Ways of making sense: Adult education and democracy

What would Britain be like if the governing principle of policy-making was to ensure the maintenance of a well-functioning democracy in which everyone had an equal opportunity to belong, have a say and be successful? Clearly, it would be a radically different society to the one in which we live now. For one thing, it would be a society with a clearly defined and well-understood social contract, a wide consensus that adequate public funds should be collected to support a range of basic services essential to human flourishing, and that they should be supported at a decent level. This would mean a clear-headed and informed commitment from those with the most to give up a greater share of what they have in order to maintain good-quality schools, hospitals, libraries, infrastructure, etc. And it would imply a political culture in which it was possible to propose increased investment in public services without being told that your plans will bankrupt the country or lead to communism. This imagined Britain would probably also be a place where economic considerations did not overrule all others and where leaders who espouse views inimical to our own commitment to democracy and decency would be challenged rather than courted. Finally, and importantly, it would be a society in which a far wider value was attached to education and where adult education, widely conceived, was recognized as essential to the successful functioning of democratic society, and supported appropriately.

I was thinking about these issues in relation to Brexit and the UK’s 2016 referendum on membership of the EU. The referendum was a hugely flawed democratic exercise, notable for the well-documented interference of a foreign power bent on undermining European unity, obscure and extremely shady funding arrangements, the breaking of electoral law (by the Vote Leave campaign), the misuse of private data, the complete absence of any programme for delivering a workable Brexit, and the outright lies and distortions of senior politicians and press supporters, mostly in the cause of leaving the EU. It also managed to deliver perhaps the worst possible result, from a democratic perspective: a 52/48 per cent split in the vote. This made the genuine will of the people impossible to discern, particularly as a very substantial majority either voted against leaving the EU or did not feel sufficiently exercised by the matter to vote at all. It was not helpful either that the question presented to the British public was simplistic to the point of being purposefully stupid. In such circumstances, perhaps the worst thing a government could do would be simply and uncritically to take that verdict as the will of the people and ignore the concerns of close to half of those who bothered to vote. Yet not only has the government resolutely pursued this line, making zero attempt to find a compromise or a way of addressing the will of the 48 per cent, still less to launch a national conversation on the matter, it seems now set on a course that will deliver a ‘no deal’ Brexit, with the Prime Minister unable to command support within her party for a deal that would be acceptable to the EU and reduced to putting forward a plan she doesn’t believe in, in full knowledge that it will be rejected.

The referendum was called by David Cameron in order to bring peace among warring factions of the British Conservative Party. Instead, it gave extremists within the party the opportunity to take their fight to a larger stage, where it is the future of the country, rather than just a political party, that is at stake. Still more troublingly, that struggle has been effectively hijacked by Putin’s Russia and other interests determined to break up the EU. As he has in America, Putin has supported and forged links with racist politicians and other populist forces at national level in the UK to challenge and undermine national and international democratic institutions and structures. While the extent of Russian influence is unclear, there can be no doubt that Putin will be delighted with the outcomes both of the last US presidential election and the UK EU referendum, as well as with the chaos that has ensued from both. The remarkable spectacle of a US president, fresh from humiliating a feeble and flailing UK Prime Minister determined to forge a trade deal at any cost (including to her dignity and that of her office), publicly taking the word of a corrupt and murderous autocrat above that of his own intelligence service, was perhaps the most notable milestone to date in the decline of western liberal democracy.

Democracy is being challenged by new forms of autocratic government, abetted by a foolish, disreputable and reckless US president and a feckless and divided UK government (and opposition), which is drifting away from Europe without map or rudder at a time when democracies (if that is what they are and want to be) desperately need to stand together and defend their values. All of this is symptomatic not only of the rise of populism around the world but of the failure of western democracies to defend their values adequately at home. The UK is a case in point. Over the past decade, the language of fascism has been allowed to creep back into British political discourse, while dangerous, ill-founded and racist views have been given a platform in the mainstream media without sufficient critical challenge. This is perhaps no big surprise when it comes to much of the right-learning press, which has pumped out xenophobic and anti-EU bile for decades (and, of course, the Daily Mail has form when it comes to backing fascists). But the BBC too must take a large share of the blame for its uncritical, evidence-free presentation of opposing views and for the repeated exposure it has given to the likes of Nigel Farage, without challenging their views or credibility, or asking where their funding and support comes from. Perhaps more importantly, though, most politicians and most of the media have been prepared to quietly write off the hopes of communities around the country and the people who live in them. It is ironic that these neglected communities in voting to leave the EU have invested their faith in people who very largely see their lives and futures as wholly acceptable collateral damage in their efforts to stick it to the EU, cut workers’ rights, dismantle the NHS, keep their party together, avoid EU tax scrutiny or further their desire for power (please select as appropriate).

Watching all of this unfold can be an incredibly disempowering and isolating experience. This is particularly so if you are poorly informed or lack the capacity or opportunity to really engage critically with what is going on. For far too long, as a society, we have failed to take seriously the notion that an engaged and well-informed citizenry is the best route to a flourishing, resilient democracy and the best defence against its erosion by malign internal and external forces. This came home to me while reading about the Army Bureau of Current Affairs (ABCA), a remarkable experiment in education and democracy that developed – under the inspired guidance of social entrepreneur W.E. Williams – during the Second World War. It was established in 1941 by the War Office to provide weekly current affairs talks and discussions for service people, led by regimental officers and supported by the fortnightly publication of pamphlets on issues ‘of topical and universal importance’. These sessions included discussion of alternative ways of organising society and were supplemented by a scheme to provide military personnel with three hours of compulsory education per week, one hour for military training, one for general subjects and personal interest, and one for education in citizenship. Williams felt strongly that serving men and women should not only have access to basic information about the war, but also have the opportunity to take part in the discussions that would shape the country that emerged from the conflict. This was, in the words of General Sir Ronald Adam, President of the British Institute of Adult Education, ‘a great manifestation of democratic faith’. It demonstrated both a remarkable trust in the capacity of ordinary people to contribute to the future shape of post-war Britain (through Churchill personally intervened to block a paper on the Beveridge Report being published) and a lived commitment to raising political awareness to stimulate democratic engagement.

This understanding of education as a vital support to participatory democracy has been part and parcel of the adult education movement in Britain since the 1919 Report and earlier, in the commitment of the Workers’ Educational Association to ‘true education’ which ‘directly induces thought’. This has been intermittently recognised by government across the decades but this recognition has become increasingly rhetorical, as funding has been systematically redirected to adult education for basic skills and employability, and education for wider purposes has been cut, ruthlessly, by successive governments, but particularly under the austerity-themed governments of Cameron and May. Adult participation in further and higher education has been in freefall while many of the spaces in which non-formal adult education has traditionally taken place, such as public libraries and community centres, have disappeared with the savage reductions in public support for local government. We often hear about the public’s diminishing faith in politicians and the political process, but little is said of the corresponding decline in politicians’ faith in the public: to make decisions about their country’s future, to decide what is best for them educationally, to exercise meaningful, informed choice at elections or to engage meaningfully with political decision-making within their own communities. Both these trends nourish and support each other, creating a downward spiral in mutual esteem and respect that is (as we have found) extremely harmful to democracy and the political process. I spoke recently to a Swedish academic who expressed surprise that in the run-up to the EU referendum there had been no attempt to stimulate engagement through adult education – this, he said, had been the case in Sweden in the run-up to the 2003 referendum on membership of the Euro. It was also characteristic of the lively build up to the referendum on Scottish independence, where local authorities, adult education providers and civil society groups took the initiative in creating spaces in which discussion on key issues could take place. Instead of promoting this kind of meaningful engagement, both leave and remain campaigns plumped for a mixture of lies, fear-mongering and mud-slinging, with a spot of Nazi-inspired, racist propagandising thrown in for good measure. What should have been an opportunity to stimulate a genuine national debate was squandered in the cause of jingoism and complacency.

The loss of critical and creative adult education spaces has never been more keenly felt. With much of the adult education infrastructure systematically dismantled we face a long, upward struggle to reconceptualise adult education as something more than a source of basic and workplace skills. We are some way from the Swedish example, where the links between adult education and democracy are acknowledged and the infrastructure for a campaign of mass adult education exists. But perhaps the current vacuum in British politics created by Brexit, in which the government does not govern and the opposition no longer opposes, also creates a space for other alternative ways of doing democracy. The Swedish study circle model, in which adult learners come together to share views on a particular topic and to learn from one another, is an excellent example, fostering both democratic engagement and inclusion. If we are serious about education for active citizenship, then education must go beyond simply describing what democratic citizenship is about – it must give people the opportunity to participate in democratic deliberation, recognising this as a signifier of inclusion in a democratic society, while acknowledging that democracy’s mutable nature requires continuous engagement, as well as constant vigilance. Adult education can create spaces for attentiveness and remembering, where cynicism can be challenged, hope fostered and preconceptions overturned. It encourages agency, critical thinking and respect for others and their opinions. In times when democratic values and institutions are under attack and ‘alternative facts’ vie with the truth for airtime, learning can be the basis of resistance and simple connection with others can be a revolutionary act. As the wartime pioneers of adult education realised, when darkness is closing in around us, education is the bright hope that can guide us to another place.

