Worlds apart: Education and Britain’s inequality problem

Are we all in this together?

The COVID-19 pandemic is still with us, and seems likely to be a part of our lives, in some form, for some time to come. It has taken – and continues to take – a huge personal, social and economic toll, while stretching health services to the utmost limit. It has also exposed and exacerbated deep and entrenched inequalities, both in education – between and within sectors – and in wider society, opening up questions of value and authority that go to the heart of the social contract and how we understand it. The crisis represents an appalling human tragedy, one which we have hardly begun to reckon with, but it is also an opportunity, albeit a fleeting one, to think further and differently, to challenge old, tired orthodoxies and to radically rethink the way in which we do things, including education, from the perspective of public rather than private good.

The lessons of the pandemic are profound and far-reaching. Among them is the lesson of our inescapable interconnectedness; our mutual dependence and the fragility of the social fabric. Countries’ success – or otherwise – in managing the crisis has depended, to a very large extent, on the willingness of people to behave cooperatively, to recognise and respect the needs of their neighbours, and to sacrifice a part of their freedom for the good of others and for the common good. We have found, to the evident surprise of some, that every inch of the social fabric matters, and that it is only as strong as the point at which it is stretched most thinly; where it is weakest and most threadbare.

We have seen too, perhaps not so remarkably (though it is an evident surprise to some), that this fabric is strongest not in the boardroom or in the shiny high-rise offices of the City, or in the corridors of Whitehall, but on the shop floor and our public transport network, in the classroom and the high street, the laboratory and the intensive care unit. We have found that we are reliant on the ‘essential’ efforts of a wide array of often low-paid workers to whom we usually give little thought, from the people who staff the criminal justice system, to delivery drivers, postal workers, refuse collectors, mechanics, hairdressers, supermarket workers, plumbers, nurses, teachers and care workers. While the virus has imposed on us a state of emergency in which the social and political dimensions of life have been much reduced, troublingly so for many, it has also obliged us to reflect seriously on our frailty, our humanness and our profound interrelatedness, and posed important questions about who and what we, as a society, value.

This is as true at the level of the nation state as it is the individual. The wealthy countries of the world will not emerge fully from this crisis until the poorest have. We are, in an important and very real sense, all in this together. We cannot afford to be introspective or myopic. It is essential that we see ourselves as part of the world and also act in it, in an intelligent, collective and cross-sectoral way. We should see our failure to do so as an important moral problem and as a dimension of our wider failure to address inequality, both within and between countries.

Yet in another, equally important, sense, we clearly are not all in this together. Despite the evident need for genuinely global solutions, we are already seeing clear inequalities in the distribution of vaccine, with rich countries disproportionately benefiting in comparison to poor countries (in February 2021, more than 130 countries were still to receive a single dose of vaccine). The world’s five wealthiest individuals saw their collective worth increase by $269 billion during 2020, driven in part by people’s increasing dependence on online devices. Meanwhile, millions of people in the poorest regions of the world have been pushed to the point of starvation by a pandemic crisis which has exacerbated the already calamitous impact of conflict, climate change and food poverty. A United Nations study, published in September 2020, found that the pandemic had driven an additional 150 million children into multidimensional poverty – deprived of education, health, housing, nutrition, sanitation or water.

At national level, too, in the UK, the impact of the pandemic has not been felt evenly. COVID-19 has not only replicated existing health inequalities, in some cases it has increased them, with the risk of dying from the virus substantially higher for those living in the most deprived areas than for those living in the least deprived. People of black ethnicity, furthermore, were found to be four times as likely to die from COVID-19 than people of white ethnicity. And while many people, across socio-economic groups, have experienced a reduction in income as a result of lockdown, the pain has been disproportionately felt in poorer communities, with people on lower incomes more likely not only to face reductions in pay but also to suffer severe material and psychological harm as a result. The Resolution Foundation reported in May 2020 that around a third of the lowest-earning fifth of employees had been furloughed or lost their job as a result of the pandemic, compared to less than one in 10 of the top fifth of earners.

While COVID-19 does not discriminate – it doesn’t care who it infects – poverty, precarity, poor housing and poor local infrastructure, among other factors, ensure that it hurts the least advantaged the most. This is certainly the perception of many people living in the UK. The Social Mobility Commission’s Social Mobility Barometer 2021 found that 79 per cent of adults believe there is a large gap between different social classes, while over half the public (56 per cent) think the pandemic has increased social inequality.

This inequality of impact should make us question many of the accepted narratives of British political life. Poverty, poor-quality housing, insecure work, inadequate infrastructure and underfunded public services are the result not of irresistible economic forces but of political choices. We have created a society of winners and losers in which the odds of success are stacked massively in favour of the already advantaged, those who rely little on our broken infrastructure or our overstretched systems of social support. Successive governments (Labour and Conservative led) have weakly championed the problematic notion of ‘social mobility’, while at the same time presiding over widening social and economic inequalities that make the risks of falling a rung or two down the ladder unthinkably risky. Little wonder then that wealthy and well-connected parents are prepared to go to pretty much any length to game the system and secure the prospects of their offspring. It is difficult to blame them. This is simply a natural, human response to the system we have created.

High levels of inequality have a profound distorting impact on education. While our education system affects to treat everyone alike, and politicians on all sides engage readily in the rhetoric of equality of opportunity, if only as an aspiration, the reality could not be more different, and in a way that should not surprise anyone who understands how the system works, and how policy decisions drive it. While state schools have undergone a decade of real-terms funding decline since 2010, with the poorest areas the worst affected, the government has directed funding towards free schools, academies and grammars, increasing selection under the guise of promoting parental choice and social mobility. However, the free school programme has conspicuously failed to reach areas where educational attainment is low, while the majority of academy chains have failed to secure better outcomes for disadvantaged pupils. Most damningly, the government has continued to foster the ruling party’s obsession with grammar schools, despite the effective debunking of the myth that grammar schools promote social mobility (and the equally strong evidence that they promote social segregation). Choice is one thing, and it might be said that a diverse student population demands it, but it must not be premised on the perpetuation of systemic inequality and the cultivation of a dystopian educational culture of winners and losers.

This pattern of inequality has been deepened by the pandemic. In England, the variations in school funding and the disparities in wealth among regions meant that while some schools were able to offer their pupils very effective continuity of learning through online teaching and other activities, less well-resourced schools struggled to offer children meaningful access to teaching or other kinds of support. Less advantaged children from poorer areas were, in general, much worse hit by the school lockdown. Their families will have found themselves under much greater financial pressure, with less time and energy to devote to home schooling (many such parents do multiple, often insecure jobs). They are much less likely to have access to relevant technologies to support online learning. And, for those children who rely on school to provide them with their one decent meal of the day, hunger and poor, cramped, sometimes unsanitary or unsafe, living conditions make effective home learning extremely difficult, if not impossible. This has been the hard reality of life for a large proportion of our children under lockdown.

There is, of course, another class of schoolchildren in the UK, living lives and having educational experiences, including during lockdown, starkly different to poorer children whose daily lives are blighted by poverty and profound disadvantage. It is unlikely that any single force exerts as much influence over British political life as the independent school system. While independent – or private – schools educate only 7 per cent of the school population in the UK, their pupils dominate access to elite higher education, as well as to elite professions. Between 30 and 40 per cent of Oxbridge undergraduates are privately educated, while, according to a 2019 study by the Sutton Trust and the Social Mobility Commission, 65 per cent of senior judges, 59 per cent of senior civil servants, 44 per cent of newspaper columnists and 39 per cent of cabinet politicians went to fee-paying private schools. Almost half (46 per cent) of all hereditary peers in the House of Lords went to a single school, Eton (and none of them, of course, is a woman).

The connections made through the private school system, and the culture of nepotism it fosters, are important, of course, but so too is the quality of education received: 300 per cent more on average is spent on private school pupils’ education than on that of state school pupils, while class sizes in private schools are approximately half those in state schools. And, as if that were not enough, some private schools use their freedom from the kind of high-stakes accountability to which state schools are routinely subject, to game the system, for example through exaggerating exam grade predictions for their lowest-performing students ‘to facilitate application to a more selective university’.

Tolerance of this gross inequality of educational opportunity is one of the distinctive, not to say defining, features of education in Britain, though it is too little remarked on. A study from the University College London’s Institute of Education found that private schooling continued to be a ‘significant pathway through which some families obtain long-term advantages for their children’, one which all parents, irrespective of background, in a sense support through the tax subsidies these institutions still receive. Such schools exist, of course, to ensure social advantage is reproduced; they are a conduit through which wealthy families gain privileged access to elite institutions. And the system works. The more affluent a child’s background, the more likely they are to attend an elite university. The Department for Education found that 5 per cent of school pupils entitled to free school meals went on to study at a Russell Group university, compared to 11 per cent of school pupils who were not eligible. It is remarkable how little challenged the institution of private schooling remains (there is little mainstream debate about the place and influence of independent schools on our education system, despite the obvious unfairness), but perhaps it is not so surprising given the hold the privately educated have over most of our key political, legal and cultural institutions.

The past decade has also seen a significant entrenchment of inequality in tertiary education, both within further education and higher education, and between them. In higher education, the reforms introduced by the Conservative-Liberal Democrat coalition government in England in 2012 allowed universities to increase full-time course fees to £9,000 and to substantially increase part-time fees (the cap on part-time fees went up to £6,750 a year), while introducing, for the first time, tuition fee loans for part-time students (mostly mature students with jobs and families who turned out to be predictably debt averse). Combined with the previous Labour government’s introduction of the ELQ (equivalent or lower qualification) rule – which denied funding to students studying at a level lower or equivalent to that to which they were already qualified – these reforms resulted in a massive loss of part-time and mature students, and a subsequent drop in the proportion of students from disadvantaged backgrounds. Between 2010 and 2018 there was a 61 per cent fall in part-time learner numbers, representing a decline in the proportion of part-time students in the system from 40 per cent to 20 per cent.

Not only were most of these part-timers older students (the figure is even higher for students aged over 25) combining work, family and study, but a large proportion of them were drawn from disadvantaged backgrounds. A paper from the Higher Education Policy Institute (HEPI) estimated that the loss in part-time numbers equated to 17 per cent fewer students from disadvantaged backgrounds accessing higher education. John Butcher, author of the HEPI paper, observed that ministers’ statements about record student numbers ignored or downplayed the drop in part-time learner numbers. ‘When they are included, a big drop in the number of students from disadvantaged backgrounds is revealed,’ he said, noting that ‘For adult learners from disadvantaged backgrounds, the higher education sector has appeared increasingly exclusive and less flexible. In contrast to regular headlines, participation overall has narrowed.’ Working-class kids who do make it to an elite university often encounter an elitist culture that shames and alienates them, feeding the widening gap in drop-out rates between richer and poorer students.

While private school pupils swell the ranks of elite universities to a disproportionate degree, and understandably feel more at home there, state school pupils are more likely to apply to less prestigious higher education institutions, where their degrees are likely to have a stronger vocational dimension, or further education, which offers a range of technical and vocational courses for young people and adults, alongside basic skills, GCSEs and A-levels, apprenticeships and higher education. While it is often derided as being for ‘other people’s children’, further education offers working-class young people a way into a career and provides a second chance for adults who have been let down by the school system. It populates the workforce with mechanics, construction workers, engineers, health and social care workers, and many other professions the contribution of which has been found to be essential during lockdown. However, here, too, funding cuts have reduced student numbers and resulted in a diminished curriculum and a less diverse student body. Between 2010–11 and 2017–18, funding per student aged 16–18 in further education fell by 8 per cent in real terms. The £300 million funding increase for 2020–21 announced in the 2019 spending review will still leave funding 7 per cent down on 2010. Funding per student in school sixth forms has fallen even more steeply, by 23 per cent since its peak in 2010–11.

The most swingeing cuts, however, have been imposed on adult students. The Institute for Fiscal Studies reported in 2018 that funding for adult education and apprenticeships had fallen by 45 per cent in real terms between 2009–10 and 2017–18, while the total number of adult learners fell from 4 million in 2005 to about 2.2 million by 2016. The Learning and Work Institute reported in 2020 that the number of adults taking part in learning had dropped by about 10 percentage points since 2010, equivalent to 3.8 million fewer adults, with adults from lower-income households half as likely to take part in learning than those in higher-income groups. The Local Government Association (LGA) estimates that the government would need at least to double the adult education budget (from £1.5 billion to £3 billion) to reverse the drop in learner numbers since 2010.

The dramatic downturn in adult learner numbers is particularly concerning as this is the route through which those who have been failed by the initial education system gain a second chance to engage with education, to acquire new knowledge and skills or, in many cases, to regain confidence and a sense of purpose and self-worth (often essential first steps in returning to formal education or the workforce). The depth of the cuts administered by the coalition and its Conservative successor government led the usually circumspect Association of Colleges, in 2015, to warn that state-supported adult education and training could very well disappear altogether by 2020. It continues to function but in spite rather than because of government action.

Behind the frankly shocking numbers – a 35 per cent reduction in spending between 2010 and 2015 alone – are stories of thwarted or frustrated ambition, diminished life chances and untapped potential, of deepening inequality and neglected communities. But there is another kind of loss, another kind of inequality, which is also being deepened here. For much of the twentieth century, the adult education movement supported adults to engage with civic and political life, to become active in their communities and to realise their human and democratic potential through learning. The cuts have not only affected student numbers but the range of topics adults are able to study, as Labour’s growing – well-intentioned but misguided – focus on learning for skills and employability from around 2003 on was taken up avidly by successive governments.

Increasingly, the wider political, social and intellectual benefits of a liberal education are available only to the already privileged, while the rest of us must make do with ‘training for employment, in one form of another, and the prospect of spending the rest of our lives paying for it’. One of the reasons that this matters is because, as socio-economic inequality grows, so too does the political influence of the rich and powerful. Adult education has tended to curb this influence – many of the first generation of working-class Labour MPs entered politics directly from this tradition – and to give working people the opportunity to debate political issues and to effect positive, progressive democratic change in their communities and in society at large. In an era of renewed political populism, polarisation and disinformation, flags  and fake news, the loss of this type of provision, and the more general loss of spaces in which people can come together and discuss the issues their communities care about in a safe, tolerant and collaborative way, has been keenly felt.

