability- rather than what you are told to do: for example, raising the school GCSE rates. Such things are extrinsic goals, incidental to our objectives.
- Campaign at all times for teacher views to be taken into account at every stage of interrogation and data sampling. Who conducts national surveys of what we think any more, unless they want to sell us something?
'PERHAPS YOU CAN HEAR ME NOW, F*CKER?'
Brothers and sisters, boys and girls, it's time to crash the party.