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The instrumentalist turn

Book review: UNESCO’s Utopia of Lifelong Learning: An Intellectual History by Maren Elfert

This fascinating and highly readable book describes how the United Nations Scientific, Educational and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) shaped the notion of lifelong learning and promoted its adoption as a global educational paradigm. It offers an account of UNESCO’s utopian thinking about lifelong learning and the forces that shaped this, while also considering critically the tensions and ideological challenges that resulted in the prevalence, globally and at country level, of a less-than-utopian, instrumentalist approach to lifelong learning some distance from the expansive humanism of its early theorists.

It is a book that Maren Elfert is, perhaps, uniquely qualified to write. As she notes in her introduction, she worked for many years for the UNESCO Institute for Lifelong Learning (UIL) during which time she ‘became increasingly troubled by the gap between UNESCO’s humanistic discourse and the reality of “results-based management”’. One manifestation of this, she notes, was the demand of funders for a narrow, instrumental approach to projects which left little room for the organic development of the work and treated human beings ‘as means rather than ends in the teaching and learning process’. This approach, she found, ‘contradicted the humanism and the concept of education as a human right that UNESCO propagates’.

The dissonance Elfert identifies between these two distinct perspectives, and her evident, keenly felt discomfort with it, is the fuel for the book. I suspect that Elfert’s unease will resonate with many readers and not only those who work in lifelong learning at an international level. In more than a decade working for NIACE (the National Institute of Adult Continuing Education) in the UK, I witnessed the dramatic narrowing of policy-makers’ thinking about adult education and lifelong learning, and experienced the sharp contrast between the warm, expansive language used by politicians to talk about lifelong learning and the depressing instrumentalism of their actions. These actions, in which all three main UK political parties were complicit, resulted in a profound and sustained constriction in adults’ opportunities to learn, and the destruction of much of the lifelong learning infrastructure that had been many decades in the making. Another casualty of diminishing political support for lifelong learning broadly conceived was NIACE itself, and while its successor organisation, the Learning and Work Institute (the result of a merger between NIACE and the Centre for Economic and Social Inclusion), continues to include lifelong learning within its remit, the loss of a distinctive, dedicated voice has been keenly felt.

Elfert describes the evolution of UNESCO’s thinking about education from the immediate post-war period, when the organisation was founded, through the publication of its two landmark reports on lifelong learning (Learning to Be and Learning: The Treasure Within) to present-day economistic approaches to lifelong learning. Much of UNESCO’s early thinking about education was spurred by its response to the misuse of education for political purposes during the war and the atrocities to which it contributed. A ‘humanistic and emancipatory approach’ emerged, Elfert writes, that ‘aimed at bringing out the full potential of human beings and enabling them to shape their societies towards greater democratization and social justice’. This utopian strain of thinking saw education as a human right with ‘intrinsic’ value and rejected any form of instrumentalism in education, which is to say, any attempt to subject education to other, extraneous purposes.

Elfert deftly describes how ‘lifelong education’ emerged as an educational paradigm during the 1960s, with much of the impetus deriving from Paul Lengrand who popularised the notion of éducation permanente, in France, as one of the founders of popular education movement Peuple et Culture, and internationally, as head of UNESCO’s adult education department. It was not until the Faure report of 1972, however, that lifelong education was presented as a key organising principle of UNESCO’s work. Faure’s report, Learning to Be, represented ‘the first time the organization launched a report setting out a vision for the future of education globally’, seeking to establish lifelong education as ‘the new global “master concept”’ for education. The report reasserted the ‘humanistic’ vision for education set out by UNESCO’s founders and defended it against what Faure saw as the growing prevalence of an ‘economistic’ worldview in education. It proposed the creation of a ‘learning society’ in which education was available ‘for all throughout life, inside and outside of institutions’. The aim of lifelong education, the argument went, was not merely to produce economically useful workers, but to foster the development of a new type of society, in which opportunities for personal fulfilment and active democratic participation were evenly distributed.

As Elfert describes it, while Faure produced ‘an inspirational document that was ahead of its time’, its immediate influence was limited by a combination of economic recession, political pragmatism and escalating Cold War tensions. It appeared at a moment when neoliberal thinking about education was becoming more and more prevalent and human capital theorists were popularising an understanding of education as, essentially, a tool of economic development. This change was being felt within international organisations such as UNESCO, as well as within nation states, and it wasn’t until 1996, and the publication of Learning: The Treasure Within, better known as the Delors report, that UNESCO again presented so ambitious a statement of the value and wider purposes of lifelong learning. Delors consciously contrasted the position taken in his report with the ideologically alien ‘neoliberal’ thinking that had become politically dominant in Britain and in the United States (under Thatcher and Reagan, respectively). He resisted the idea that education was a means to an economic end, and argued instead for education as a right, a means of supporting people to reach their full potential and of creating a fairer and more socially just society. The report emphasised ‘learning throughout life’ and stressed both its ‘lifelong’ and ‘lifewide’ dimensions, noting the relevance of leaning to all spheres of life. Famously, this vision was expressed in terms of the ‘four pillars of learning’: learning to know, learning to do, learning to be and learning to live together.

While the adult education community received the report favourably, Elfert writes, many critics ‘did not consider it practical enough and criticized it for resorting to “the language of idealism and dreams”’. It was overshadowed by the Education for All agenda, on which it had little impact, and by ‘the hegemony of a neoliberal lifelong learning discourse’. As a result, as Elfert notes, it had ‘negligible’ impact at the level of education policy; it was a ‘non-event’, in the words of Kjell Rubenson. Even within UNESCO, interest in it was ‘short lived’. In the meantime, ‘education moved further down the economistic path, jeopardizing more and more UNESCO’s utopia of a just society’. In a final chapter, Elfert shows that while lifelong learning became an established part of educational discourse around the world, lifelong learning policies ‘display a predominantly economic and instrumental interpretation that focuses on the provision of skills for individuals for job-related purposes, which has little to do with UNESCO’s “maximalist” version of lifelong learning’. The language of rights has been replaced by a discourse of responsibilities – principally, the responsibility to acquire and maintain the skills necessary to be a productive worker. The success of lifelong learning as an important educational paradigm has been achieved at the cost of its ‘revolutionary’ and political aspects.

This attenuated vision of lifelong learning as an endless cycle of training and retraining, shorn of its all-important lifewide dimension, will be familiar to UK readers who will have witnessed the systematic destruction of the country’s once world-leading adult education system over the past two decades. The trend has been exacerbated by a prolonged period of austerity and retrenchment in public spending, in the UK and elsewhere, following the financial crash. For UNESCO, Elfert notes, this climate has resulted in a tension between its ‘humanistic tradition’ and the demands of its donors. Nevertheless, I think she is right to argue for the continuing relevance and importance of the ‘maximalist’ notion of lifelong learning, which both Faure and Delores defend, and to assert its relevance to the ongoing struggle between ‘humanistic-emancipatory’ and ‘technocratic-rationalistic’ worldviews. A Elfert notes, lifelong learning is inextricably bound up with the ‘hope that human beings can change their world for the better’. Current threats to the democratic way of life, and the ongoing transformation of the world of work, certainly seem to point in the direction of a broader notion of lifelong learning, which recognises the importance of creativity, resilience, adaptability, and political and civic understanding. The story Elfert tells is a fascinating and important one, and she tells it wonderfully well. While the subject matter may appear relevant only to a fairly niche audience, I found it directly relatable to the national context in which I worked for many years, in ways that helped illuminate it. It also poses important questions to those who advocate for lifelong learning at an international level. I hope it will be very widely read, as, certainly, it deserves to be.

 

 

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Making the connection: Health and adult education

The third Global Report on Adult Learning and Education (GRALE 3), published by the UNESCO Institute for Lifelong Learning in 2016, highlighted the impact of education on health and wellbeing and urged policymakers to strengthen the links between education and health. Adult education, in particular, it reported, had a demonstrable positive impact on:

  • general health, reducing absenteeism at work and in education and enabling people to better fulfil their family and community responsibilities;
  • behaviours and attitudes (e.g. reductions in alcohol consumption and smoking and increased sexual health awareness), stimulating greater personal responsibility for health;
  • life expectancy and an extended period of life without limiting disabilities; and
  • mental health, lowering rates of depression and promoting better coping strategies and greater life satisfaction.