Despite these evident inequalities, of wealth, opportunity, influence, education or health, the myth of meritocracy endures in Britain, and remains a favoured aspiration of politicians. The term ‘meritocracy’ was popularised by social entrepreneur and Labour thinker Michael Young in a 1958 satire, which warned that sieving and judging human beings in terms of a particular, narrowly drawn kind of merit would lead to the creation of a new social class ‘with the means at hand, and largely under its control, by which to reproduce itself’. Young saw too that ‘the poor and disadvantaged would be done down’, ‘demoralised by being looked down on so woundingly by people who have done well for themselves’. This is the danger of educational selection. It creates not just winners but losers too, and in a society in which educational merit (narrowly construed) is so valued, being judged to have little or none, and to be little capable of acquiring any, can be devastating – is devastating. People feel left behind, and they often live in communities of people who feel much the same, about themselves and about the place in which they live.

The truth about educational selection is quite different to the ideological fantasy. As Young predicted, those who have wealth and privilege find ways to reproduce it, whether through expensive schools, private tutors, exaggerated predicted scores or familial influence of one kind or another. Clutching their awards to their chests, the beneficiaries strut the national stage, puffed up with self-importance, ‘insufferably smug’, as Young puts it, ‘much more so than the people who knew they had achieved advancement not on their own merit but because they were, as somebody’s son or daughter, the beneficiaries of nepotism’. With morality, thus, ‘on their side’, members of the elite suffer ‘almost no block on the rewards they arrogate to themselves,’ Young goes on. ‘The old restraints of the business world have been lifted and … all manner of new ways for people to feather their own nests have been invented and exploited’. Salaries and other rewards shoot up and inequality becomes both ‘more grievous’ and more acceptable. It is easy to imagine, in such circumstances, how government ministers might conclude that privilege and connections trump real-world expertise and experience, for example in the supply of personal protective equipment to frontline NHS workers.

Educational selection widens the gap between rich and poor, it breeds arrogance among its winners and despair among its losers, yet it is stubbornly resistant to change. Whenever calls are made for fairer admissions to Oxford or Cambridge, cries of ‘social engineering!’ and ‘discrimination!’ can be heard from among the massed ranks of privately educated newspaper columnists. But if everyone who makes it to Oxbridge through the private school system really is there on merit ahead of their state-educated peers, what purpose, we must wonder, does private education actually fulfil? If everyone ends up where they end up purely by dint of their own natural talents and persevence, why do wealthy parents spend a fortune on private tutors or fund their kids to participate in internship schemes in top firms? And why, on entering university, do state-educated students tend to out-perform privately educated students with the same A-level grade?

The answer to these questions, of course, is that independent schools are engines of inequality the primary purpose of which is to reproduce patterns of privilege. As with all forms of meritocratic selection, they confirm not only the superiority of the better-off but also the inferiority of the disadvantaged. The elite among these institutions are at the top of a kind of sliding scale of esteem and dissatisfaction, regulated by the kind of value society attaches to your achievements – a system in which almost everyone, to one degree or another, is (or feels themselves to be) a loser, and some, those left far behind by the march of the meritocrats, experience utter hopelessness.

The educational divide is not only personal, it is regional too. While, on average, across England, 7.5 per cent of adults have no academic qualifications, the figure is as low as 1.5 per cent in places such as Fareham, in Hampshire, and Harrogate, in Yorkshire, and as high as 20 per cent in places such as Sandwell, in the West Midlands, and Pendle, in Lancashire. Other areas in the post-industrial north and midlands score poorly, among them Wolverhampton, where 17.3 per cent of the adult population up to 64 have no qualifications, Leicester (16.9 per cent), Dudley (16.4 per cent) and Burnley (15.1 per cent).

The purpose of this paper is to ask whether, after decades during which governments have made inequality worse, we can do better. After decades of tinkering with the imagined levers of social mobility, can we stop pretending inequality doesn’t really matter, or is a kind of natural phenomenon which can neither be questioned nor reversed, and try to address the issue that is really at the heart of the problems with our education system: Britain’s inequality problem? It does this through an analysis and comparison of two important policy agendas to which the UK, in different ways, is committed, and a reflection on what they mean, in particular, for the one part of the education system that has been worst hit by austerity politics: further education. Further education is important because it is the part of the system most sensitive to the changing political and economic weather, the ‘adaptive layer’. It is also the part of system that ‘honours the ordinary’: ‘ordinary’ people and their ‘ordinary’ jobs, lives and aspirations, even if, during the current crisis, they have been found to be not quite so ordinary after all.

The paper focuses first on the United Nations 2030 Agenda for Sustainable Development: the ambitious framework of universal goals, targets and indicators to reduce poverty and inequality, promote healthy lives and wellbeing, and ensure inclusive and quality education for all, among other themes, to which the United Kingdom signed up in 2015. The agenda, which comprises 17 distinct goals, including one on education, undertakes to ‘leave no one behind’ in pursuit of a peaceful, prosperous and sustainable future. This is an international agreement but it is one which, importantly, is intended to apply universally, as much in developed as in developing countries, at home as well as abroad.

The second focus of the paper is more homegrown: the UK government’s plan for national and regional renewal, the so called ‘levelling up’ agenda, on which Prime Minster Boris Johnson’s Conservative government stood for election in 2019 and which remains the administration’s leading idea. Its broad aim is to drive change in parts of the country ‘left behind’ by previous governments, and by much of the socio-economic progress of past decades. And although much obscurity still surrounds the agenda – until recently it remained not much more than an election slogan – and the programme of action intended by the government, arguably its first solid policy intervention was the recent further education white paper, Skills for jobs: Lifelong learning for opportunity and growth, which promised a ‘revolution’ in FE and skills. The white paper’s focus on reforming further education ‘so it supports people to get the skills our economy needs throughout their lives, wherever they live in the country’ puts it at the heart of efforts to level up and makes it an interesting case study for this short paper.

The paper will consider both these agendas in turn, making comparisons and assessing the UK government’s intent, achievement and level of ambition in relation to both, with particular reference to further education. It concludes with some forward-looking reflections on what more we might do to close the inequality gap and create a genuinely inclusive education system which values everyone and leaves no one behind.

‘Leave no one behind’

In September 2015, the UK government, with 192 other United Nations member states, agreed to adopt a new set of goals to eradicate extreme poverty, fight inequality and injustice, and leave no one behind. The 2030 Agenda for Sustainable Development, the successor to the Millennium Development Goals (MDGs), and its 17 Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs) were the result of an extensive consultation involving governments, public and private sectors and non-governmental organisations. The SDGs and their 169 associated targets committed signatory countries to making specific progress on issues such as climate change, gender equality, education and sustainable economic growth, production and consumption by 2030. The SDGs are intended to be universal with ‘all signatories expected to contribute to them internationally and deliver them domestically’. Ban Ki-moon, then UN Secretary General, said at the launch: ‘This is the people’s agenda, a plan of action for ending poverty in all its dimensions, irreversibly, everywhere, and leaving no one behind.’

The UK was one of the leading national players in the formulation of the goals, seeking to build on what Prime Minister David Cameron termed the ‘extraordinary progress’ of the MDGs (Mr Cameron had been co-chair of the United Nations’ Secretary General’s High-Level Panel on the Post-2015 Development Agenda, set up to advise on the creation of a successor to the MDGs). Although Mr Cameron indicated that he would have favoured fewer goals, 12 at the most and 10, preferably, he warmly welcomed the outcome of the negotiations, observing in his launch speech:

This is a clarion-call to the whole world. To eliminate, for the first time in human history, the scourge of extreme poverty … I am delighted that ending extreme poverty forever is at the heart of these new goals. It is something that I pushed hard for. And I’m delighted that we’ve recognised that to end extreme poverty, we need to put the poorest, weakest and most marginalised first – to leave no-one behind …  We need a new global partnership, to ensure that all our policies – on things like tax, trade and transparency – really help to deliver progress for the poorest. The UK will lead the way on this internationally … So, I say to leaders in government, business and communities around the world: If you’re committed to making progress towards these goals, the UK is on your side and we will work with you on our shared quest.

However, while Mr Cameron stressed the importance of climate justice, gender equality and fair and transparent government in tackling poverty, it was clear that he understood this ‘shared quest’ not so much as a challenge to all governments, at home and abroad, to up their game on poverty reduction, improving education and tackling inequalities, but as a responsibility developed countries had to support the progress of countries in the developing world.

The 17 SDGs include goals to eradicate poverty (SDG 1), end hunger and achieve food security (SDG 2), ensure healthy lives and promote wellbeing for all ages (SDG 3), ensure inclusive and equitable quality education and promote lifelong learning opportunities for all (SDG 4), achieve gender equality and empower all women and girls (SDG 5), promote sustained, inclusive and sustainable economic growth, full and productive employment, and decent work for all (SDG 8), reduce inequality within and among countries (SDG 10), and combat climate change and its impacts (SDG 13).

The fourth goal, SDG 4, on education and lifelong learning has a number of targets relevant to further education, including:

  • ‘equal access for all women and men to affordable and quality technical, vocational and tertiary education’ (4.3);
  • increasing ‘the number of youth and adults who have relevant skills, including technical and vocational skills, for employment, decent jobs and entrepreneurship’ (4.4);
  • eliminating ‘gender disparities in education’ and ensuring ‘equal access to all levels of education and vocational training for the vulnerable, including persons with disabilities, indigenous peoples and children in vulnerable situations’ (4.5);
  • ensuring that ‘all youth and a substantial proportion of adults, both men and women, achieve literacy and numeracy’ (4.6); and
  • ensuring ‘all learners acquire the knowledge and skills needed to promote sustainable development, including, among others, through education for sustainable development and sustainable lifestyles, human rights, gender equality, promotion of a culture of peace and nonviolence, global citizenship and appreciation of cultural diversity and of culture’s contribution to sustainable development’ (4.7).

In addition to SDG 4 on education, there are a number of other goals to which education can make an important contribution, including on poverty reduction, gender equality, health and wellbeing, decent work and economic growth, industry, innovation and infrastructure, climate change, and sustainable cities and communities.

This is important since the 17 goals are designed to be essentially interconnected, in such a way that progress against one is possible only if progress is made against the others. Their value lies, essentially, in their interconnectedness, and their call to collaboration. They represent, in other words, a challenge to nation states and national-level politicians and policymakers to think holistically, and for the education policy community (the 2030 Agenda acknowledges education’s special reach into other policy areas), in particular, to work across sectors and departments and to develop integrated, cross-sectoral approaches to policy and governance, that contribute not only to SDG 4 but to the other 16 goals too. It is not just the goals that matter, in other words, but the relationships and interdependencies between them.

As Mr Cameron’s speech suggested, the UK’s interpretation of the goals has been largely focused on support for less developed countries, with responsibility for implementation falling on the shoulders of the Secretary of State for International Development. The Department for International Development (DFID) provides overall leadership and oversight within government of the 2030 Agenda and the SDGs. DFID’s 2015 policy note, Leaving no one behind: Our promise, confirmed the focus on international work rather than the UK’s own ‘left behind’ communities. However, the Cabinet Office has since been charged with supporting domestic implementation, and each department of government has been given responsibility, in theory at least, for its respective policy area and for delivery against the goals.

Nevertheless, despite these welcome efforts, the International Development Committee in 2016 described the UK government’s early response to domestic implementation of the SDGs as ‘insufficient for a country which led on their development as being universal and applicable to all’, and highlighted ‘a worrying lack of engagement in, or ownership of, the SDGs by departments across Government’. It expressed scepticism as to whether domestic implementation should lie with the Secretary of State for International Development, and noted that the SDGs had not been included in the 2015–2020 Single Departmental Plans of government departments. The committee observed that without a commitment to a ‘strategic and comprehensive approach to implementation of the Goals’ it was likely that ‘areas of deep incoherence across government policy could develop and progress made by certain departments could be easily undermined by the policies and actions of others.’ Highlighting the lack of any cross-government plan for implementation, it called for the SDGs to be ‘aligned to existing national priorities and developed through a country-led process with opportunities for democratic engagement by citizens and civil society’.

The government in its response argued that it was already taking a coordinated approach across Whitehall, noting the existence of ‘robust mechanisms to facilitate inter-departmental Ministerial discussions on the implementation of the Goals’, including the Cabinet itself. It also resisted calls for a national plan of action, arguing that the manifesto on which the government had stood for election in 2015 would guide its efforts to implement the SDGs, and pointing out the direct relevance of some of its manifesto commitments. However, while the manifesto announced the government’s intention to raise the income tax threshold and build new starter homes, it also included plans to freeze per-pupil spending on schools and to turn more failing and ‘coasting’ state secondary schools into academies and create more free schools. There can be little doubt too that cross-government collaboration was inhibited by the pressure on government departments from the Treasury to reduce spending.

The government produced a report on its approach to implementing the SDGs in 2017. Entitled Agenda 2030: The UK Government’s approach to delivering the Global Goals for Sustainable Development – at home and around the world, the report gave emphasis to what it termed the ‘primary purpose of the Goals … to eradicate global poverty’. However, it gave roughly equal weighting within the report to domestic and international implementation, and included a commitment to embedding the goals in Single Departmental Plans. The section on the implementation of SDG 4 highlighted the UK’s support to the education of children from the poorest countries, but also noted government interventions at home to increase access to early childhood education, create more free schools and academies, and to support 3 million apprenticeships by 2020. However, there was nothing to suggest that the government had a cross-departmental strategy for the implementation of the goals, or had recognised the importance of an integrated approach to policy or the interdependent nature of the goals. Nor was there acknowledgement that the increases in school and apprenticeship funding would be paid for with real-terms cuts in regular local authority school and further education funding, while the government was in the process of dismantling the successful early-years programme Sure Start.