Self-esteem and self-efficacy are other important outcomes of learning, relevant to improved mental health and wellbeing in particular, as highlighted by Cathie Hammond in The wider benefits of Learning: The impact of education on health, family life and social capital (Schuller, Preston, Hammond, Brassett-Grundy and Bynner, 2004). Hammond also reminds us that education and wellbeing need not always have a positive impact on self-esteem and self-efficacy, for example if a student’s experience raises expectations that cannot be met or reinforces negative self-impressions. Nevertheless, the picture overall is an overwhelmingly positive one.

At a societal level, these individual benefits result in increased human capital and more active citizens, a reduction in healthcare costs due to increased use of outpatient care and a decreased use of inpatient care, and a more active, productive, self-reliant population. The benefits are well-evidenced (through the work of the Centre for Research on the Wider Benefits of Learning, for example), yet, in practice, while most countries say they recognise the benefits of adult education to health, few do much to support or promote these benefits, and effective coordination between health and education budgets is rare.

It is increasingly obvious that this needs to change. The cost of healthcare has been a hotly debated topic in the UK in recent weeks, for example, with many questioning whether the NHS funding model is broken and universal, fee healthcare no longer affordable. However, the problems facing the NHS are not unique to the UK’s healthcare funding model. They are typical of all countries where populations are ageing (and, in fact, far from being broken, the direct taxation model remains, according to the King’s Fund, among the most efficient ways to fund healthcare). Nevertheless, with costs rising steeply, something has to give, and endlessly increasing investment in treating illness is not much of a blueprint for the future. With people living and working longer, it is crucially important that countries find ways to coordinate their policies on health, mental health and education, especially adult education.

As GRALE 3 shows, even small investments in education can have large returns for health. Yet in many countries – and certainly in the UK – investment in adult education has been declining. Adult learning is often squeezed out when education budgets are cut and the tendency of policymakers to work in silos makes it difficult to make a persuasive case for using a portion of health spending, however small, to fund adult education. Equally, it is a challenge to convince employers that it is worthwhile investing in staff development opportunities that are not directly related to job performance. Employers are understandably reluctant to invest in something that seems to be of no direct benefit to them and tend to regard it as an unaffordable luxury, but, in fact, organisations such as MerseyTravel and Arriva in the UK, which have adopted such policies, often in collaboration with unions, report real benefits in terms of staff morale, loyalty, retention, absenteeism and the culture of the organisation. Ford’s new campaign to raise mental health awareness in the workplace is another example of a company recognising that worker health is not a peripheral concern but something employers must take seriously and invest in.

One of Sir Alan Tuckett’s innovations as Director of the National Institute of Adult Continuing Education was to introduce a scheme to fund the small-scale learning of all staff – the one condition was that the learning had to have absolutely nothing to do with their day jobs. This was a brilliant idea, which led people in all sorts of different directions – I recall one colleague taking a butchery course, while another took ukulele lessons (later touring with a band). But what was interesting, I think, was the impact this had on people’s sense of wellbeing at work, their feeling of belonging and the intellectual culture of the place. This kind of ‘seriously useless learning’, to borrow Alan’s phrase, can give people a start in a new career, help them cope with depression and other difficulties, improve their self-esteem and confidence (and consequently their relationships with others), reacquaint them with learning after a lengthy absence, and ignite a real passion for learning. And, of course, these benefits ripple out, into people’s families and communities. The scheme was a great example of an organisation living the kind of change it wanted to see in wider society.

Even in times of severe financial constraint, the case for investment in adult education as a means of reducing health costs and supporting the health and wellbeing of populations is strong. However, as GRALE 3 makes clear, it is not only a matter of investment and, in fact, relatively modest increases in spending can have a huge impact here. Equally significant is the coherence of policy-making and the coordination between sectors. Yet, in too many cases, compartmentalisation and poor interdepartmental collaboration limit the positive impact of education on health and wellbeing. Only 20 per cent of respondents to the GRALE 3 survey felt collaboration between health agencies and adult education providers was effective. The 2030 Agenda for Sustainable Development is, in effect, an invitation to this sort of collaboration, as GRALE 3 points out. Its 17 goals are ‘inseparable’, which is to say they cannot be achieved singly but only through considered attention to all and the way in which they interact. It demands that areas usually kept apart in policymaking are brought together and encouraged to talk. There is something here on which policymakers can build.

The truth though is that none of this will happen without far more engagement and proactivity from the wider public, to whom the goals of the 2030 Agenda are largely unknown. Disparities in engagement reflect deeply entrenched inequalities in education and health, which, of course, compound each other. Another key finding of the Centre for Research on the Wider Benefits of Learning was that engagement in adult education courses predicted greater levels of civic and political participation. Countries serious about addressing these inequalities will already be investing in the lifelong and lifewide learning of their citizens, recognising that without intervention the benefits of education for health will tend to coalesce among those who have already benefited the most. The societal and economic benefits are considerable but many countries, I fear, will consider an increase in civic participation to be a cost rather than a benefit. Nevertheless, the cultivation of a culture of lifelong learning is probably the most constructive thing any country struggling with the rising costs associated with an ageing population can do, and it is arguably a precondition for achievement of the 17 Sustainable Development Goals. Certainly, those goals will not be met without the civic and political engagement of citizens.

Some countries are already moving along this road. Others, such as the UK, seem to be moving backwards. The failure to invest in the skills, talents, aspirations and creativity of everyone in society, at every stage of their lives, looks increasingly wrong-headed, given the challenges we now face. Countries need healthy, active, resilient and flexible lifelong learners who are able to adapt and retrain throughout life if they are to be competitive, productive and successful. And people need and deserve the opportunity to realise all they can be, whoever and wherever they are, as a matter of social justice. After a decade or so when many governments, the UK included, have substantially reduced investment in the learning of adults, despite the increased acceptance of the wider benefits of lifelong learning, maybe it is time to change course.

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The ‘left behind’ need hope not hollow words

Yesterday, on Easter Sunday, UK Prime Minster Theresa May gave her Easter message, describing the inspiration she took from her faith and the praising ‘the triumph of the human spirit’ in overcoming serious adversity such as that presented by the Grenfell Tower fire. The short address was replayed throughout the day by the BBC with a soft-spoken reverence usually reserved for occasions of state, juxtaposed with in-depth coverage of the Sunday Times fishing trip to identify supporters of Opposition leader Jeremy Corbyn who have made anti-Semitic comments online.

Mrs May’s message ticked many of the usual boxes. Acknowledgement of the country’s ‘dark moments’? Check. Praise for the emergency services? Check. Admiration for ordinary people working to make their communities better? Check. But for those working at the front line of our emergency services, struggling to meet increased demands with reduced funding, or those working hard in their communities to ameliorate the harm done by years of political neglect and austerity, I suspect these sentiments will have provoked derisive laughter rather than delight at having their work recognised. The association of these sentiments with a belief system founded by a man who dedicated his short life to helping the poor and vulnerable and to encouraging the rich to do the same was just another pointed irony in an Easter message that was as hollow as an Easter egg.

The mismatch between the Prime Minister’s supposed core beliefs and the policies of the governments in which she has been a senior figure was thrown into still sharper relief today. A report from school leaders painted a shocking picture of destitute school children in poor parts of England and Wales and ‘filling their pockets’ with food from the school canteen. Headteachers told how they were having to provide basic services such as washing school uniforms and paying for budget advice for parents to fill the gaps left by budget cuts to councils and social services. They also described how they had provided sanitary products for pupils and bought them coats and shoes in winter.

At the same time, a new survey from the Child Poverty Action Group and the National Education Union found that, of 900 teachers, 60 per cent said that child poverty in their schools had worsened since 2015, with one in three saying it had got significantly worse. All this at a moment when school costs are increasing and the government has reduced school funding in real terms.

Theresa May’s launched her premiership in 2016 by pledging to help the ‘left behind’ and ‘just managing’ and build a fairer Britain. A little over a year in, the Social Mobility and Child Poverty Commission resigned en masse in protest at her government’s failure to address Britain’s ‘burning injustices’. May’s failure to appoint a replacement has, reportedly, had little to do with the availability of appropriate candidates and everything to do with an inability to find anyone who would consent to do the job while refraining from criticism of the government’s policies.

This is not particularly surprising. May’s flagship policy for improving the life chances of the poor was to increase selection in schools through the introduction of more grammar schools. Few, other than a handful of Tory ideologues, were convinced by this intervention, perhaps because of the complete lack of supporting evidence for it. The evidential gap was further highlighted last month through research by Stephen Gorard and Nadia Siddiqui which showed that grammar schools worsen social stratification but do not increase pupil achievement. Dividing pupils into the most able and the rest from an early age, the researchers concluded, ‘does not appear to lead to better results for either group, even for the most disadvantaged. This means that the kind of social segregation experienced by children and young people in selective areas of the United Kingdom, and in selective schools and countries around the world, is for no clear gain … the findings mean that grammar schools endanger social cohesion for no clear improvement in overall results. The policy is a bad one and, far from increasing selection, the evidence-informed way forwards would be to phase out the current 163 grammar schools in England.’

Given the weight of evidence against it, any further expansion of selection in education, as envisaged by current education secretary Damian Hinds, could only be explained by ideological motives or by a desire to further reduce social mobility and increase segregation. Any government serious about addressing inequality and social mobility would look closely at how to reduce the stratification in the education system, from private schools to our increasingly two-tier higher education system. Around the world, successful economies are opening up their education systems and creating opportunities that are genuinely lifelong and lifewide. Britain, meanwhile, appears in thrall to a vision of selection grounded in class and social snobbery. The weight of our illusions keeps us from rising higher.

The low priority successive governments have attached to social mobility is reflected in the comparative neglect of further education, where state investment is likely to have the most social impact. The low status of the sector is evident from the number of ministers and secretaries of state who have been responsible for it over the years, and the really remarkable policy churn FE has been subject to over several decades. No service could reach its full potential under conditions of near-constant reform and ever shifting expectations and priorities. There is also a major funding gap between FE and HE which will need to be closed by some means if the UK is to deliver the higher-level technical skills it will require to compete on equal terms with comparable countries.

Justine Greening, the only recent education secretary who has taken social mobility seriously, was sacked shortly after producing her ‘plan for improving social mobility through education’. Her ambition was admirable though the proposals themselves, while positive, were not nearly radical enough to ‘transform equality of opportunity in this country’. The problem needs to be approached in a more comprehensive and joined-up way, with the place of further education considered in the context of the wider education system and significant resource put into spreading opportunity more evenly and creating routes for people at every stage of life. Ms Greening’s ‘social mobility pledge’, intended to encourage employers to engage more with schools and colleges, is a good idea, but it needs to be part of a much wider, longer-term strategy that is not afraid to challenge the sacred cows of selection, the private school system, A-levels and mass higher education.

Education is not a silver bullet when it comes to social mobility and inequality. Real change would require strong political will in every department of government. To be lasting and fundamental it would also need public support which, I fear, will require a shift in our political scene as yet undreamt of. But, for all that, it is not a bad place to start. If we can challenge the perpetuation of inequality of opportunity in education we can certainly change it elsewhere. For that, though, we will need real leadership and commitment at the top of government, and a genuine willingness to challenge beliefs and cultural norms that hold working people back and allow the privileged to horde opportunity for themselves and their children. That would be an Easter message worth sharing.

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Politics, democracy and the NHS

In the early 1990s, my grandmother became seriously ill. She had a stroke; caused, it turned out, by a tumour in her brain. One morning she was taken by ambulance to a crowded NHS hospital in Liverpool. No beds were available. She was placed on a trolley in a corridor where she remained, untreated and undiagnosed, for the next eight hours. The tumour, we later discovered, was inoperable, and she died not long after, cared for by family and the excellent MacMillan Nurses.

This was what the NHS was like at the time. Chronically underfunded, under-resourced and terribly stretched, often past breaking point. Stories of people being left on trolleys for hours because of the shortage of beds were common. Nevertheless, things got better. Funding was increased, waiting times improved, and, within a decade, the service was unrecognisable to the one we encountered that day in Liverpool. Of course, the economy was doing well, but it is not always the case that when the economy improves so too do our public services. Most importantly, healthcare became a priority of public policy.

Of course, there remained occasional examples of truly appalling care, notably in Mid-Staffordshire, but these were very much exceptions. Yet while the crisis persisted, many commentators pointed to the NHS’s funding model: Yes, of course, we all love and value the NHS, they explained patiently, we all want it to remain as it is, free to all at the point of care with the same quality of care available no matter what your income, but it just isn’t affordable, I’m afraid. We have to change the funding model. Privately, politicians drew up plans for a private healthcare system in the UK.

Now, once again, the NHS is in crisis. As before, the background is cuts to funding and a lower than average (compared to comparable countries) spend on health and social care as a proportion of GDP. And, as before, the funding model is in question, with commentators pointedly wondering whether it is possible to have an adequately funded system in which access is unrestricted and the level of care universally good. Clearly, funding is a huge challenge. But before we throw away what is truly great about our healthcare system, we need to think hard about what we want it to be, who we want to be, as a society, and what our priorities really are. We should not just talk about the NHS as though it is a closed system, with a discrete funding stream on which decisions made elsewhere don’t impact. We need to think much bigger, taking into account issues such as poverty and wellbeing which place a strain on health services.

I do not want to say that the NHS is perfect or that it could not operate more efficiently and effectively. There are clearly things we could change, such as its focus on treatment rather than prevention. There are major cultural and educational issues too. And we need to be smarter when it comes to promoting active ageing, ensuring, in particular, that older people have opportunities to continue learning (a hugely important area which appears to have fallen out of fashion, even among its traditional advocates). But the NHS remains one of the most efficient health services in the world, despite its funding concerns, and the challenges it faces, principally demographic, while substantial, face every health service where populations are ageing. Furthermore, as the OECD has pointed out, ‘There is no health care system that performs systematically better in delivering cost-effective health care’. And general taxation remains an efficient way of raising funds, as the King’s Fund has pointed out.

Evidently, we will have to pay more in future but that is something most, I suspect, would be prepared to do. We should at least be aiming to match the EU average for health care spending. The argument that since other, different European healthcare systems are doing better in some respects, the NHS funding model doesn’t work, ignores the fact that these systems are better funded. There is, in other words, no prima facie case for abandoning the healthcare funding model we already have. The point I want to make is that, by all means, let us have a conversation but let us at least have an honest and open one in which all options are on the table.

The problem we face in the UK is that genuine choices, matters of our priorities as a society, are presented to the public as unavoidable outcomes of circumstances over which we have no real control. There just isn’t enough money to go around. Choices made by other countries, to better fund their health services or their education systems, are made to seem extreme, utterly unaffordable, the stuff of fantasy. Even the relatively modest proposals presented by the Labour Party in its last manifesto would ‘bankrupt the country’, we are told. Instead of the informed national conversation we so desperately need, we have a shouting match between those who supposedly think everything is affordable and those who think nothing is (or pretend to).

This is what I find so utterly discouraging about political debate in the UK. Not only do we lack a consensus as to the kind of society we want, or any meaningful sense of a social contract which might encompass all of us, we also have a media and political class which seem determined to prevent such a discussion taking place. When Jeremy Corbyn become leader of the Labour Party, promising a different, gentler style of politics, I hoped that he might be open to an inclusive debate within the party, to bring its different wings together – something that mirrored the kind of conversation we need to have as a country. Instead, the party now reflects its own divisions and those of the country more clearly than ever.

I don’t agree with those who believe that progressive policies can’t win at the ballot box. But I do think that meaningful, lasting change, needs inclusive politics that brings people out of their echo chambers and makes genuine debate possible. You cannot expect change to last if it is imposed on people who do not understand it and do not feel included in it. The British political landscape is a terribly divisive place right now, and there are far too few straws in the wind to make hope of change realistic. With Brexit looming ever closer, we are coming face to face with a reality which seems inevitable but which many people cannot bring themselves to accept, given the huge costs to the country it represents, and the damage it will do to people’s lives, particularly in places that are already struggling. The evidence on which people voted in the referendum is tainted, as are many of the people and organisations who campaigned on the leave side. Yet, even in these circumstances, there is hardly any mainstream political challenge to Brexit.

People feel unrepresented. In very many cases, they also feel desperate. Schools are struggling. The NHS is in crisis. Politics itself is in disarray. We are drifting into the future with no destination in mind and no map to guide us. Those who suggest we might pause a while to think about where we are going are pilloried in the press. How can we be dashing towards such radical change without any hint of a conversation about what kind of society we want to be? There is a gaping hole in the middle of British politics where just such a conversation should be taking place.

Politics is about choices. And democracy should mean we get to have a say about those choices. Any attempt to deny or limit those choices is, in effect, a subversion of democracy. There are many more options on the table than we are led to believe. We cannot have everything but we can have more and we can have different. We need to start being honest about who we are and what we want to be.

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‘I thought that through education we could help people move forward without a revolution’

I was sad to read of the death of the great historian of adult education, John Fletcher Clews (J.F.C.) Harrison, on 8 January 2018, aged 96. John was one of the generation of ‘extra mural’ adult educators that included E.P Thompson and Raymond Williams. He saw in adult education a catalyst for social change and his writing – marked, Thompson wrote, by its clarity and ‘unhurried, authoritative, economical style’ – was notable also for striving to reach beyond a narrow audience of academics to an ‘informed general public’.

For John, as for his contemporaries, adult education was a desperately serious business, with a clear social, political and civic purpose, in which learning ‘for leisure’ had no place. I was fortunate enough to be able to interview John for Adults Learning, in 2004, I think. He was an extremely kind, affable and gracious interviewee. I asked him what he thought were the prospects for the radical tradition of working class education. Much of what he had to say is still acutely relevant. The interview is reproduced below as it appeared in Adults Learning.