A 2018 report from independent network the UK Stakeholders for Sustainable Development (UKSSD), focusing in the main on domestic implementation of the agenda, found that the UK government was performing well on 24 per cent of the targets, had performance gaps on 57 per cent, and showed little to no policy change or otherwise poor performance on 15 per cent. The authors noted that while there was much to celebrate in the UK’s effort, ‘the most vulnerable people and places in our society are increasingly being left behind’, with wide disparities evident between and within communities, compounded by ‘emerging challenges to do with work, health, trade and productivity’. It made clear that the SDGs could not be achieved by government working alone or in silos, and urged government to do more to recognise the links between the goals and targets, and to work more collaboratively, both within Whitehall and more widely with business and civil society. While noting, under SDG 4, that most school-age children in the UK receive an ‘appropriate quality education’, the report noted that ‘progress on technical and vocational training has been limited by successive governments across the UK giving this insufficient political priority and by the absence of significant employer investment’. It highlighted too the low status of further education in comparison to other parts of the UK’s education system, and the failure of the UK to address low levels of numeracy and literacy among young adults and low participation in learning among older adults.

The report also expressed concern about the UK’s performance in eliminating poverty and hunger and reducing inequality. It observed that progress in poverty reduction in the UK had stalled in recent years and that poverty was expected to increase sharply in the next few years (a situation surely not helped by the government’s refusal to acknowledge that poverty – and especially child poverty – really exists in the UK). There had been a rise in in-work poverty, in particular, it noted, with work no longer a ‘sure-fast route out of poverty’. There was ‘less explicit primary concern’ to reduce poverty, and the ‘direction of travel’ of the government militated against achievement of SDG 1 by 2030. It also reported that the UK was struggling to address malnutrition in all forms, with the UK among the worst countries in Europe for food insecurity and obesity on the increase, particularly in the poorest parts of the country (SDG 2). There was a widening gap in life expectancy at birth between the most and least deprived, while people living in more deprived urban areas were more likely to be exposed to poor air quality, high-levels of crime and greater risk of road traffic accidents (SDG 3), the report said. There had been a sharp rise in insecure work (SDG 8), and income inequality was projected to rise, with tax and social security measures since 2012 having had a severe effect on people on lower incomes and disadvantaged groups (SDG 10).

In June 2019 the UK submitted its report on progress against the SDGs to the United Nations High Level Political Forum for Sustainable Development. The main messages of the UK’s Voluntary National Review focused on international development but it noted too that the 2030 Agenda had stretched the UK’s ‘thinking about the quality of our cities, the strength of our communities, the air that we breathe, our nature and landscape and the way we preserve our heritage for future generations’. The report itself highlighted the UK’s high-quality health service, ‘high and rising’ standards in education and increasing employment among the country’s strengths, noting too the need to intensify efforts to tackle injustice, address climate change, improve housing and respond to changing mental and physical health needs in the population. It highlighted the importance of good-quality disaggregated data in understanding who is in danger of being left behind, and underscored its commitment to ensuring ‘everyone is included in economies, societies, institutions and service provisions’.

The section on SDG 4 acknowledged that ‘much more needs to be done to close the attainment gap between disadvantaged young people and adults and their more affluent peers’ and that the quality and perception of technical and vocational education needed to improve to ensure the country had a skilled workforce. It highlighted the increase in participation in full-time higher education (SDG 4.3) among 18-year-olds from the most disadvantaged areas (from 13.5 per cent in 2010 and 18 per cent in 2015), but failed to factor in the loss of part-time learners which has meant that, overall, HE in England is less diverse in terms both of student age and socio-economic background.

The report also acknowledged the importance of lifelong learning in ‘future-proofing’ the economy, noting the roll-out of 24+ Advanced Learner Loans and the importance of the Adult Education Budget in England (4.4, 4.6). However, a 2018 evaluation of the new loans found that their introduction was associated with ‘a marked drop in the volumes of both learners and learning aims being studied on eligible courses.’ Similarly, the Adult Education Budget, as noted above, had been subject to eye-watering cuts since 2010 (by 35 per cent in five years), resulting in the loss of millions of adult learners. While the report analysed participation in England in terms of gender and disability, it did not address the substantial drop in overall adult learner numbers. And while the report foregrounded some positive and well-intentioned interventions, such as the Blueprint for Fairness in widening access to higher education in Scotland and the Education in Wales programme of school reform, there was little attempt to look beyond the aims of policy and assess the effectiveness of these interventions or to deal with the structural issues underlying inequality, poverty and disadvantage in the UK. This is important. As noted above, UK governments frequently have given a social mobility rationale for policies which have deepened existing inequalities and reduced social mobility.

In July 2019, the International Development Committee published its assessment of the UK’s Voluntary National Review process and outcomes. It reported that the eight-month timetable for the review had been ‘unnecessarily tight’ and that consultation with stakeholders had been ‘inadequate and disappointing’, with undue focus on the collection of case studies. Individual departments’ engagement with stakeholders was ‘ad hoc’, the report said, and much of it took place late in the process, with little evidence that it had been coordinated from the centre or that it had had any influence on the final review. The review process has also highlighted how little awareness there was of the SDGs within government, with ‘some departments having virtually no knowledge of the agenda at all’. It criticised again, in even stronger terms than before, the location of responsibility for the SDGs within DFID, an internationally focused department with ‘few, if any, domestic levers’. This gave out the message that ‘the SDG initiative is one for developing countries (when the whole point of the agenda is the shared and global nature of the goals)’.

The published review, it concluded, ‘lacked coherence, depth and breadth of analysis’, preferring instead to focus ‘on “cherry picked” data and case studies at the expense of facing up to the challenges that remain to be tackled in the UK and around the world’. It urged the government to show more ambition and use more contextualised data and analysis to show the trends and comparisons with other countries to illuminate the UK’s performance against the SDGs.

The committee highlighted the UK’s failure to meet domestic targets on poverty or to engage, in the review, with SDG 1.2: ‘By 2030, reduce at least by half the proportion of men, women and children of all ages living in poverty in all its dimensions according to national definitions’. While the review states that ‘the UK is committed to tackling all forms of poverty, including childhood disadvantage and in-work poverty’, it does not indicate how the UK performs against the above target, or consider any other ambition on UK poverty reduction. Similarly, the committee noted, while the review indicates that the government is increasing monitoring of food insecurity in England, ‘No systematic exploration of why food insecurity might exist in England, who is most affected, or how it might be remedied, is undertaken’. ‘Selective referencing’ is also in evidence under SDG 4, where the review chooses not to consider SDG target 4.1 on quality education for all or the UK’s progress on the key global indicator on pupils attaining minimum expected levels of reading and maths, and SDG 8, where ‘there is no mention of target 8.8 covering precarious employment, health and safety at work, and compliance with ILO regulations, nor of zero-hours contracts under target 8.3, even though this data is available’. The committee expressed surprise that ‘the UK’s withdrawal from the EU did not merit discussion under Goal 17 on strengthening the means of implementation and revitalising the global partnership for sustainable development’.

The government’s review also failed to engage with the United Nations Special Rapporteur’s report on extreme poverty and human rights in the UK, published in late 2018. The rapporteur, Professor Philip Alston, described a country in which ‘areas of immense wealth’ exist alongside areas of acute deprivation, characterized by under-funded and overstretched public services, homelessness and rough sleeping, and food banks, where millions of children are ‘locked into a cycle of poverty from which most will have great difficulty escaping’. One fifth of the British population – 14 million people – live in poverty in the UK, Professor Alston’s report noted, with 1.5 million of them destitute, unable to afford basic essentials. Relative child poverty rates were expected to increase by 7 per cent between 2015 and 2021, he wrote, with overall child poverty rates projected to reach close to 40 per cent: ‘For almost one in every two children to be poor in twenty-first century Britain is not just a disgrace, but a social calamity and an economic disaster rolled into one’.

Most damningly, the report observed that all of this resulted from political choice, from ‘mean-spirited, often callous policies’ about which the British government remained ‘determinedly in a state of denial’. Government reforms, he wrote, have denied benefits to people with severe disabilities, made single mothers ‘far worse off’, worsened care for people with mental illnesses, and ‘slashed’ teachers’ real-terms salaries.

While, in the past, ‘the worst casualties of these “reforms” would have received at least minimal protection from the broader social safety net’, austerity policies had ‘deliberately gutted local authorities and thereby effectively eliminated many social services, reduced policing services to skeletal proportions, closed libraries in record numbers, shrunk community and youth centres, and sold off public spaces and buildings including parks and recreation centres’. The bottom line, Professor Alston wrote, ‘is that much of the glue that has held British society together since the Second World War has been deliberately removed and replaced with a harsh and uncaring ethos’.

The special rapporteur identified within the UK government an unwillingness to listen to people experiencing poverty or to acknowledge their grievances. He encountered an ‘ingrained resistance to change’, and a gap between the explicit goals of government policy and their outcomes, which often left local authorities in England and Wales and devolved authorities in Scotland and Northern Ireland ‘frantically trying to “mitigate” or counteract the worst features of the Government’s policies’. The driving force, he suggested, was not economic but rather ‘a commitment to achieving radical social re-engineering – a dramatic restructuring of the relationship between the people and the State. Successive Governments have brought revolutionary change in both the system for delivering minimum levels of fairness and social justice to the British people, and especially in the values underpinning it. Key elements of the post-war “Beveridge social contract” are being overturned.’

The government’s response confirmed Professor Alston’s impression of an administration convinced that ‘all is well and running according to plan’. In his conversations with ministers, he encountered a combination of denial and indifference, a refusal to accept that in-work poverty exists and an unwillingness to engage with the issues in a serious way. Prime Minister Theresa May had already indicated that she did not accept his preliminary report, so he will not have been surprised to find that Mrs May ‘strongly disagreed’ with the findings, as did then Work and Pensions Secretary, Amber Rudd, who found the report to be ‘political’ and couched in ‘inappropriate’ language. These reactions were predictable, given the myths the government has spun about itself, notably the myth that austerity has been unavoidable, a necessary measure justified by the need to save the country from bankruptcy in the wake of the previous (Labour) government’s overspending on schools, hospitals and social care. The big lie that overspending on public services caused the financial crisis – or, in the more refined version, exacerbated it – remains powerful and has been used not only to justify the Tories’ prolonged assault on the public sector, but also to convince the electorate that increases in public spending are unaffordable or affordable only at the cost of something else of value.

The picture we get from the UK government’s own review of its progress against the SDGs and its response to the report of the special rapporteur is of a government largely blind to the consequences of its policies. It is certainly also a government fully prepared to tolerate high levels of inequality and poverty, and to allow disadvantaged groups to bear the brunt of austerity policies, when, as Philip Alston noted, it could easily have acted to spare the worst-off further unnecessary pain: ‘Resources were available to the Treasury at the last budget that could have transformed the situation of millions of people living in poverty, but the political choice was made to fund tax cuts for the wealthy instead.’ Such measures are often counter-productive, with cuts to the benefits system creating costs elsewhere, for example in health budgets and the criminal justice system. It makes little sense for a government that has cut adult education funding to then direct money to programmes to reduce loneliness (one of the success stories highlighted in the government’s Voluntary National Review). This is indicative of the lack of join-up and cross-government thinking in policymaking identified by the International Development Committee.

The costs of austerity have fallen disproportionately on the poor, ethnic minorities, women, children, single parents, people with disabilities, and other disadvantaged groups – many of the groups hit hardest by the COVID-19 pandemic and who will likely be hit hardest also by Brexit. People’s growing reliance on food banks and the rise in rough sleeping reflects a harsh reality in which work is often insecure and offers no guarantee of an escape from poverty, poor housing or crippling debt. Many of those in poverty have multiple low-paid, low-quality jobs, working long hours to keep food on the table and the lights and heating switched on.

For such people, for whom both time and money are in short supply, education offers little in the way of hope. Local authority adult learning, which has typically provided a first step out of poverty for excluded adults, has been in steep decline following a decade of funding cuts. There was a 32 per cent decline in participation in community learning between 2008–9 and 2018–19. Public spaces in which people can get together and try to change their communities for the better have also been disappearing fast. Loneliness, disaffection and the absence of reasonable hope that things will get better are all driving Britain’s mental health crisis. It is disappointing that the government did not take the comments of the special rapporteur as a wake-up call or a prompt to urgent reflection but instead merely confirmed his assessment of them as ‘disconnected’, unwilling or insufficiently interested to tackle the awful blight of poverty and inequality, or affecting, in defiance of what everybody in the country surely knows, to believe such problems do not exist in the UK.

The failure of the government to adequately fund further and adult education is indicative of its failure to ensure no one is left behind. SDG 4 gives priority to ‘inclusive and equitable’ quality education and emphasises the promotion of ‘lifelong learning opportunities for all, in all settings and at all levels of education’. This is an important commitment in its own right. But education, and adult education in particular, are especially significant in virtue of their wide intersectoral reach. Education, in other words, has a wide range of societal benefits that transcend the simple private benefits of an apprenticeship or a degree. These include improved physical and mental health and wellbeing, increased job satisfaction and productivity, higher levels of interpersonal and social trust, social connections and community engagement, and a reduction in crime and anti-social behaviour. The Framework for Action for the achievement of SDG 4 notes that education is ‘a main driver of development and in achieving the other proposed SDGs’, such as those on poverty, gender equality, health and wellbeing, inequality and the environment. The cuts to further education, and especially adult further education, between 2010 and 2020, and the attendant loss in learner numbers, represent a closing up not just of opportunities for personal and professional development, but of avenues of social and economic renewal across a range of fronts. As we look to a future likely to be characterised by uncertainty and upheaval, in politics, in the workplace and in the environment, demanding the kind of flexibility, resilience and creativity fostered by learning, the loss of the UK’s adult education infrastructure, not so long ago the envy of adult educators around the world, and the narrowing of further education provision, could prove very costly indeed. 