In his book, Learning and Living, John Harrison charted the history of adult learning understood ‘in terms of social purpose rather than institutional form’, a radical movement instrumental in the growth – and forever at the frontiers – of democracy. The work demonstrated how, within this largely voluntary tradition, adult education strove for liberation ‘personal and social’. As tutor for the University of Leeds’ extra-mural department in the 1950s, Harrison crossed great swathes of West and North Yorkshire to give tutorial classes to the region’s agricultural, steel and textile workers. However, the social changes that he hoped adult education would produce failed to materialise and nothing, he thinks, in the present political climate suggests a reverse. With universities ‘dumbing down’ their courses and the traditional subjects of the radical movement increasingly marginalised, the time, he thinks, is ripe for adult education to reconsider and build on its roots within a broader, popular movement.

Learning and Living, 1790-1960: A Study in the History of the English Adult Education Movement (1961) stemmed directly from Harrison’s experiences as an extra-mural lecturer in Yorkshire. He joined the Department of Extra-Mural Studies of the University of Leeds in September 1947. Harrison mostly taught WEA-organised evening classes in the towns and villages of the North Riding, sometimes travelling 70 miles to give a class on social history or international relations, then 70 miles back. He taught steel workers just off the night shift over breakfast in a Teeside Working Men’s Institute, hard-worked and poorly paid agricultural workers in the vale of York, textile workers in the West Riding. Driven on by its forceful and persuasive architect, Sidney Raybould, the department emphasised classes for manual workers. ‘Raybould would be very disappointed if we could only get a class of housewives, however worthy,’ says Harrison.

‘We took our lead from the famous sayings of Tawney, the great pioneer of adult education and the WEA. He said that he had learned a great deal about economic and social history from his students, that it was not just a one-way process, where the tutor gave out to the students, but that the students would give back from their experience and the tutor learn as much as he gave out.’ Tutors, Harrison says, did their best to honour this. ‘It didn’t always work. They didn’t always have a great deal to give back, just as we were often very tongue-tied with the questions they put to us. But it was very worthwhile. When I talked to steelworkers in Teeside about Beveridge and explained what it was, what it was looking for, I felt I was doing something worthwhile. It wasn’t just academic. It was helping people understand where they were and, insofar as they were active in their unions and other organisations, where they were going. And that, of course, is what they wanted and where the questioning came in. In a tutorial class it was partly presentation by the tutor and partly discussion by the students. The idea that you lectured for an hour and then had discussion for an hour was abandoned early on. We would talk for perhaps 10 minutes and then throw it open. And from the discussion you would get the next clue and then you would take it up and go on from there.

‘As a teaching method this, of course, was very exacting, but very useful indeed. When I became an internal lecturer I found very few of my contemporaries appreciated this, but the students did. This two-way exchange, which Tawney always talked about and which Raybould always said should be there, was a very real thing. If you didn’t get that, and in some classes you didn’t, it used to be sticky going. A two-hour session if there’s no comeback can be pretty horrific. You really must know your subject. You can’t prepare for something and then just put it across like you can if you are giving a 50-minute lecture in a university. That’s not how adult education was conceived, not how it went on. It was give-and-take. It was very exacting. That’s why adult tutors tended to be very good tutors. Those who weren’t fell by the wayside.’

The department Harrison joined already had a reputation as one of the finest of its kind anywhere in the country. Its policy was guided by the ideas and personality of Sidney Raybould. Born and bred in the Cleveland district of Yorkshire, Raybould led a team of outstanding teachers and academics, including Harrison, Roy Shaw and E.P. Thompson. The inheritor of the tutorial class tradition built up in Yorkshire by former WEA District Secretary George Thompson, Raybould was driven by the idea that an extra-mural department should do work of genuine university quality. Yet, often, Harrison confides, it was work that failed to meet this criterion that turned out to be the most valuable. ‘These were some of the most worthwhile classes. The agricultural workers I taught were some of the best students I had. Not because they achieved great academic prominence, they certainly didn’t, but because of what I helped them to do. Against the farmers, it was really the only thing they had ever come across that gave them any strength. The union was difficult to organise in that area, besides, as I discovered, agricultural workers are a very conservative bunch.’

Harrison’s teaching was mostly confined to history, modern history or ‘international relations’ at first, but, increasingly, as interest among students grew, social history – ‘the history of ordinary people’. This was in line with the vision of education Raybould inherited from George Thompson, who insisted that the subjects taught should reflect the seriousness of the educators’ intent. ‘George Thompson didn’t have much time for the arts,’ Harrison says, ‘he thought they were all really peripheral. Literature and certainly music, things like that, were alright for those with leisure, but for the workers it had to be economics, and a certain amount of social history, basically what Tawney had taught. ‘Learning for leisure’ wasn’t the way we were going. It seemed to be deflecting us from the very serious intent of adult education.’

Such an approach, Harrison concedes, is unlikely to attract mass participation. ‘There was a problem here after a while with getting programmes running sufficient to keep a large staff of extra-mural tutors in business. This is where the WEA had great difficulties, in recruiting enough students who were prepared to commit themselves for three years to do work of a university standard, but if we couldn’t do that it meant that some of our staff tutors didn’t have classes, which was a tragedy for the university. The WEA had a missionary motive always. They were convinced that it was not enough to provide adult education; you had to stimulate people to want it. We always said that you have got to convince people of the need to come to the classes. Whether you did it through the earnestness of your approach or you did it by other things, you had to convince them.

‘All the students, of course, were voluntary, unlike internal students who had to attend their lectures, or who were supposed to. If people wanted to leave they could. And it was up to the tutor to hold the class together. It wasn’t just a matter of giving something out, it was a question of creating the class as it went along. The students were not prepared to accept everything you said as being necessarily so. They had all got inquisitive minds, otherwise they wouldn’t have come in the first place.’

Nevertheless, while Harrison and his colleagues saw themselves as part of a tradition that was genuinely popular, in the sense of being of the people, they were aware that they were reaching only a minority. ‘We tried very hard to get over this and to get beyond it. But, being honest, we knew very well that this was almost impossible. We didn’t look on adult education as being a fun thing. Raybould would have been shocked to think it was just something you did in your leisure. You had to give up precious time in order to take up study. This is a very old tradition in England, this idea that study isn’t something to do when you’ve got nothing better to do. You do it because it is worthwhile and will improve your whole life and not only because you are making yourself more socially effective, but in your personal relationships as well. That’s part of the English tradition that we inherited. The great triumph of the WEA was when, as a result of a class, some of the students went on to other forms of local action, becoming local councillors or trade union activists. This was what made it worth while.’

‘We talked a lot about voluntary bodies,’ Harrison says, ‘this was the great phrase that you don’t hear much now. The WEA was one of the great examples of that. But there were others and we tried to work with them as well, all kinds of bodies which, at the time, we thought of as, theoretically, being the basis of democracy. There were various arguments being put forward that this was the essence of western democracy, that there are centres other than government with which people can identify and only when you have got these bodies can you have a really functioning democracy. When the Second World War finally ended, there was enormous relief and, at the same time, a great grasping to go forward, which was why Beveridge was so well received. Adult education was part of that and adult learning, in all its forms, benefited from this. It wasn’t just the people who came out of the forces who wanted this, everybody did.’

Much of that impetus, Harrison thinks, has now evaporated. The biggest disappointment of all, he says, is the Labour Party. ‘All that we worked for in the past seems to be dependent on a very liberal government, which we always supposed would be a Labour government. That doesn’t seem to have worked out. New labour is really the new Toryism. The old labour politics have been ditched. And most of the things that I had hoped for from adult education have been lost as a result of that. My own conviction is that English society is extremely conservative. It’s very difficult to get change in this society. I knew that a long time ago. I had hoped that in the future things would get better. But they really haven’t.’

What changes would he like to see? ‘I think real support for the universities instead of multiplying them. What we need is something in the way of training in vocational subjects for people who want to be craftsmen and technicians and so on.’ He is suspicious of the Government’s 50 per cent participation target for 18–30-year-olds in higher education and of the likelihood that resources will be made available to make it work. ‘It seems to be a bit of a political ploy, quite frankly’. Universities – especially new universities – have been forced into competition, he says, ‘and competition, in our type of society, means dumbing down, offering things which, academically, don’t stand up in the way the old subjects used to do.

‘Of course, the context is so utterly different now from 50 years ago. Television was a social influence we didn’t have to deal with. Whether we could have coped with that, I don’t know. I look back now and see us as the last of the old tradition of adult education, beginning with the WEA and the universities. I put so much faith in education as a young man. I thought it would solve all these problems. When I went up to Teeside to talk to steel workers I didn’t see them as potential agents of the revolution. I thought that through education we could help people move forward without a revolution.’

 

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Creativity matters and not just to the privileged

I grew up in a house with few books. I think I can probably recall them all: Reader’s Digest editions of Pride and Prejudice and Wuthering Heights, a battered paperback copy of Smiley’s People, with Alec Guinness’s bespectacled face on the cover, and a collection of Roald Dahl short stories called Kiss Kiss. There was also a four-volume collection of William Shakespeare’s plays. All of them mattered to me in some way – my recollection of them is extremely vivid – but it was reading Wuthering Heights as a teenager that really opened up the world of books to me. Although in some ways completely removed from the life I was leading at the time, it also felt incredibly relevant and compelling to me. The rawness and violence of the connection between the two main characters set sparks flying in my teenage brain.

There may not have been many books in our house but I did grow up with a sense that creativity and culture were important. My mum loved jazz and painting – was and is still a very gifted amateur painter, now running her own informal learning group for other artists – and we grew up to the sound of Billie Holiday and Bessie Smith. All of this fed my love of literature and culture. Leaving school at 16 and being forced to join a YTS, I would head into Liverpool each weekend and scour the book shops, devouring the Penguin Modern Classics series: Kafka, Camus, Sartre, de Beauvoir were bringing me to life, connecting me with other worlds but also making me feel somewhat out of synch with my own. Music was important too, especially literary bands such as The Fall and The Smiths, whose work, particularly the writing of Mark E Smith, set my mind on new, unvisited pathways. The door was open.

Without this early exposure to culture, I doubt I would have taken the choices I subsequently took – to become a journalist, to go to university, to try my hand at writing, to undertake research and editing – or to do any of the jobs I have been employed to do. I would have accepted the verdict of my teachers. More than that, I suspect I would never have known about the world of books or felt comfortable in it. None of this, I should note, was stimulated or reinforced at school. I couldn’t relate to Shakespeare. I didn’t respond to John Steinbeck. I wasn’t given a chance to study music having failed a test intended to identify musical aptitude (not having understood what we were doing I copied my answers off the girl next to me – I can still recall the sick feeling I had on realizing that something I hadn’t attached any importance to was in fact very important indeed – there was no second chance). And my audition for the school choir lasted only a few bars into ‘Morning has broken’. So disengaged was I that, despite having a half-decent brain, I left school without any qualifications; in most cases not even turning up for my exams. Had I not found my own way in I would never have got to explore this new world or discovered in it some talent and interest of my own.

I mention this because I believe that everyone has talent and creativity and that it is only through exploration and discovery that they have the chance to find it and, if they are fortunate, find a way of living in the world that also satisfies them and answers their passions. This, to me, is so important. It is what, I believe, education is primarily about. Education opens doors: it shows us the world, it pulls back the curtain, it lets the light in. The thing that struck me most on my first experience of university was the latitude, the openness of it all, the chance to switch subjects, learn different things, the bloody amazing library. If you wanted, you could spend the day reading a novel you had picked up off the shelf. And the next day you could enroll on a short course about the author. One of my best experiences at university was a brilliant short course on Chekhov’s plays. Reading them aloud really brought them to life.

Of course, books and literature are not for everyone. But everyone deserves the chance to find that out for themselves. I have written elsewhere about how anxiety drives our education system – that anxiety is driven by the relentless sound of door after door closing on the future prospects of children and young people, far, far too early. We have created an educational culture which is characterised by high-stakes risk – for students, teachers and institutions – and which discourages experiment and discovery and leads inevitably to a narrowing of the curriculum and a consequent loss of opportunity. Access to a wide, culturally rich education is hugely important for everyone, but particularly for those least likely to encounter the creative arts at home. This was captured eloquently by David Blunkett in his famous foreword to the 1998 Green Paper, The Learning Age, for me still the high watermark in policy thinking about education in my lifetime (it also lends this blog its name). Mr Blunkett wrote:

As well as securing our economic future, learning has a wider contribution. It helps make ours a civilised society, develops the spiritual side of our lives and promotes active citizenship. Learning enables people to play a full part in their community. It strengthens the family, the neighbourhood and consequently the nation. It helps us fulfil our potential and opens doors to a love of music, art and literature. That is why we value learning for its own sake as well as for the equality of opportunity it brings.

Sadly, the Learning Age Green Paper has proved less of a blueprint for subsequent policy-making and more of a marker for how far our ambitions have declined, for our country, for ourselves and for our children. In the 20 years since it was published, we have seen the education system gripped by a wholly wrong-headed utilitarian focus on skills, conceived narrowly as skills for work or economically useful skills. Adult education is now unrecognisable. Opportunities for adults to study creative subjects have dried up, to the point where such opportunities are now very few and far between, a trend only to a limited extent addressed by a growth in self-organised learning. At the same time, non-elite universities have been under pressure to narrow their study options and focus on subjects with direct employment outcomes.

Perhaps most criminally of all, schools – state-maintained schools at least – have seen creative arts subjects progressively squeezed out. A BBC survey of secondary schools found that 90 per cent of schools had had to cut back on lesson time, staff or facilities in at least one creative arts subject. Extra-curricular activities were also being cut back on, as schools dealt with real-terms cuts to their budgets, the report said. The latest cuts only reinforce the direction set under Michael Gove, who combined the characteristics of being the worst education secretary in living memory with being also the most arrogant. He believed that creativity had to be grounded in formal learning, failing to see what is obvious to any teacher: that creativity is a part of learning, and a vital part at that.

Depressingly, many are prepared to greet this grim, utilitarian reduction in opportunity as progress. Amanda Spielman, Chief Inspector of Ofsted, told the BBC this week that a focus on core academic subjects represented the best route to higher study, particularly for working-class children. It is a depressing coda to our society’s failure to develop a fit-for-purpose twenty-first century education system that children are considered a resource to be only selectively invested in. I object to this on grounds of social justice. Why should the already privileged horde these opportunities? Why should millions of people have to live their lives with limited understanding of creative culture or the arts, forever at the window looking in?

But even from the narrow perspective of those responsible for the shameful devaluation of our educational offer, it makes no sense to squeeze the arts out of education. The creative industries bring billions into the economy and represent one of the few areas in which Britain might be said still to lead the world. Furthermore, creativity and the willingness to learn are key to our future economic competitiveness, in a global market that is changing, fragmented and transnational. As Ken Robinson argues, creativity is, at bottom, about ‘fresh thinking’, finding different ways of thinking about and doing things. It is also highly diverse – different, indeed, in every case – which means that only a truly broad, all-encompassing curriculum can hope to capture and develop every talent. It also means jamming each door firmly open and ensuring opportunity is genuinely lifelong.

For much of the twentieth century, the adult education movement in Britain sought to correct the imbalances of an education system that prepared the wealthy for a long, rounded, fulfilling life and the working class for work (and a much shorter, less commodious life). Not only do those imbalances remain, they have been getting wider. The pioneers saw an opportunity to create a better society without the need for massive political upheaval. Perhaps that is what those who disparage the role of the arts and creativity fear. Do we want a stale society in which privilege is endlessly reinforced and the fruits of culture restricted to an elite, albeit under the guise of meritocracy, or do we want a vibrant culture to which people of all classes contribute, freely and fully, and have an equal opportunity to lead active, engaged and creatively fulfilling lives? I know which kind of society I would prefer to live in.

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Social mobility: A puzzle the government has no desire to solve

For those who believe the UK government cares about addressing inequality or promoting social mobility these must have been a disappointing past few days.

Justine Greening resigned as education secretary in the midst of a botched cabinet reshuffle, only a few weeks after launching a ‘plan for improving social mobility through education’. Explaining her decision to turn down a lesser role and leave the government, she tweeted, ‘Social mobility matters to me and our country more than my ministerial career. I’ll continue to do everything I can to create a country that has equality of opportunity for young people’. It is a depressing footnote to the story of the Conservatives’ dreadful and ongoing mismanagement of the education sector that Ms Greening felt this was something she was better placed to do outside government.

A new education secretary, Damian Hinds, was appointed, a politician whose chairmanship of the All-Party Parliamentary Group on Social Mobility appears to have done little to blunt his enthusiasm for selective schools. Mr Hinds’ appointment is widely seen as an attempt to get the Prime Minister’s plans for the education sector – derailed by her colossal misjudgment in calling a snap election – back on track. Notably, Mr Hinds shares Mrs May’s enthusiasm for grammar schools, frequently styled by Mrs May as an engine of social mobility when, of course, they are nothing of the sort.

One of Ms Greening’s most endearing qualities as education secretary was her lack of enthusiasm for this strand of Tory thinking. She has also resisted the dismal spread of free and faith schools. Her scepticism is well founded. A 2016 report on grammar schools and social mobility by the Education Policy Institute found that the gap between children on free school meals attaining five A*–C GCSEs, including English and Math) and all other children is wider in selective areas than in non-selective areas – at around 34.1 per cent compared with 27.8 per cent. The report also found that high-attaining pupils perform just as well in high-quality non-selective schools as in selective schools. And while faith schools can boast greater exam success, this is largely down to social selection.