‘Levelling up’

Despite the abysmal record of successive governments on reducing inequalities over the past two decades, it has become a tradition among incoming Prime Ministers to foreground their commitment to social justice and the promotion of social mobility. David Cameron pledged to build a ‘big society’, disclosing his ‘great passion’ for empowering communities and advancing people power. Theresa May used her first speech as Prime Minister to promise to prioritise ‘not the mighty nor the wealthy nor the privileged’ but working-class people who are ‘just managing’ but want to ‘get on in life’, correcting in the process the ‘burning injustices’ of educational disadvantage, economic exclusion and systemic racism. And so, in a similar vein, current PM Boris Johnson undertook to ‘change the country for the better’ by delivering Brexit, ‘answering at last the plea of the forgotten people and the left-behind towns’, renewing ‘the ties that bind us together’ as a nation, and ‘closing the opportunity gap’ by ‘levelling up’ in education, wages, housing and other areas of disadvantage.

The ‘levelling up’ agenda emerged as a winning (in both senses of the word) slogan, designed to appeal to communities up and down the country that felt let down and left behind, disenfranchised and ignored by successive governments – communities that, as Mr Johnson put it, ‘lent’ the Conservatives their votes, partly as a means to ‘get Brexit done’, but also in the hope that they might, finally, ‘take back control’ of their communities from those forces, real and imagined, that held them back. While these communities once looked to Labour for support and were considered bricks in the party’s ‘red wall’, they now seemed prepared to try something different, stung, no doubt, by what they experienced, with some justification, as the Labour Party’s metropolitan indifference and disdain.

To pledge to reverse entrenched regional inequalities could be characterised as a calculated attempt to capitalise on the split in traditional political allegiances caused by Brexit. But, if so, it is a risky one, likely quickly to be found out. The test of this agenda, and of the seriousness of intent of Mr Johnson and his Cabinet, lies, of course, in its implementation. What is clear is that the dissatisfaction of ‘left-behind’ communities deserves to be taken seriously and that no politician warrants the support of these communities unless they are prepared to listen to their concerns and try to understand them.

The challenge of ‘driving lasting change in parts of the country forgotten by successive governments’, as Mr Johnson put it, is, of course, enormous, particularly given how deeply ingrained inequality between regions is in the UK. The Institute for Fiscal Studies (IFS), in a 2020 report, described it as ‘daunting task’, noting that the UK is one of the most geographically unequal countries in the developed world; ranking near the top of the league table on most measures of regional economic inequality, with ‘substantial differences in earnings, wealth, health, educational attainment and social mobility across the country’. British regional inequalities are ‘deep-rooted and complex’, the IFS reported, and ‘even well-designed policies could take years or even decades to have meaningful effects. “Levelling up” will need to be a long-term, multifaceted agenda if it is to succeed where other governments have failed in the past’. No single intervention is likely to make a lasting difference in these parts of the country. Complex needs require complex, integrated solutions, encompassing a range of policy agendas, supported in an intelligent cross-sectoral way, and funded adequately. But, as the IFS report notes, while ‘levelling up’ is a stated priority of this government (it was mentioned 11 times in its manifesto), and an important one, ‘precisely which areas are to be “levelled up”, and how, remains to be seen’.

The lack of meat on the bones is partly a result of the unprecedented circumstances in which the government has found itself over the past 12 months. The challenge of levelling-up was deepened dramatically by the onset of the COVID-19 pandemic and, indeed, by the slowdown – in some case, shutdown – in trade precipitated by Brexit, both of which have hit the post-industrial towns, coastal resorts and rural areas where, according to the IFS, left-behind places and people are concentrated, particularly hard. The impact of lockdown on the poorest has been devastating. While high earners have been able to save the money they did not spend on holidays, transport and leisure, people on low incomes have been forced to spend what savings they had, and even go into debt, to pay the bills and keep food on the table.

At the same time, the attention of the government, across a range of fronts, has been focused disproportionately on fighting the pandemic and dealing with its consequences, though the unequal impact of the virus has made the agenda seem still more urgent (and, of course, Mr Johnson will want to fight the next election able to demonstrate that this policy agenda has been effective, particularly in places where seats may readily change hands). One area that the government has highlighted as a priority is adult and further education, with the Prime Minister promising ‘radical’ changes and reforms to the funding system to bring an end to the ‘bogus distinction’ between academic and vocational learning. It was no surprise then that the first fully developed policy intervention of the agenda (though it made surprisingly little direct reference to it) was the further education white paper, published in January 2021, Skills for Jobs: Lifelong Learning for Opportunity and Growth.

The much-delayed, much-trailed and highly anticipated paper undertook to set out how the government plans to ‘reform further education so it supports people to get the skills our economy needs throughout their lives, wherever they live in the country’. Secretary of State for Education Gavin Williamson in his foreword to the paper promised a ‘blueprint for the future’ – a future in which the ‘pivotal role’ of further and technical education would be reinforced and stronger links between employers and FE would ensure an ‘agile and adaptable workforce’ and a ‘world’s best’ economy. To this end, the white paper proposed a wide range of reforms intended to ‘increase productivity, support growth industries, and give individuals opportunities to progress in their careers’, organised around the following five key areas of action:

  • Putting employers at the heart of the system so that education and training leads to jobs that can improve productivity and fill skills gaps.
  • Investing in higher-level technical qualifications that provide a valuable alternative to a university degree.
  • Making sure people can access training and learning flexibly throughout their lives and are well-informed about what is on offer through great careers support (the ’flexible lifetime skills guarantee’).
  • Reforming funding and accountability for providers to simplify how funds are allocated, give providers more autonomy, and ensure an effective accountability regime which delivers value for money.
  • Supporting excellent teaching in further education.

The ambition to put employers at the heart of post-16 skills would be achieved by giving them a central role working with further education colleges and other providers and other local stakeholders in developing new ‘local skills improvement plans’, the main mechanism through which skills provision would be matched to local labour market needs. The plans will be trialled in some areas, led by accredited chambers of commerce and other business representatives, in collaboration with providers. They will be based on a ‘credibly articulated and evidence-based assessment of skills needs to which providers will be empowered to respond’.

The paper indicated that strategic development funding would be made available to colleges in a number of pilot areas to support this. Employers will also have a central role in designing and developing ‘almost all’ technical qualifications and training so as to better align technical education with skills needs. The government, meanwhile, would continue to ‘improve and grow’ apprenticeships, improve the quality of traineeships to better support young people to transition to apprenticeships and other occupations, and support participation in English, maths and digital training to meet employers’ needs and support people to progress in employment or further study. Proposals would be invited through the Strategic Development Fund to establish college business centres within FE colleges to work with employers in a designated sector in responding to ‘locally agreed priorities’.

To promote advanced technical and higher technical skills, the white paper proposed using the new £2.5 billion National Skills Fund to enhance funding to support adults to upskill and reskill, including an offer for all adults to achieve their first full Level 3 qualification as part of the lifetime skills guarantee already set out by the Prime Minister. It also undertook to expand the institutes of technology programme to every part of the country by the end of the parliament, to spearhead an increase in higher-level technical skills in science, technology, engineering and maths. ‘T Levels’, new technical courses launched in September 2020 which follow GCSEs and are equivalent to three A-levels, would be further rolled out, while higher technical education (levels 4 and 5) would be reformed with a new approval system based on employer-led standards. There would also be clear progression routes for students towards higher-level technical qualifications.

The new ‘lifetime skills guarantee’, promised by Boris Johnson in a speech at Exeter College in September 2020, would take the form of a ‘lifelong loan entitlement’ to the equivalent of four years of post-18 education from 2025. The government would consult on the detail and scope of the loan entitlement during 2021, it said. As part of the guarantee, adults without a Level 3 qualification will be given an opportunity to acquire one. The white paper also indicated that the government would make it ‘just as easy to get a loan for a higher technical course as it is for a full-length university degree’. Pilots would be introduced to stimulate higher technical education and incentivise more flexible and modular provision, while the government would determine how best to stimulate credit transfer between institutions and courses. It would also look to improve how teaching is delivered so that it is more accessible, with the use of digital and blended learning, and seek to provide clear information about career outcomes through occupational maps, wage returns data and ensuring providers give pupils information about all options.

The white paper also included plans to make providers more responsive and to reform accountability, governance and intervention by simplifying and streamlining funding to ‘support high-value provision relevant to the labour market’, giving providers longer-term funding certainty and greater autonomy in delivery, introducing new accountability structures to underpin the delivery of local skills improvement plans, and giving the Secretary of State for Education new powers to ‘intervene quickly and decisively in cases where there are persistent problems’ in delivery. The government would, furthermore, set out clearer expectations, requirements and support for governors to ‘empower weaker colleges’ to address problems earlier. Further investment in the college estate was also promised. Outstanding teaching would be supported through a national recruitment campaign for FE teachers (though with no increase in their pay, which continues to lag behind that of teachers in other sectors), initial teacher education on employer-led standards, higher-quality professional development, and a stronger relationship between industry and providers.

The Department for Education described the white paper as ‘revolutionary’, and it is certainly ambitious in its scope and detail, but there is much too that is familiar in this set of reforms (indeed, many of the main reforms had, in fact, been announced before), and a good deal that has been tried before in one way or another, with little evident success. This is a serious problem with the paper. As Professor Andy Westwood noted, while many of the proposed interventions in the white paper are important and ‘potentially transformative’, it feels as though it has been ‘developed in a vacuum’ without ‘knowledge or understanding of past policy failures’ in areas such as skills development by employers and with little sense of how the new reforms will articulate with other areas of recent government reform such as devolution and their associated architecture. The lack of employer engagement in the further education and skills system in the UK has been a problem for decades, with UK employers typically investing less in the training and development of their staff than their European counterparts. Yet, while many secretaries of state have put this at the top of their policy shopping list, none has succeeded to any degree worth noting. What have we learned from our past mistakes that would convince us that, on this occasion, things will be different? Why, this time, would we expect employers to behave with anything other than the blithe disregard they have, on the whole, displayed for similar interventions in the past? How do we reverse the current trend of employers investing less in training and development and the recent spike in the number of employers offering no training at all? If Gavin Williamson has answers to these questions – and we must hope he does – he does not share them in the white paper.

This concern notwithstanding, it must be said that there are some good and positive things in the paper. First of all, there is welcome evidence that the government is, finally, taking FE and skills seriously. After a decade of cuts to further education, it is refreshing to find the government putting further education at the heart of its core programme of reform and pledging to challenge the UK’s obsession with schools and universities and its comparative neglect of FE. Mr Williamson is surely right in thinking that Labour’s commitment to 50 per cent participation in higher education led to a neglect of the majority of young people who did not go to university, yet who also deserve educational opportunity, dignity at work and a good life.

It is also good too to see the link being made, or at least implied, between further education and social mobility and the reduction of poverty and inequality, not to mention with economic growth and productivity, to which further education is also essential. The move towards parity of treatment of further education and higher education is also long overdue, as is the acknowledgement that the two should work in a more collaborative way, though this needs to be reflected too in relative funding levels, currently skewed in favour of HE. The strong focus on supporting learners into decent employment is also positive, and is a key dimension of the social inclusion agenda, particularly with unemployment at a four-year high and expected to rise higher. As Department for Education research has shown, long-term unemployment can have a devastating impact on the mental health of young people. The government is also surely right to focus its efforts in this direction around place and to stress the importance of flexibility and modular learning in widening access and participation.

Another promising idea in principle is the flexible lifetime skills guarantee, which will give adults without a Level 3 qualification the chance to get one, backed with lifelong learning loans for flexible learning at any time of life. Welcome too is the undertaking to make loans available in FE and HE on an equal basis, though there is a clear danger that this will increase indebtedness and deter less-advantaged students. However, much will depend on the detail of what remains quite a vague undertaking, including the amount of flexibility and learner choice that the scheme will enable and the provision of grant support for poorer students. The 2025 roll-out date seems a rather distant prospect, given the challenges we face now. Among the unanswered questions is how adults currently out of learning, in unskilled and low-paid jobs, those not ready to undertake a relatively high-level technical qualification, will progress up to Level 3 and on to decent, secure employment? There is no hint of a policy or strategy to help people caught up in the vicious cycle of low pay and low aspiration scramble up the ladder to Level 2 and beyond.

This is an important omission in a white paper that is about ‘levelling up’, ‘building back better’ and supporting social mobility. While disadvantaged adults with the lowest qualifications are the group with the most to gain from participation in learning, they are also the least likely to access it, with around half having had no training since leaving school. For the hardest-to-reach adults it is not simply a matter of walking through the doors of their local college and enrolling on a course. Disadvantaged adults often face multiple barriers and may have complex needs which make accessing learning both daunting and difficult. We need approaches that meet such people where they are, in their communities, combining outreach provision with other kinds of essential social support. We also need more focus on basic skills and the 9 million adults with low literacy and numeracy skills. This kind of first-step, bottom-up provision isn’t an optional extra. It should be an essential part of any educational strategy to engage the ‘left behind’.

A second important omission is any consideration of learning that supports the acquisition of skills and capabilities other than those needed to do a job, critical though that is, despite Mr Williamson’s claim in his foreword that the proposals are ‘about fulfilment and enrichment on a personal level’. ‘Levelling up’, if it is to mean anything at all, must mean more than helping people get a job. It must mean also the opportunity to become creative, well-rounded and thoughtful people, to be active, informed citizens, to develop critical thinking skills, to engage with the arts, music and literature, to gain confidence and self-worth, and to foster one’s own mental and physical wellbeing. All of this is conspicuous by its absence in the white paper. We must remember that learning has a much wider role and much wider benefits, and acknowledge that, in a society committed to reducing inequality and treating everyone fairly, these benefits should be open to all, not just the privileged. Such provision has been one of the casualties of the Gradgrind-like focus on skills for employment and employability that has gripped education policy for the past two decades. The secretary of state’s warm words are all very well – and I suppose they would feel more welcome had we not heard them before, from the lips of numerous previous secretaries of state and ministers – but there is nothing in the white paper to suggest that the cuts to this kind of provision will be reversed or the learners brought back. Still less are we given any reason to suppose that the government has a richer, more expansive vision of the purposes of education than the meagre, philosophically attenuated vision of the past 20 years.