But, of course, the Prime Minister knows all of this, as I am sure does Mr Hinds, who has called for an ‘elite’ grammar school in every major conurbation and has advocated the expansion of faith schools. Despite this, they seem set to continue defending ideologically driven interventions, which do nothing for the life chances of the poorest children and help ensure privilege is passed on from generation to generation, as levers to address the very social problems they help cause. Evidently, this is not what Ms Greening had in mind when she wrote of ‘putting social mobility at the heart of education policy’. And that helps explain why Ms Greening had to go. Her genuine commitment to social mobility posed a threat to Mrs May’s own regressive, dangerous and evidence-free plans for education.

The challenge of social mobility, of course, is huge, as Ms Greening admits in the foreword to her plan. The Social Mobility Commission’s last state-of-the-nation report noted ‘a stark social mobility lottery in Britain today’, arguing that the country seemed ‘to be in the grip of a self-reinforcing spiral of ever-growing division’. A week later, of course, the Commission resigned en masse over the Prime Minister’s failure to make progress towards a ‘fairer Britain’. This should have been a very public disaster for the government, particularly as it has repeatedly pledged to make Britain fairer and ensure no-one is ‘left behind’. But, in the context of a still supportive, Brexit-hungry media and in the absence of well-organised, effective opposition, the government has continued to function in an almost frictionless way, despite lurching from crisis to crisis, propelled by its own internal dysfunction.

Against this backdrop, Ms Greening’s plan was an opportunity for the government to seize the social mobility agenda and demonstrate its commitment to it. And while the plan does not live up to its promise to provide ‘a framework for action that can empower everyone – whether educators, government, business or civil society – to help transform equality of opportunity in this country’, it nevertheless offers welcome recognition of the need for a radical shift and for greater policy coherence in our approach, and of the ‘vital role’ of education in delivering meaningful change. But instead of backing the plan, and placing social mobility at the heart of education policy, there is every indication that the government will return to the ancien régime of free and faith schools and selection, which benefit the already advantaged at the expense of the rest, while pursuing its ongoing programme of cuts to state-maintained schools and FE colleges, which have resulted in plummeting learner numbers and a crisis in teacher recruitment.

While the ambitions of the plan are radical – there really is no ambition in politics greater, or more important, than to ensure that where a person starts in life does not determine where they end up – the recommendations are not. There are some good ideas and welcome recognition of the potential contribution of technical and further education to improving social mobility (though it neglects adult education), but the scope of the plan is too narrow and, of course, there is no new money to deliver on its ambitions to ‘reverse these negative spirals and generate a virtuous cycle to unlock talent and fulfil potential’.

One point on which Mr Hinds and Ms Greening agree is that social mobility interventions should focus on early years. This is essential, of course, but it cannot be the whole story. We need a much more joined-up and comprehensive plan to begin to address these issues, and we need to realise that education can only do so much and that widening inequality makes social mobility much more difficult to achieve. The gap between the rungs on the ladder make failure to difficult to countenance and gaming of the system far too tempting.

That said, while education cannot address all of these entrenched issues, it still has a big role to play but we need to be much bolder in thinking across the education system. We need to boost early-years provision, but we also need to ensure parents have the skills and capacities to support their children’s development, and that means investing in adult education and the millions of adults who left school without decent basic skills. We need strong, diverse higher education sector, with fair access, diverse providers and flourishing part-time provision, but we also need to reshape the system so that the range of routes to a good career and decent life are as diverse as people’s aspirations, and that means improving technical and vocational routes and taking some of our eggs out of the academic basket. It also means focusing not just on the talented few but on how to create a system that offers opportunity for all, a system that is properly fair and comprehensive.

To do that, we need to think about the education system in the round and not in silos and ensure that opportunity is evenly spread and is open to all, ensuring place and community are at the heart of the education agenda. No community should be considered ‘left behind’ when it comes to education. As Ms Greening’s plan urges, effort and resource should be directed ‘towards the places and people where it is most needed to unlock talent and fulfil potential’. And we need to recognise that a culture of constant reform, cost-cutting, poor pay and escalating workload, as we have seen for many years now in the further education sector, is not conducive to improving educational performance. None of this is possible without a flourishing, well-funded further education sector. Nor will it be possible while educators are underpaid, overworked and overburdened with the demands of accountability.

What, perhaps, we need most of all is to talk, really talk. Never has British politics been more in need of dialogue. Labour has some good ideas on education but it needs to convince voters and that means talking to people who do not agree with them. Stable government is only possible through the effort to find common ground with our opponents. It is also through dialogue that we can begin to change mind-sets, overcome echo-chamber politics and dispel some of the myths of the instinctive, kneejerk populism of the right. A big problem, from national to neighbourhood level, is the loss of public spaces where we can meet and reduce the gap between us. Flinging brickbats from behind the barricades just widens that gap. Until we begin to close it, find our common ground and develop inclusive, evidence-based policies that command wide support, we will a struggle to find stable solutions to the problems that haunt us.

 

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Towards a national strategy for lifelong learning

The Chancellor will shortly announce the details of his autumn budget. As usual, education advocacy groups will be watching closely to see if their part of the sector gets favourable mention.

Often, in education at least, good news in one part of the system is bought at the expense of another, less fortunate, part – usually FE or adult education. It’s a depressing indicator of the lack of coherence and system-wide thinking that has blighted education policy-making in England for years.

If I have one wish for this year’s budget it is that Mr Hammond will give us some indication that the government will move beyond this robbing-Peter-to-pay-Paul approach and demonstrate some understanding that the overall coherence and consistent, fair funding of the UK education system matter.

The budget will be viewed, quite rightly, as an opportunity for the government to consider realistically the challenges and opportunities Brexit presents and to set out, in broad brush strokes at least, how the it proposes to respond. The nature of these challenges and opportunities is such that the government really has no option but to put education at the heart of its plans for the future – that is if it is serious about making a success of Brexit for everyone and not just the folks at the top.

The problem for the Chancellor is that for some time now successive governments have been heading in the wrong direction, underfunding the education system as a whole, while slashing funding for less-protected areas to prevent schools and universities feeling the pinch too much. The result has been a system that is incoherent, unfair and increasingly underfunded.

Only the steady flow of imported talent from outside the UK, mostly from the EU, has kept our vital services supplied with the high-level skills they require to run effectively. Until the Brexit vote, I think people were generally fairly happy to let this state of affairs continue, quietly brushing under the carpet our Premier League style poaching of talent cultivated at great expense elsewhere. But, really, it’s not ok. If we had asked tougher questions earlier, perhaps we wouldn’t be in the mess we are in now.

No part of the sector has suffered more from the underfunding of education in the UK than further education, and no part of society has been more neglected by our education system than adult learners.

For years, further education has been kicked from pillar to post by politicians keen to make their mark but with, by and large, little grasp of how the system works or what is at stake for the learners who populate it. On the rare occasion that a minister or secretary of state who cares about and understands the sector is appointed, their best efforts serve only to steady the ship, not change its course, before the next tsunami of myopic and narrowly conceived reform hits, usually driven by a determination to reduce costs or introduce competition into the sector.

It would be hard to find anyone in or around the sector who thinks the government has got it broadly right when it comes to further education, but we carry on as though, with only a few adjustments, it could all be ok. The looming spectre of Brexit means we can no longer afford to do this. Frankly, we never could. The cost of our failure to invest properly in the talents of our homegrown population can be seen everywhere, in the blighted hopes and aspirations of the young people and adults who leave compulsory education labelled as failures by a system that selects on the basis of wealth not talent.

Nowhere is the government’s failure to invest adequately more evident than in adult education. The latest government data show steep declines in the numbers of adults learning basic skills (six per cent in 2016-17 alone) and in the numbers participating in community learning, a critical means of engaging reluctant learners and empowering individuals and communities who have been left behind. It is often left to the providers of community learning to step in and pick up the pieces for those who leave the school system utterly alienated from education. For adults afraid of entering a classroom, whose educational experience has taught them to value themselves less not more, such providers offer critical, safe entry points, often leading to work or into further learning. This means that cuts in this type of provision are likely to have direct consequences for participation in other types of learning, as well as in the economy.

With an ageing population that scores low in international literacy and numeracy league tables, a long history of poor productivity hinging very largely on our tendency to neglect the educational needs of the majority of our people, and an overreliance on imported workers at both ends of the skills chain, recent cuts to adult and further education funding are, to put it mildly, counter intuitive.

These cuts have been both savage and unnecessary. In one year alone the adult education budget was cut by a quarter – and that on top of deep cuts inflicted in the preceding years. At the same time, part-time higher study has collapsed utterly, squeezing adults out of HE at a moment in history when the need for adults to reskill and move careers has never been more acute. As the OU’s Peter Horrocks pointed out last week, there has been a 56 per cent drop since tuition fees were trebled.

University lifelong learning, for so long a driver of progressive change in the system, has also been considered a price worth paying for a system which pulls off the neat trick of being both costlier to the tax payer and dizzyingly expensive for students with spiralling debts. In terms of costs to students, the English education system is now pretty much an outlier. And our eye-wateringly expensive system increasingly offers two kinds of education: a traditional liberal arts education for the mostly already privileged student at elite institutions; a vocationally flavoured higher education experience for the rest. In England, what you get for your tuition fees is determined not so much by what you pay as by what you can afford.

While increased investment is urgently needed across the board, it is important too that money is spent intelligently and coherently. This means ensuring that the expansion in apprenticeships is complemented by training which ensures people are ready to take on an apprenticeship as well as well-funded careers advice. It means acknowledging that family and community learning make a crucial contribution to getting adults furthest from education engaged in learning once again, and funding it accordingly. It means making sure ESOL provision is adequately funded so it can make a full contribution to the creation of flourishing, cohesive communities. And it means recognising that the benefits of education are not purely economic and represent a substantial public good that we should all be prepared to invest in. Employers too.

The failure of successive governments to see that the value of education cannot be measured purely in pounds and pence has significantly impoverished our education offer, in schools, in the community, in colleges and training providers, and in the university sector.

In light of these challenges we need nothing less than a national strategy for lifelong learning, with adult education at its heart. We need a strategy that joins up all the different interrelated strands and demonstrates active understanding of how they relate to and complement each other. Labour’s plan for a National Education Service, with its intellectual roots in David Blunkett’s much-admired Learning Age Green Paper (from which this blog takes its name), is a step in the right direction. It’s promise of greater coherence, fairer funding and wider access, and its recognition of the public good of education, represent at the very least something concrete to build on and improve. Above all, it offers the kind of definitive shift in the narrative we need. If the government is serious about making a success of post-Brexit Britain, it must act, decisively and comprehensively, to reverse years of underinvestment and reinvigorate our over-stretched, incoherent and underfunded education system, starting where the cuts have done the most damage: adult education.

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Disadvantage, inequality and social mobility: It’s not just about schools

‘Our society is stuck in a rut on social mobility,’ writes Institute of Education Director Becky Francis in a blog post published this week. Despite the efforts of successive governments, she writes, ‘the gap between young people from disadvantaged backgrounds and their peers … in education, income, housing, health … continues to yawn’.

Professor Francis cites a wealth of recent evidence to prove her point, including a report from the Education Policy Institute which shows that the most disadvantaged pupils in England are on average more than two full years of learning behind their better-off counterparts by the time they leave secondary school; and statistics from the Department for Education which indicate no improvement in the gap in university entry between those who received free school meals and those who did not in the seven years between 2008-09 and 2014-15. An estimated 24 per cent of pupils who were in receipt of free school meals at 15 had entered higher education by age 19 by 2015-15, compared to 41 per cent of the rest.

This makes for depressing reading, but it is not particularly surprising. While social mobility has been near the top of the political agenda in the UK for some time, efforts to tackle it have been half-hearted, at best, often loading pressure on the education system to turn around problems which are much wider and much more fundamental. This isn’t to say that the problems are insoluble or difficult to comprehend – just that solving them will take a much bigger effort and a much profounder change to the organization of our society than politicians like to pretend. In many cases, I am sorry to say, politicians have offered ‘solutions’, talked about ‘magic bullets’, in the full knowledge that they are nothing the sort. In fact, as they probably well know, the assumptions they accept about the limits of what it is possible to do make meaningful change to social mobility at best highly unlikely, at worst quite impossible. Despite years of overheated rhetoric, rather than narrowing, disparities in income, education and health look set to rise as we enter a further period of needless and self-inflicted austerity.

Professor Francis makes an eloquent case that, from a schools perspective, the key policy change should be ‘to find ways to support and incentivise the quality of teaching in socially disadvantaged neighbourhoods’. This is important. I have direct experience of the difference a really talented, committed teacher can make to students’ lives and aspirations, albeit in a further education context, and I have seen the difference poor teachers can make, from school to higher education. It is clear that successfully incentivizing the best teachers to work in the most deprived schools, by whatever means, will make an important difference to outcomes. And it is evident, as Professor Francis also argues, that early-years interventions are often the most effective and best sustained.

But it is clear too that these, as isolated interventions, will have limited impact. Making a deep and lasting impact requires that we turn around the social and political trends that arrest and make more difficult social progress of this sort. The most obvious of these is the entrenched inequality that has come to characterise our society in past decades. There is a clear correlation between inequality and social mobility: the more unequal a society is the less socially mobile it is. And the UK is among the most unequal societies in the industrialised world. Part of the problem is that the rungs of the ladder have become too distant from one another and the cost of failing and falling down a rung becomes greater and greater. This partly explains why education has become such a high-pressure, high-stakes game, one which middle-class families have become adept at playing, further squeezing the life chances of the children of the less well off. It also helps explain why working-class students are happy to take on heavy debts to access higher education: in the high-stakes, anxiety-ridden education system we have created, the enormous costs of failing make the payment of exorbitant fees – the highest anywhere in the world – appear reasonable. The combination of such profound inequality with a gameable system and the pervasive myth of meritocracy – cultivated by politicians including Prime Minister Theresa May – is incredibly toxic.

Its impact can be readily recognised in the failure of elite universities to widen access to their institutions. A report from the Reform think tank, published this week, showed that England’s leading universities had made ‘incredibly slow’ progress in widening access to students from disadvantaged backgrounds, despite spending hundreds of millions of pounds on interventions which, I suspect, have ,in some cases, had more to do with satisfying the Office for Fair Access than making a genuine difference to their student profile. While, overall, English universities have increased access for students from disadvantaged backgrounds, the progress, predictably enough, has been skewed towards ‘lower- and middle-tier universities’, while the elite institutions live down to their reputation (hugely alienating from the perspective of prospective working-class students) as finishing schools for the already-privileged. The most dramatic gap obtains between private school students and those from state schools. In 2014-15, 65 per cent of independent school students entered a highly selective HEI by age 19, compared to 23 per cent of state school students, a gap of 42 percentage points (the gap was 39 percentage points in 2008-09). The tremendous loss of talent this represents is evidently thought a price worth paying for preserving the privileges of the fortunate few.

The fees regime, introduced by the Conservative-Liberal Democrat coalition in 2010, frequently vaunted as being an agent of fairer access (a myth that can only be maintained by ignoring huge swathes of evidence in favour of the bits you like), has, in fact, been a pretty much unmitigated and indefensible disaster in terms of widening access, not only creating what is effectively a two-tier university system but resulting in a 56 per cent collapse in part-time (mostly mature) student numbers and obliging the Open University, once a genuine agent of progressive social change, to massively inflate its fees, shutting yet further doors in the faces of working-class students. Its overall impact has been to make higher education more expensive for poorer students than for their richer counterparts while making the prospects of an ‘elite’ higher education seem yet more remote for working-class students who, despite the resistance of these institutions to admitting them, generally outperform more privileged counterparts with comparable grades.

It isn’t just mature and part-time higher study that has fallen into steep decline since 2010. Successive governments have made swingeing cuts to further education, and to adult skills, in particular, leading some experts to predict the imminent death of publicly funding adult FE. Only the activism of unions and representative groups, alongside the belated recognition that maybe training our homegrown talent wouldn’t be a bad idea in a post-Brexit, post-free movement Britain, have prevented adult education in FE from disappearing altogether. At the same time, as John Holford noted in a recent article, the narrowing of further education’s mission to a Gradgrind-like economic utilitarianism has made it increasingly difficult for colleges to fulfil their wider remit in their communities. The message to working-class students and prospective students from working-class backgrounds, wherever they study, could not be clearer: stick to what you know and keep your aspirations low. Aspire to a job and leave the joys of a broader, liberal education to those who can afford it. Hardly the stuff of an aspirational, learning society.

This constriction in opportunities for young people and adults has a major impact on the aspirations and achievements of children. As I have argued before, the role of the family is absolutely critical in breaking the intergenerational cycle of poverty. Family learning has a frequently neglected but hugely important role to play in motivating children and adults to learn, creating learning environments within the home and setting an example that can prove infectious. The restoration of funding for adult education should be part of a wider national effort to promote social mobility and combat inequality. This should also include a general increase in levels of investment in education, including in early years and high-level vocational and technical education (which has never been accorded due respect by UK policy-makers), bringing the UK to the level of comparable nations such as France and Germany, and the scrapping of the costly and dysfunctional fees system in higher education. Crucially, theses interventions should be part of a wider national conversation about how we reduce inequality, improve productivity and boost wages while redistributing wealth more fairly. We also need honest politicians who tell us the truth about the challenges we face and don’t spin us yarns about meritocracy and how education alone can overturn entrenched inequality. I don’t think any of this is rocket science. It just suits some of those who like things the way they are to pretend that it is.

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