The report is, on the whole, far too employer-centric, with little sense of the need for wider community engagement and activism (the paper does not even mention trade unions). It has been the aim of successive governments to put employers at the heart of the skills system. The title of the white paper locates it firmly in this tradition, equating ‘opportunity and growth’ with training for work, and lifelong learning with skills for jobs. There is something touchingly naïve about the government’s continuing faith in this agenda, given how little it has delivered in the past and the historic reluctance of the UK’s employers to invest in the development of their workforce. It should go without saying that employers must have a voice in skills development, but it is less obvious that they should lead and set the agenda on this, or that they have the capacity to do so. In fact, given the challenges posed by Brexit and the impact of the pandemic, and, in many cases, the attendant need to restructure or downsize, it seems unlikely that employers will have the energy or time to invest much more (time or money) in skills development.

It is also far from clear that it is their role to do so. It is one thing to know what skills a business needs at a given moment to deliver against existing commitments – no doubt it is the businesses themselves that know most about this, and this knowledge matters, of course – but it is quite another to anticipate what skills will be needed five or 10 years from now, or to make value judgements about the future economic development of towns and cities, regions and, indeed, the country, taking into account a wide range of factors transcending the usual interests of business. It is clear, furthermore, that employers want different things (as do communities); they do not speak with one unified voice, and, even if they did, there is no guarantee they would come up with the right answers. But we shouldn’t expect them to. We are looking in the wrong place.

Understanding the learning and skills needs of communities demands a much wider dialogue, led by and taking place within the communities themselves, with the involvement of learners, employers, unions, providers, local authorities and other relevant stakeholders, across public, private and voluntary sectors. Addressing these needs involves, necessarily, a willingness in government to let go of some of the levers of power. Yet, what we see in the white paper is a shift towards greater centrism, with new systems of accountability and oversight (as yet undefined) and new powers for the secretary of state ‘to intervene locally to close or set up college corporations, bring about changes to membership or composition of governing bodies or review leadership’.

There is nothing in the paper about strengthening the relationship between providers and the communities they serve, or ensuring democratic accountability of governance to the community. Instead, the focus is on tightening the government’s grip on the levers of accountability and enhancing its capacity to intervene directly where colleges do not deliver according to the government’s expectations. This is disappointing, particularly given this and previous governments promising talk of skills devolution. High-stakes accountability has created a climate of anxiety in the sector which is not conducive to thoughtful, creative, community-centred leadership. The government needs to find a more collaborative way of relating to further education providers, based on trust rather than fear.

But perhaps the most grievous omission in a white paper with the acknowledged aim of levelling up and reviving ‘left behind’ communities is the lack of join up with other areas of policy. An integrated approach is essential in engaging with areas of complex need. There is nothing in the paper about how the proposed local skills improvement plans will articulate with the existing architecture of devolution in different parts of the country, and little about the role of local authorities in skills and further education. How, for example, will the new panels work with the existing skills advisory panels, local partnerships established in mayoral combined authorities and local enterprise partnerships to identify and address local skills priorities and strengthen the link between employers and skills providers? And where is the link to agendas in other relevant departments such as the Department of Health, the Department for Work and Pensions or the Ministry of Housing, Communities and Local Government? How, for instance, will the proposals mesh with other reforms such as the DWP’s Kickstart scheme on jobs for young people and its Restart scheme to get Universal Credit claimants back into work? And how will the Department for Education work across government to support a joined-up, intelligently articulated agenda without duplication or unintended negative consequences? Just as disappointing, there is little in the paper on how these reforms will link to the reform agenda in universities and schools, and too little focus on further education providers other than colleges, particularly local authority adult and community education, institutes for adult learning and voluntary sector providers. The lack of join-up is a major fault, which threatens to undo much of the promise in the white paper.

This lack of systemic thinking reflects, in part, the so far unfulfilled promise of the Augar report on post-18 education and funding. The government launched a short ‘interim’ response to the report, published in May 2019, alongside the white paper. Although the white paper takes forward some of the report’s recommendations, notably the lifetime skills guarantee (Augar argued that all adults should be entitled to their first level 2 and 3 qualifications for free) and the development of higher technical qualifications (Augar wanted to see demand for technical education increased and progression improved), it falls short of delivering the kind of parity between FE and HE demanded by the independent panel. There is not enough here to deliver the unified and coherent post-18 education sector envisaged by Augar, with strong technical routes and flexible access at every stage of life. There is nothing to correct the imbalance in funding between HE and FE, no undertaking to reverse the cuts to further education and adult learning that have taken place over the past decade, and no plan to increase investment in the FE workforce. The £500 million that the government proposes to spend on the National Skills Fund each year will only reverse one-fifth of the funding cuts imposed since 2010. And there is no understanding of the problems posed by siloed policymaking, policy teams and regulatory and funding systems, still less any attempt to address them. We remain some distance from a truly tertiary education system ‘genuinely animated by the same connecting sense of core purpose’.

The white paper also chose to ignore the relevant and important findings of the Education Committee’s Plan for an adult skills and lifelong learning revolution and the Independent Commission on the College of the Future. The Education Committee’s report was the outcome of an inquiry into Adult Skills and Lifelong Learning (ASALL), launched in March 2020, which received 76 written submissions (themselves very well worth reading). The report made a number of recommendations that are relevant here. To rectify the UK’s performance on adult education, it urged the government to adopt ‘an ambitious, long-term strategy for adult skills and lifelong learning – a comprehensive and holistic vision for lifelong learning that works for every adult in every community’. The foundation of the strategy must be what it terms the ‘four key pillars to revolutionise the adult education system’: a community learning centre in every town; individual learning accounts with a ‘truly lifelong emphasis … to revitalise training and upskilling’; the revival of part-time higher education; and a skills tax credit to revitalise employer-led training. The committee also identified a number of other areas requiring urgent reform, including: childcare for adult learners, English provision for speakers of other languages, modular learning, local skills offers, information, advice and guidance, and adult learning for those with special educational needs and disabilities (SEND).

The committee’s plan addresses two key areas that the white paper does not address, but which would support its radical ambitions. First, it acknowledges the importance of adult community learning and its vital role in bringing learning into disadvantaged communities and ‘providing a lifeline for adults furthest from qualifications and employment’. This is not acknowledged in the white paper, which, as noted, has little to say about engaging those furthest from decent work and formal education. The committee noted that it was not persuaded ‘that the Department fully grasps the value and purpose of community learning. Nor does it appear that the Department has a vision or strategic approach for boosting this vital area of lifelong learning.’

Second, the committee report recognises that adult education has social, health and community benefits as well as economic ones. It calls for a long-term ‘comprehensive and holistic’ vision, with an ‘ambitious funding settlement’ and underpinned by ‘more flexible, modular learning’ and ‘much better careers advice to help adults find the best learning opportunities for them’. The report also underlines the importance of part-time education in reaching disadvantaged students, the need for local authorities to have an enhanced role, with commensurate powers and funding, and the necessity of finding ways to encourage employer engagement, which the white paper takes for granted. The committee also called on the government to reverse its lamentable decision to axe the Union Learning Fund.

The final report of the Independent Commission on the College of the Future likewise urges the UK and devolved governments to ‘articulate a long-term vision for the post-16 education and skills system’ from schools to adult skills and training. This vision, it says, must ‘describe the wider role colleges play in place-making, as anchor institutions within their communities’, as well as the ‘complementary relationship of different component parts of the system’. The relationship between education and skill policy and other areas of public policy, such as health and energy, should be an integral part of the post-16 education and skills strategy.

This is important and reflects the commission’s attempt to recognise the role of FE both as a ‘touchpoint’ for people throughout their lives and in fostering ‘healthy and connected communities’. The report also supports a statutory right to ‘affordable and relevant lifelong learning opportunities’, with funding ‘equalised’ across further and higher education routes and flexibility to all individuals ‘to build up their skills over time to match both their evolving career development needs and their personal circumstances’. A ‘vital public asset sitting at the heart of communities’, colleges ‘provide a critical pivot between all other parts of the education and skills system, as well as offering a tremendous breadth of provision themselves – and can and must be centres of lifetime learning’.

Both reports demonstrate the limited scope and paucity of ambition in the white paper, particularly when judged from the perspective of the government’s pledge to ‘level up’ communities that have been ‘left behind’. There is little in the paper for the 50 per cent of disadvantaged adults who have been out of education since leaving school, and no evidence of the kind of joined-up, cross-sectoral thinking that will be required to lift these people and the communities in which they live out of the vicious cycle of poverty, low pay, disaffection and hopelessness. There is no sense of the distorting effect other parts of the system have on educational inequality, for example independent schools and free schools and academies, still less any attempt to address the social justice issues raised by an education system that apportions opportunity according to wealth or where a student happens to live (also, usually, determined by wealth).

And there is no understanding of the impact of the cuts of the past two decades, the deplorable withdrawal of learning opportunities, particularly for adults and young people from the poorest communities, and the wanton destruction of the infrastructure of lifelong learning, from university continuing education departments to public libraries. We have perhaps grown numb to the depressing statistics – the adult education budget cut by half, the 32 per cent drop in adult community education, the 61 per cent drop in part-time learner numbers – but we should remember that behind these numbers are millions of frustrated hopes and aspirations, and thwarted life chances, mostly in communities that have been on life support for years, all silent monuments to decades of political indifference.

Most telling, though, from the perspective of levelling up, is the narrowness of the white paper’s vision. Though it promises more, it is, at bottom, about training for employment, though even on those narrow terms it is inadequate. And while getting a decent job is important, it is not everything, far from it. Education should not only prepare people for work, it should prepare people to be good, active citizens, good parents, useful and cooperative members of the communities in which we live. It should encourage us to think critically, to spot ‘fake news’ and disinformation, to resist authoritarian thinking and to understand how to begin to make our communities better. And it should give us the means through which to engage with art, literature and philosophy, while cultivating our own creativity, as the best adult education always has. None of this makes it into the white paper, nor, I strongly suspect, is it in the government’s thinking. Instead, we must look to expand our horizons and deepen our understanding of the world on a diet of training for work, while access to culture and a liberal education, the so-called classics, remains a defining marker of class difference, a kind of secret curriculum, used, as the Prime Minister uses it when he fires off a bit of ancient Greek, to reassure the privileged and remind the poor of their place.

The white paper is simply not radical enough or brave enough or bold enough, not by half. We need to think big and think wide, prepared to assert education’s cross-sectoral role and unafraid to take on areas of policy that are usually considered off-limits. As the TUC response to the white paper noted, most of the big issues have been kicked down the road. There are no undertakings to reverse the brutal cuts of the past decade, in fact there are no substantial financial promises at all. And now, as we look to emerge from the pandemic, the Chancellor warns that it is time, once again, to ‘balance the books’. Will this mean yet more pain for the poorest, more ideological assaults on the welfare state? The decision to close the Union Learning Fund, which provides low-cost opportunities to learn to a quarter of a million men and women each year through partnerships between unions and employers, says a lot about the government’s outlook. While cutting the fund directly harms the learning and life chances of thousands of learners, most of whom would not otherwise have engaged in education, it will save the government a paltry £12 million a year. A 2018–19 study by unionlearn, the TUC’s learning and skills arm, found that every £1 invested in the fund produced an economic return of £12.30. The decision is political, not economic. It makes inequality in education worse, not better.

The vision of the white paper is short-term, narrow and insufficient. The absence of any link between lifelong learning and positive mental health is particularly unfortunate, given the toll taken by COVID-19. This needs to be part of the government’s plans for post-pandemic renewal as well as the levelling up agenda, given how unequally the impact of the crisis has been felt. It is important to think about the learner in the round, and not just as a worker or consumer. One of the main problems with the white paper is that it hardly thinks of them at all. There is no attempt to empower learners, connect them to their communities or take their agency into account, and no vision as to how we might use learning to ‘harness the collective power of society’. Even if we accept the white paper’s economic rationale, it is simply not the case that only skill-based education and training is of benefit to the economy – other kinds of learning and the wider benefits they have should count too. Centralised policy tinkering to improve take up of technical courses in subjects where there is employer demand is helpful, no doubt, and we should applaud the initiative, but it is not levelling up and it will not turn around the fortunes of our ‘left behind’ people and places. A revolution this ain’t. I’m not sure it’s even a plan.

A decent life for all

The white paper appeared in a moment of crisis, one in which we still find ourselves. We can see a way out now, as the roll-out of the vaccine programme continues apace, but we must be careful in our clamour for a ‘return to normal’ not to throw away the opportunity to reflect on where we are going and consider doing things differently. We have an opportunity to do this on inequality, to build back not only better but also fairer. As Arundhati Roy wrote in the Financial Times back in April 2020, ‘Historically, pandemics have forced humans to break with the past and imagine their world anew. This one is no different. It is a portal, a gateway between one world and the next’. We can decide whether we continue on our current course, gesturing weakly in the direction of social mobility while inequality worsens and the country drifts listlessly towards a future characterised by low wages and few protections for workers (what politicians usually mean when they rail against ‘red tape’), or we can walk boldly towards something better, prepared to consign old orthodoxies and prejudices to the dustbin of history. We can do better on inequality, that much is clear. What is less clear is whether we or the government are serious about tackling it.

Perhaps we give our leaders too much credit when we take their promises at face value. We have an education system that does not realise the potential of most of our children and young people, and restricts ‘second chance’ learning later in life. This should not come as a surprise because it is not meant to do these things. The restricted opportunities on offer to working-class children and young people are narrow by design. It is the result of political choice. We have instead an education system which is about selection, hierarchy and the reproduction of privilege, with funding massively skewed towards those born at the top and the odds just as massively stacked against those at the bottom. Education means different things to different people. If you are born into privilege you can expect to leave your independent or selective school with a knowledge of the classics, an appreciation of culture, some understanding of history and philosophy, and some knowledge of classical languages – the hidden curriculum of privilege used to socially police access to the professions.

For disadvantaged children, a different experience awaits. You are likely to find your school underfunded, perhaps in a state of disrepair, and struggling to afford some of the basic essentials of learning. Classes will be overcrowded. Some pupils will be disruptive. Teachers will be less well-qualified. Your home life will be less conducive to homework, and your parents less able to support your learning. There is no money for outside activities or private lessons. The curriculum will be narrower, with a greater focus on literacy and numeracy (driven by a punitive, high-stakes accountability regime), more emphasis on employability and a reduced offer in the arts, drama and the humanities. You will be tested often. You are likely to be anxious, perhaps depressed. You worry about your mental health. When you see how well turned-out and confident your wealthier peers seem, you may feel inferior, you may start blaming yourself for being stupid. Your experience at school is more regimented. You are asked to do things without understanding why. You do not need to know. You may not feel respected. You may feel your parents are not respected by your teachers. You may become alienated from the education process. You may think it is hopeless anyway. You’ll never be as good as the kids from the academy. When, finally, you are tossed, unready, into the world, you are more likely to have few or no qualifications, you may still struggle with literacy and numeracy. The idea of returning to education is likely to be off-putting, perhaps humiliating. You get a job, probably low-paid, low status. A lot of your mates do the same. Your life, like theirs, is characterised by hard, insecure work, worry about debt, and little hope of anything more, with few opportunities to return to education without incurring stacks of additional debt – unthinkable for people like you.

This sounds grim, and it is, for many. It approximates the experience of millions of adults (the author among them), though their story is one we rarely hear. For many of them, adult education presented a lifeline. It gave them what cultural theorist and adult educator Raymond Williams described as ‘resources of hope’, a reasonable prospect of something better in their lives, a way to engage creatively and critically with the world, to better understand that world and, in many cases, to change it. Adult education has enabled adults to break the cycle of poverty and low attainment, to find decent work, to go on to study and in many cases to teach at university. It has given people the chance to properly support their children, to give them the example and opportunities they never had. It has given them a chance to meet other people, to encounter new ideas, new cultures, and new perspectives, and to learn how to communicate their ideas to others, to build consensus and behave cooperatively, even where they find themselves in disagreement with others. The loss of so much of this provision and the infrastructure that supports it, over the past 10 years and earlier, going back several decades, is a calamity and a disgrace.

The ‘levelling up’ agenda is, therefore, welcome, but it does not seem that the government grasps the scale of the challenge or, if it does, puts enough of a priority on it to really make a meaningful difference in terms of inequality and social justice. Levelling up is not the same as leaving no one behind. Lifting up some is not the same as lifting up all. Enabling a few to get out of their impoverished towns and into the professions is not going to make much difference to inequality, or improve the lives of the left behind (in fact, it makes them worse). The government has no plan to equalise opportunity, or to correct the systemic injustices of the education system. There is no bold strategy to rebuild the social, economic or educational foundations weakened by austerity, or to redistribute power, wealth and opportunity in a serious, sustainable way. The emphasis on social mobility and the tolerance of growing inequality that has characterised policy under the Conservatives and under Labour before them, is inadequate to the challenge we face. Our focus should not be on getting more people through A-levels and into university, but to find ways to improve the lives of everyone, while recognising the essential contribution made by people who don’t have a degree. This recognition is overdue, as the pandemic has so plainly highlighted.

We would need to do much more to meet the stretching targets of the 2030 Agenda for Sustainable Development, and we would need to take a much more integrated, intersectoral approach, ensuring that we utilise not only the galvanising power of the goals but the links between them. Few of the goals can be achieved without, for example, effective, well-funded and well-targeted programmes of lifelong learning. We would need, too, to make people and place much more central to our thinking, giving voice and power to people, and letting them drive the agenda forward. This is especially true for those people who have been left behind, who, for some decades now, have felt despised and ignored by those in power. In the context of both the 2030 and levelling-up agendas, connecting people to their communities in this way is perhaps the most powerful thing you can do.

The problem with international agreements, though, is that they are interpretable in different ways. What does it mean to ‘reduce inequality’ or assure ‘quality education’? Should we worry about eradicating poverty at home when the world is so imbalanced and unequal and we can make a difference here too? While Britain is not alone in its poor progress against the SDGs, nor is it the only country with an inequality problem, it faces a special problem to do with its past and the shadow it casts, which is holding it back. Britain likes to thinks of itself as a player on the world stage, a former colonial power which still has lots of influence. While much of Britain’s former empire has shrugged off the influence of the imperial ‘motherland’, Britain remains in thrall to it, from our dysfunctional royal family to the hallowed playing fields of Eton, from our weird, ancient systems of deference, privilege and cronyism to our segregated, wasteful education system, founded on a pretend meritocracy.

Colonialism lives on in many of our poorer communities, with non-resident landlords, living in richer parts of the country, charging exorbitant rents to local businesses, stifling enterprise and killing local high streets, while spending the wealth they thus acquire elsewhere. We cannot change where we are, but we can do better. I think we have to. However, doing so demands a rethink about our aims and purposes, what we want to be as a country, our role in the world and our obligations to each other. The challenge of the 2030 Agenda is to forge an understanding of the goals that works in our own distinctive context and that we can build consensus around. One of the main barriers to progress, and not just in Britain, is the lack of public ownership of the agenda. Most people – in common, it would appear, with most politicians – have little idea of it, still less the commitment required to achieve it. Changing this, and building the consensus and political leverage we need, is a Herculean task. But it is essential. We cannot be someone new until we let go of who we used to be.

If we are to heal the rifts in our society, we need to take inequality seriously and approach it in a much more systemic, integrated way. We need to think long-term and we need a vision for the future most of us can get behind. Above all, we need to be brave enough and confident enough in ourselves to let go of what we were, accept what isn’t working and build something new, different and better. We should acknowledge the learnings of the pandemic and in particular the lesson that everyone contributes, in one way or another, to the common good, from the shop floor to the board room, and that all deserve both dignity – in education, in work and in society – and the resources to live a decent life. Further education, broadly understood, is at the heart of this. It is here that many of the people who have stepped up during the pandemic, demonstrating not only skill, but courage, leadership and agency, have been prepared for work and life. Levelling up means little if we cannot invest more in the places where such people live and learn, while the tributes of politicians and the appreciation of the public will continue to ring hollow (like Oscar Wilde’s sentimentalist, we want ‘the luxury of an emotion without paying for it’). It is important that we build a consensus around these issues and move forward, to the greatest extent possible, together.

Below are five areas of action in education that would significantly reduce inequality in the UK if they had public and political support. They are deliberately ambitious and, while some run against the grain of government thinking and perhaps also public sentiment, it is hoped that they will, at least, provoke debate and reflection on issues which, while often marginalised in policy thinking, are nevertheless of the utmost importance in levelling up and leaving no one behind.

First, we need a national strategy for lifelong learning, widely framed, with reach across every kind of education provision and into every relevant sector of policy. Colleges should be at the centre of this. They should be, as the Independent Commission on the College of the Future urged, ‘centres of lifetime learning’, connecting people to their communities and to the world of work. But the strategy should encompass other kinds of learning, including adult community learning, and not be restricted to learning for work. It should encompass adult literacy and numeracy, digital literacy, active citizenship education, learning for health and wellbeing, and aim to foster not just skills for employment, but creativity, critical thinking, democratic deliberation and (of course) fun! Lifelong learning should prepare us for the radical uncertainties of the emerging world. As recommended by the Centenary Commission on Adult Education, it should ‘engage the whole of government while recognising the importance of devolved decision making’, and be supported by the appointment of a minister with specific responsibility for adult education and lifelong learning.

Second, we should reverse the cuts to further education and adult education over the past decade, as a first step to rebuilding the broken infrastructure of FE and lifelong learning.  The government should take steps to reverse the 4 million reduction in adult learner numbers since 2010, first by restoring funding to pre-2010 levels and second by improving adult guidance and support. The government should also actively promote participation in adult education and part-time higher education and consider how to incentivise universities to diversify their provision and give students more flexible options to study. Many institutions, particularly the elite institutions of the Russell Group, are far too fixated on the traditional three- or four-year model of residential study applicable mainly to 18-year-old school leavers. This model is no longer fit for purpose. We need to recognise that adults do not – and, indeed, cannot afford to – discontinue their learning in their mid-20s. Universities should look to recruit more widely, including among disadvantaged and older groups, and also seek to revive their traditional civic mission, offering outreach and continuing education programmes in their communities. As recommended by the Education Select Committee, we should revive individual learning accounts, considering past failures and ensuring they are both flexible and learner-led. The new funding settlement for lifelong learning and further education should be long-term.

Third, we should begin a national conversation about the integration of independent schools into a common state system, following the example of Finland, which, 30 years ago, legislated to make it illegal for institutions to charge for education. This would have the double benefit of making these schools locally accountable (something all publicly supported institutions should be) and nullifying their capacity to distort and engineer educational outcomes. At the same time, state schools should be strengthened, with funding increased, partly (eventually) through the redistribution of some independent school assets (including, as a first step, their state subsidy), with the aim of giving every child, wherever they live in the country, the opportunity to have a good school education, with access to a broad curriculum that does not eschew creativity and liberal arts. The fragmentation (and social segregation) introduced through the increase in selection over the past two decades should be reversed and a national commitment to excellence throughout the system reaffirmed. While the integration of private schools is certain to be a protracted and contested process, an intermediate step should require elite universities to match their student intake to the proportions of pupils that come from different school backgrounds: 93 per cent from state school, 7 per cent from independent schools (corresponding to a motion adopted at Labour’s 2019 conference). While such reform might seem a long way off, and is a daunting political prospect, with resistance certain, it is time we began to talk seriously about whether an institution that fosters systemic unfairness, hierarchy and social segregation is what we want for our country, or is, for that matter, fit for purpose in the modern world.

Fourth, we should follow the recommendation of the Education Committee and ensure there is a community learning centre in every town and village in the country. The Department for Education, the committee says, does not fully grasp ‘the value and purpose of community learning’. Nor does it appear to have ‘a vision or strategic approach for boosting this vital area of lifelong learning’. This should change, as the committee suggests, with the department working with the sector ‘to grasp what data exists on community learning and where any gaps might be’. This is an essential step in giving adults access to learning in their community and, in particular, to engaging those adults the farthest distance from education and the workplace in learning. As is the case with the best local authority adult learning, these centres should ensure that adult education is co-located with other services, for example early years, family learning, social housing, libraries and health, mirroring the cross-sectoral approach of central government, as well as its commitment to devolution, as recommended in a recent HOLEX report. Rochdale Borough Council provides a compelling example of how this might work. Since 2014, it has pursued a place-based approach to fulfilling the learning and other needs of its residents. Working in areas of highly complex need and disadvantage, the authority has demonstrated how working in a more connected way across services, and putting learning at the heart of these interventions, can promote positive change while reducing social costs. The council estimates that for every £1 invested across the system there is a £4.05 return in terms of reduced police call-outs, preventing children going into care and reduced calls on ambulance and doctor’s services. There must also be a commensurate investment in the places and spaces in which community learning takes place. An increased, long-term funding settlement for community learning is essential.

Fifth, and finally, we should put people at the centre of our thinking about education, and give them the opportunity to shape provision in their communities, alongside providers, employers, unions, local authorities, the voluntary sector and other key stakeholders. We need to make education more democratic in its management, planning and delivery. Localising dialogue in the community itself, trusting learners to make sound decisions about their future and that of their community, while involving other key players, would represent something close to the white paper’s promised ‘revolution’. It should be supported by democratic partnerships, probably coordinated by local authorities, and conducted in a spirit of collaboration rather than competition. The government should adopt a wider understanding of the value and purposes of education, and this should be reflected in the kind of partnerships that are enacted at local level. Further education must be at the heart of this, as should the people who work and study in it. We should think of further education not simply as a matter of preparing people for a job, to make a living and pay their taxes, but as the means through which people make their full and essential contribution to the common good.

Delivering these proposals would require something more: a renewal of the collective spirit in British politics and a conception of education which stresses not only its private benefit but its public value; something we recognise as supporting the common good, across a range of fronts, that must be provided throughout life, not frontloaded at the start, and available to everyone. We are, it seems, still some way from this, but that does not mean that we should not at least try, and advocate together for change in a way that eschews competition and embraces, instead, a shared conception of what is valuable in education and how this vision can be delivered. We need people on all sides to recognise that advantaged parents should not be able to pass on their advantage to their children (and we need to be able to talk seriously about this). And we need to understand that education is not just about private rewards and the measure of success not just the money we make (or inherit). Education, rather, is about maximining everyone’s potential contribution to social, civic and economic outcomes in which we are all, whether we realise it or not, invested. We need to restructure educational opportunity around the idea of a ‘common public education’ that affirms and reinforces our sense of shared identity and interdependence rather than militating against it.

It is a matter of who we are and who we aspire to be. Do we want to be the sort of society that routinely writes off the life chances of most of our kids and young people, where privilege is reproduced from generation to generation, and poorer children have little chance of ever exceeding the achievements of their parents? Do we want a society of winners and losers in which most of the losers never had a chance anyway yet, in many cases, still blame themselves for their ‘failure’? Do we want a politics that fosters nepotism and corruption, in which the people who make the laws and shape public policy went to the same schools as the people who write and interpret the news? Or we do want to create a fairer, more just and harmonious society in which opportunity is evenly shared out and our education system honours not only the aspirations of the powerful but those of every child, young person and adult in the country – a society in which, truly, no one is left behind? While the entrenched and contested nature of inequality in the UK might make it seem almost impossibly difficult to change, the challenges we face as a society – from demographic and technological change to the climate crisis – and the lessons of the pandemic should make a return to business as usual unthinkable.

As Kate Pickett and Richard Wilkinson have shown, inequality not only makes us all worse off in terms of public health and wellbeing, education and social mobility, it also alters how we think, feel and behave, making us distant and anxious, and, as Michael Young foresaw so brilliantly, more likely ‘to define and value ourselves and others in terms of superiority and inferiority’. It is ‘the enemy between us’. It erodes trust and social cohesion, makes people unhappy and unhealthy, corrupts our politics, and debases democracy. It is in all of our interests to change and replace Britain’s hierarchical, multi-tiered education system with one common, integrated public system that provides opportunity and a roughly equal chance of success and a decent life to all. The condition for human flourishing in society should not be a private education or a degree form a posh university, still less the circumstances of a child’s birth. The coming generations deserve a better, fairer future. That truth alone should give us hope that a new social and educational settlement is possible.

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Back to Beasley Street

I grew up in the eighties, in one of those grey, uninteresting towns they now call ‘left behind’. It was the time of the miners’ strike and mass unemployment, football hooliganism and the National Front, race riots and (perhaps worst of all) Wham! School was, at best, an inconvenient, pointless grind, and, at worst, a dangerous, humiliating ordeal. The teachers, like the students, were alternately bored, scared or violent. For the most part, we were going through the motions. Outside of school, there was nothing to do; at least, no one seemed to be doing anything. Come dark, we would gather in the local park (we were the ‘Parkers’, the boys that lived near the park!), facing off against a rival group of kids (the ‘Heath-ers’ [‘heath’ as in blasted], the Sharks to our Jets). It seemed, at the time, to be the thing to do. Nothing much ever happened until we heard the howl of the Black Marias and scattered, hysterical with laughter, into the neighbouring streets.

This, or similar, was the grim reality of life in the eighties for millions of people. It was brilliantly captured in John Cooper Clarke’s poem Beasley Street, which described a Thatcherite dystopia of unemployment, ill-health and emotional dislocation, at once boring and dangerous, mundane yet frightening, where an unnamed, stabbing, semi-permanent sense of longing is punctuated by untimely death and casual violence: ‘people turn to poison, quick as lager turns to piss’. It is a political poem, as well as a personal one. John Cooper Clarke was describing a place, certainly not a community, impoverished in every sense, where people turn against one another and themselves (‘their common problem is that they’re not someone else’), and which politicians hold in ill-disguised contempt (‘Keith Joseph smiles and a baby dies in a box in Beasley Street’). It conveys a sense of the multi-dimensional nature of poverty and inequality, as something not just material or economic but also emotional, social, environmental, psychological and political; something pervasive and all-consuming that gets into your brain and lungs and under your skin.

For me, the prevailing emotion of those years, living in my own Beasley Street, was fear, caught between two unthinkable alternatives: more education or a job. Fear was carefully and deliberately cultivated. The government was strongly mobilised against people like me. I was in no doubt that the government hated me. They hated my family, friends and neighbours too. They hated my culture and my values. Every new announcement, I felt, was aimed at some moral deficiency of mine or my family’s. I had to be coerced into work for which I was neither fit nor ready. Politics was personal. I knew I was the same as the lazy, feckless, shiftless, stupid people responsible for the long queues at the unemployment offices, people unprepared to ‘get on their bikes’ and move to where the work was. All the adults in my house worked hard or tried to but I knew we weren’t one of the ‘hard-working families’ the government said it wanted to help. I knew I wasn’t good enough, and that where I lived wasn’t good enough either, that I would have to be compelled to accept work I didn’t want and a life I wasn’t prepared for. I was uncivilised, thick, violent and workshy. And I knew exactly what Thatcher, Tebbit, Joseph, and their chums in the press, thought of me and my kind. Their language was violent and hateful, and it scared and scarred. It was meant to.

In retrospect, we were living through a period of social and economic adjustment, a kind of soft revolution, though the outcomes were anything but soft. The government was at war, not with the Argentines, but with its own people: the unions, the unemployed, the working poor, Black people and Muslims, gays and lesbians, Labour councils and ‘unauthorised’ migrants, single mums and ‘Marxist’ teachers. The Falklands was one front in the war, as was the miners’ strike and the government’s determination to challenge union power, and the constant attempts to demonise working-class communities and working-class values and culture. These were divisive issues which split voters traditionally aligned to Labour and opposed to the Tories. From the point of view of Thatcher’s revolution, they were necessary fractures. Turning communities against themselves was essential in pushing through reforms that made life worse for most people, and reversed decades of progress in education, social mobility and the reduction of poverty and inequality. There had to be outsiders, others, an ‘enemy within’. Stopping those people getting things they weren’t entitled to became an important lever in getting people to accept less across the board: fewer rights, lower incomes and higher debt, worse conditions at work and escalating inequality. The moral deficiency and low intelligence of the working class, of single mothers and social security recipients, was a core belief of the ideology of Thatcherism. Demonising them was an important strategic political choice.

The divisions created by that most divisive of governments still fester, and Thatcher, fittingly, remains the most divisive figure in recent British political history. We are still reckoning with the damage caused. Much of the framing of political debate in Britain remains unchanged since the 1980s, though the anti-prole, anti-Black, anti-gay rhetoric has been toned down a bit (reassuringly, Liverpool remains the one thing most Tory politicians, and, it seems, much of the rest of England, can agree to hate). The ‘othering’ of migrants and refugees and the fear of difference, usually in those places least likely to encounter it, was one of the main drivers of Brexit, and continues to pollute our political discourse. The long-term unemployed are still regarded as lazy and feckless, while the government continues to promise to support ‘hard-working’ families. Fear of the ‘something for nothing’ culture, supposedly to blame for cycles of deprivation in our ‘left behind’ towns and villages, has enabled successive governments to cut welfares costs, already among the lowest in Europe, and make it harder for people to escape from poverty. Anti-union rhetoric is still common, and was evident in the vindictive cancelling of the successful Union Learning Fund. It has helped prevent unions in the UK from playing the kind of partnership role they play with employers in other countries in Europe, and contributed to the suppression of wages in Britain. Meanwhile, immigration has been allowed to take the blame for the political neglect of post-industrial communities, while the rhetoric of choice is still being used to sneak more and more selection into the education system, stacking the educational odd higher and higher against working-class kids. 

Forty years on, we have another self-consciously divisive government, aware that its electoral majority rests on the split in the traditional Labour vote caused by Brexit. It is a government that is prepared to stoke the flames of anti-immigrant sentiment to bolster support in ‘left behind’ places, and while it has achieved its main aim of ‘getting Brexit done’, it continues to use the EU as a conveniently divisive adversary. The so-called ‘culture wars’, the fake outrage about ‘cancel culture’ and the ‘woke’ media, represent a new front – new but familiar to anyone who remembers the eighties. The cynical mobilisation of police resources is also all too familiar. And while Britain cuts an increasingly ridiculous figure on the international stage, seemingly unaware of its diminished place in the world, its tough-guy posturing and world-beating rhetoric goes down well with the domestic audience for whom it is intended. At the same time, pretend policies are floated to client journalists to provoke outrage on the ‘woke’ left and, in turn, offence among its supporters, further polarising opinion on social media. The same can be said about the now obligatory union flags that sit behind every cabinet minister when they are interviewed, whether at home or at work. Outrage on one side means offence on the other, all grist to this government’s mill.

In fact, while the government wraps its arms around our treasured statues of racists, slave traders and war criminals in the name of its war against cancel culture, it has been quietly at work cancelling culture for working class young people and adults. State school funding has been reduced in real terms over the past decade, while the curriculum has been narrowed, focusing increasingly on literacy and numeracy and skills for employment. The arts and humanities are under threat throughout the state-funded sector, as they are in many places around the world. Cuts to adult education funding since 2010 have seen adult learning for purposes other than basic skills and employability almost disappear from the further education curriculum, while the breath-taking assault on part-time higher education and university lifelong learning has reduced not only the diversity of students in the higher education population, but also the diversity of subject opportunities available for adults. The hierarchy is clear. Private school pupils can expect a rounded liberal arts education, and to leave school with some appreciation of literature, the arts and philosophy, and knowledge of an ancient language (the hidden curriculum of advantage), ready for the transition to an elite university. Most state-educated kids, on the other hand, have to enrich themselves on a meagre diet of basic skills-plus and training for work, and are much less likely to study in a Russell Group university, still less the dizzy heights of Oxbridge. The lessons of compliance and conformity they learn at school are reinforced by the substantial debts they can expect to leave education with, and the precarity they encounter in the world of work.

While we have been squabbling among ourselves, successive governments have continued to pull at threads in the social fabric, all the while depriving us of the resources we need to imagine something different and better. Rights have been stripped away unnoticed, opportunity has shrunk, communities have been put on life support, all while we were looking the other way.  As before, the government is promoting and managing division as a deliberate political choice, despite its high social cost. The ‘war on woke’ is at bottom a contemporary spin on Thatcher’s efforts to save the country and its values from an imagined fifth column of teachers, unions and lefty local authorities. As one Tory MP put it, people who do not feel pride in ‘our flag or queen … don’t have to live in this country’. The problem is that a lot of people just don’t share these values, don’t buy into the chocolate-box version of British history that forms part of our national understanding of empire and our justification of privilege, and don’t accept a hand-me-down culture of kings and queens, and plucky up-against-it under-doggery – yet they live here too. They shouldn’t have to leave the country because they don’t agree with politics of the Conservative Party. People were quick to point out that the MP was using the language of the National Front, but really it was just the same old divisive politics we have seen in the mainstream over decades, still pumping poison into our national life. The more outrage provoked on one side, the more offence is caused on the other, the greater the distance becomes between us. And while we fight over how great or world-beating our country is, more and more of it disappears, and there is less and less to be proud of, and fewer and fewer opportunities to change it. Fortunately, culture is difficult to cancel. No matter how hard things get we keep seeing the ‘rainbow in the road’. And there is hope in that.

Not levelling up: Britain’s failure to be progressive

This month, the UK’s Social Mobility Commission published the latest in a series of reports highlighting Britain’s failure to reduce inequality or advance social mobility. It found that 600,000 more children are now living in relative poverty than in 2012 and projected that this would increase further due to benefit changes and coronavirus. In schools, less than a quarter of disadvantaged students get a good pass in English and maths, the commission’s report noted, compared with around 50 per cent of all other pupils, while half of all adults from the poorest backgrounds receive no training at all after leaving school. It also reported that life expectancy is falling for women in the most deprived areas, with health inequalities linked to socio-economic background further exposed by the COVID-19 pandemic. Not only have successive governments failed to make progress in these areas, things have been getting worse, and, unless we do something radically different in our politics, they will get worse still, with those at the bottom paying the highest price. This is a frightening prospect – just over a year ago, the UN’s special rapporteur on poverty, Philip Alston, found the government to be in breach of its human rights obligations concerning poverty, predicting that 40 per cent of British children would be in poverty by 2021.

It has become a tradition for incoming Tory Prime Ministers to affect a passionate interest in these issues. After earnestly praising her predecessor’s record on social justice (Cameron, the architect of austerity, recast as a champion of the disadvantaged!), Theresa May used her first speech as Prime Minister to promise to prioritise ‘not the mighty nor the wealthy nor the privileged’ but working-class people who are ‘just managing’ but want to ‘get on in life’, correcting in the process the ‘burning injustices’ of educational disadvantage, economic exclusion and systemic racism. Similarly, current PM Boris Johnson undertook to ‘change the country for the better’ by delivering Brexit [sic], renewing ‘the ties that bind us together’ as a nation and ‘closing the opportunity gap’ by ‘levelling up’ in education, wages, housing and so on. It remains to be seen whether ‘levelling up’ will be more than the latest in the long line of glib, vacuous slogans (‘Take back control’, ‘Get Brexit done’, etc., etc.) on which Johnson has based his political career. Past experience (not to mention Johnson’s well-documented disdain for working people) encourages us to doubt it.

Such statements can (perhaps rather generously) be read as a serious attempt to reinvigorate working-class Toryism (the respectable face of the brand), with its traditional emphasis on hard work, self-reliance and a strong sense of national identity. But it also represents a party political power grab, exploiting the confused and febrile nature of our current political climate, and the Labour party’s failure to take seriously or attempt to understand the concerns of many traditional voters, to convince those who have fared worst under the Tories that in fact the party is on their side. Of course, if such rhetoric were to become a reality it would come as a surprise to the people who fund the Conservative Party, drawn, as they are, from among the ‘mighty’, ‘wealthy’ and ‘privileged’ (we should probably add ‘Russian’ to this list), but, of course, it is not aimed at them and they know better than to take it literally. While the message may sound progressive, the intention is not. Closing the education gap has tended to mean more selection and increased scrutiny (of state schools) and more centralised policy tinkering, while promises to reinvigorate neglected regions often generate grand announcements which deliver little and commitments to devolve power which come heavily qualified and are often little more than national-level blame shifting (austerity has resulted, among other things, in the hollowing out and enfeeblement of local government) or a means of sticking it to the ‘metropolitan elite’.

The failure of government to deliver on these promises is not the story of well-intentioned political will encountering intractable forces it cannot shift, despite the best efforts of our leaders. It is the well-understood, and entirely predictable, outcome of Conservative thinking and the institutions and interests the party represents and protects. Chief among these is the remarkable domination of elite professions and positions of influence, not to mention elite universities, by the 7 per cent of the British population who attend private schools. This isn’t evidence of the genetic superiority of ‘ancient families’, as some of those within and close to the current government appear, genuinely, to believe, but rather the result of social engineering intended to ensure that privilege is passed on from generation to generation. These institutions, which continue to receive public subsidy despite actively working against the life chances of the vast majority of people who live in the UK, perpetuate historic disadvantage and reinforce the social snobbery and segregation that squeeze opportunity for all but the best-off and make British society so miserably class-bound, so grubbily deferential and disunited.

One of the things that most struck me when I moved to Germany three years ago was the social mix of pupils and their parents in the German grundschule (primary school) my son attended. There is no social segregation because privilege has not been institutionalised within the system. Private schools play a marginal role in the German education system, and there is an expectation that the state will provide an excellent standard of education for every child and in every school. Things were quite different at my son’s old primary school, in a relatively prosperous suburb of Liverpool. Not only was there social segregation by property – the better-off neighbourhoods also had the best schools and there was competition among parents to buy into those areas so as to access those schools (and avoid the bad ones) – but almost all the parents at our school were from non-professional, mostly blue-collar backgrounds. Professional people sent their kids to one or other of the numerous private, fee-paying schools in the area, and there was wide appreciation of the fact that these establishments were much better resourced and much better at educating and represented the best way of giving your children a leg-up in life. If you could afford it, in other words, this is what you did. It is astonishing how normal this chronic systemic unfairness is in British life. It is hardly challenged.

While schools in the state sector in England are subject to rigorous, high-stakes inspection and near continual central political reform, usually aimed at increasing selection and providing greater ‘choice’ for parents (though I am yet to meet a parent for whom this is a priority), private schools are free to game the system in favour of their students. For example, Sevenoaks school, which charges more than £38,000 a year for boarding pupils, has a policy of exaggerating exam grade predictions for its lowest-performing students ‘to facilitate application to a more selective university’. While it is rare for a private school to put this policy in writing, as Sevenoaks did, it is, I suspect, a strategy that is widely, though perhaps less formally, deployed. Private school pupils also gain advantage from the support of well-educated parents who understand how the system works and how to game it. Unsurprisingly, once they are at university, students from state schools outperform privately education students admitted with the same A-level grades. Kids from wealthier backgrounds also benefit from the support of private tutors and the confidence that comes from attending an elite institution. With the odds so firmly stacked against kids from poor and working-class backgrounds, it is little wonder social mobility has stalled and, indeed, gone backwards, and that so many communities feel – and indeed are – ‘left behind’. Despite these very real and obvious inequities, and the anti-democratic networks of nepotism and low-level corruption they foster, the impact of private schools is not even up for meaningful policy discussion in the UK, I guess unsurprisingly given the hold their alumni they have on politics and media in the country.

Educational disadvantage for less-privileged students is further compounded in post-compulsory education. While private school pupils swell the ranks of elite universities to a disproportionate degree, state school pupils are more likely to apply to less prestigious institutions, where their degrees are likely to have a stronger vocational dimension. Further education too has seen a steady narrowing of its curriculum to focus on workplace and employability skills, while taking a huge funding hit since 2010. Adult education, the route through which working people can gain a second chance and access higher learning, has also faced devastating cuts since 2010. According to the Institute for Fiscal Studies, funding for adult education in FE in England was cut by 45 per cent between 2009/10 and 2017/18. At the same time, local authority adult education provision, which targets in particular the most disadvantaged and hardest-to-reach adults, has also faced swingeing cuts. The Local Government Association (LGA) estimates that the government would need at least to double the adult education budget (from £1.5 billion to £3 billion) to reverse the overall 3.8 million drop in learner numbers since 2010. The number of adults in higher education in England has also been in freefall under the Conservatives. The total number of mature undergraduate entrants fell from more than 400,000 in 2010/11 to fewer than 240,000 in 2017/18 – a drop of 40 per cent. Part-time student numbers have collapsed too, with the Higher Education Policy Institute (HEPI) reporting a 61 per cent drop since 2010, most of these being mature students aged 21 or above. HEPI estimates that the loss in part-time numbers equates to 17 per cent fewer students from disadvantaged backgrounds accessing higher education in England.

Government plans to invest in school rebuilding and FE estate upgrades in England are welcome, of course, as is the relative funding stability of the past few years, but they come nowhere near repairing the damage done or the disadvantage deepened by cuts to schools and colleges since 2010. Still less do they address the systemic causes of disadvantage. The dismantling of adult education, besides being an appalling act of cultural vandalism, matters also because it closes off the main channel through which adults have traditionally been able to improve their lives and engage more fully in civic and social life. For adults who are not wealthy, the educational story of the past decade has been of one door shutting after another and a continual stifling of opportunity. Wherever you learn, whether at school in college, at university or in the community, there has been a steady narrowing of curricula choice and variety, with the arts and humanities under repeated attack and provision increasingly focused on work and employability and producing young people who are ‘job ready’ (as opposed to life or even work ready). It is clear from the direction of policy that while working people can expect an education that will prepare them for a job and, if they are very lucky, a life of work, the kind of liberal education that prepares people to live a full life illuminated by an appreciation of culture, political and civic engagement, and the capacity to think and argue critically and communicate ideas effectively, is to be more or less the exclusive preserve of the better-off and privileged.

I feel that we give our leaders too much credit by taking their commitments at face value. The COVID-19 crisis has shone a light on the appalling unfairness of some little-challenged aspects of national life, including the vast privileges bestowed by a private education and the dreadful poverty of opportunity they impose on the rest of us. It is right, of course, to applaud any intervention which will benefit learners and help make the country more equal, but too often in applauding the good intentions of policy we forget to hold government to account for the regressive thinking and systemic disadvantage that holds people and communities back and excludes them from opportunity. We can go back to the way things were, of course, and many would welcome it. But we have, in the midst of the current crisis, an opportunity to do things differently, to consider whether we want a system that self-consciously perpetuates social injustice and inequality, or think instead about abolishing private school education and rebalancing education spending more fairly, to the benefit both of disadvantaged children and young people, and adults, whose opportunities to access learning have been the most badly affected by the austerity politics of the past decade. Everyone deserves a decent education. We are not economic units; we are people with rich capabilities and capacities that should not be casually squandered. If we want a society that is both fair and prosperous, in which everyone is able to foster and exploit their talents to the full, we will dismantle the machinery of privilege and reassert the values of equity and equality of opportunity in and across our education system.

A people in search of a past: History, learning and belonging

I wish I knew more about where I am from. My Grandad on my Mum’s side was a ship’s engineer who worked for most of his life on the Liverpool docks. A merchant seaman who took part in the D-Day landings, he was a strongly principled man who believed in self-reliance, refusing government compensation when his home was destroyed during the Blitz. His wife, my Nan, was another fierce and stoic spirit, a strong-willed and sharp-tongued woman who worked hard all her life and believed in self-improvement, particularly the virtue of speaking ‘properly’. She worked in the Jacobs cracker factory and for Littlewoods pools, two iconic Liverpool businesses. My paternal grandfather worked in a car factory in Halewood (Ford, I think). I didn’t know him well. He married my grandmother when she was pregnant with another man’s child. She died young. I only know her from a photograph. The picture conveys both a deep seriousness and the gentleness and forbearance that I am told characterized her in life.

This small repertory of people and places gives me my immediate sense of who I am and where I am from. Beyond this, things start to get a bit blurry. I have never felt a strong sense of belonging anywhere, of either national or regional identity, never cared much whether the national football team wins or loses (I would fail the Tebbitt cricket test). I don’t feel part of anything bigger, and I have never recognised myself or my kin in what I suppose to be the foundational stories of English national identity. I could never find anything to feel proud of in the national story as it was told to me at school and I struggled to see the lives of people like me in the stories of king, queens, conquerors and generals. I formed the strong impression that the supposed heroes of our national story were not much better than gangsters squabbling over land and privilege, and that the fawning respect accorded to their descendants by the descendants of the people they so decisively oppressed was just a painful irony of history. Growing up working class under Thatcher I also had a sense of the thinly veiled contempt in which people who considered themselves part of this story – those ‘ancient families’ of which Dominic Cummings’ father-in-law speaks so fondly – held working people. It made me feel I was being asked to celebrate the history of people who despised me and my kind. I didn’t care for the version of history in which people like me held the coats, served the drinks and filled the baths of the great and good.

The Black Lives Matter protests triggered by the terrible death of George Floyd in the US have opened up these questions in the UK. They have created opportunities not only to raise and discuss issues of systemic racial injustice but also to re-examine questions of British identity and history. Whatever you think of the rights and wrongs of toppling statues, the Bristol protestors who de-platformed noted slaver Edward Colston and dropped him in the dock have created an unprecedented opportunity to discuss who we are as Britons and the version of history that supports our sense of national self. And while the protests gave people of all backgrounds an opportunity to express solidarity against racism, it also made a space in which the far-right thugs who feel legitimised by Brexit and Johnson could show their racist colours. Nothing could better sum up the confused nature of English identity than the sight of a few hundred drunken xenophobes making Nazi salutes and chanting ‘Ingerland’ while ‘defending’ the recently defaced statue of Winston Churchill in Westminster. In the rush to remove further statues, rename streets and de-programme TV comedy shows, we should be careful we are not merely brushing things under the carpet. None of this is a substitute for the kind of open, thoughtful and honest national conversation we badly need.

The time could not be riper. We are in the midst of a national crisis, a pandemic that will have seismic social and economic consequences. It threatens a further entrenchment of inequality, both at national level and among the regions of the world, a deepening of injustice and a further narrowing of opportunity for those who are not already steeped in it. Indeed, more of the same will guarantee this is precisely what we will get. However, we are also in a place where it is possible to question this, to ask whether we really want to go back to the way we were. We have an opportunity to rethink the kind of country we want to be. To do that, we need also to confront our past and interrogate our present, who we are and where we have come from. It is easy to dismiss or ridicule the actions of the far right and the ugly, historically confused ethnic nationalism they embrace. But these people and their views and actions have their causal influences, among them Brexit and the xenophobic politics that produced it, but also the collective amnesia about episodes in British history, particularly the origins of the empire, and the cultivation of a version of history from which vast swathes of the population have been effectively erased. The Black Lives Matters movement has created a moment in which this history has become the subject of genuine debate and contention, and can be seen clearly as something mutable and contentious, not something that can be handed down in monolithic form or cast in bronze.

This feels important. The current state of British politics owes something, perhaps a good deal, to the failings of our education system, the narrowing of the curriculum, the closure of places in which adults can continue learning and the utilitarian conception of education, for decades the dominant one in Britain, that treats learning as a kind of economic transaction. But it is also about a version of Britishness defined by what Fintan O’Toole describes as the ‘pleasures of self-pity’, nursing ancient grudges and slightly less ancient delusions of grandeur. This version of history is unfit for a modern society characterised by diversity or an economy reliant on supply chains that transcend national borders. It saddens me that so many people identify with an account of history that both excludes them and casts them as inferiors. It is depressing too that we continue to tell a national story that leaves out most of the people who live in the country and much of the history of how we came to be who we are. There is a story to be proud of in how the diverse Britain of recent decades came about – the story of migration to Britain is at least as much one of cooperation and tolerance as it is one of resentment and prejudice – but we can only tell it properly if we are truthful about the past and inclusive in how we describe it.

For too long, we have invested feelings of national pride in a story that excludes and alienates many or most of the people who live in Britain. We all need to feel part of our national story, whatever our background, wherever we live. That means telling not just the truth but the whole truth about slavery, the empire and our racist past and present, and recognising that Britain’s great victories were not achieved alone. It also means giving equal weight to Britain’s social history, including the lives and achievements of working-class people and their role in enlarging freedoms and promoting equality. This is essential if we are to claim a national story that lifts us up rather than weighs us down, that does not shame some in order to elevate others. We need to teach a history that does not leave working-class people adrift with nothing to be proud of, defending statues of people whose stories have little to do with theirs and of which they know little. Everyone needs to know it is ok to be who they are. Class shaming has for too long been part of how access to elite professions is moderated in the UK. Getting on in Britain often means swallowing your pride and learning to ape the manners and modes of speech of others, to the disparagement of your own. Confronting the past must be part of how we heal and overcome social and economic injustice. Our distorted picture of Britain’s past prevents us properly understanding and transcending the present. Of course, history is not just about what is taught and debated in schools and should not be limited to that. It should be the subject of continuing debate and interrogation, a permanent, living part of the adult education curriculum and our cultural life. We are at a tipping point in our national story. We need to think differently about who we are if we are to move forward to something better. If we cannot find a fair, inclusive and ambitiously progressive way out of our current crises, we risk becoming part of a story of which none of us can be proud.

 

 

 

Creating social solidarity through learning

When I first moved to Germany, I was struck by the discipline of German motorists. Whenever traffic stalls on the autobahn all cars uniformly move to the side of the road creating a corridor through which emergency vehicles can pass. Such things are easy to dismiss as indicative of German efficiency and rule following. However, I quickly grew to understand that this was not so much a quirk of character as an expression of social solidarity, of shared values and of the kind of societal consensus around which genuine cooperation can be built. I saw it evidenced in other aspects of German life and soon came to admire it (even if, if I am honest, I did not always like it). I recognised it, for example, in the German response to the COVID-19 pandemic, which in contrast to the UK government’s confused, confusing PR-led response has been calm, frank and clear enough to be widely understood (though it is not without criticism for all that).

Of course, it helps too that the German health system is far better funded than the UK’s and that the country as a whole was much better prepared for this kind of crisis (public services have not been stripped to the bone and the German government has not chosen to ignore its own advice about pandemic crisis-planning). However, this too is an expression of a broad national consensus that health, education, social care and so on should be adequately funded, even if that means increasing the tax burden on individuals and corporations. The people who work in these professions realise too that they are valuable and valued – they do not need people to stand outside and bang saucepans to convince them of it.

I do not want to be the kind of ex-pat who praises everything about their adoptive country and disparages everything about their old one. Germany is not perfect. There is significant inequality here, both within and between regions, politics feels less stable than it has for some time, and while right-wing populism is on the rise, moderate left-wing politics is in sharp decline. And, of course, the country will face a huge economic shock because of the current crisis, with hard-to-predict but inevitably harsh consequences. Equally, there is still much to like and admire about life in the UK. While it is easy to mock a country that votes to defund its health service and welfare state yet turns out once a week to applaud the people who work in it, there is still something very moving about this expression of support and solidarity for frontline workers. The crisis has also prompted many acts of spontaneous compassion and kindness – one of the positive outcomes of the crisis is that people feel authorised to take the initiative and act on their compassionate feelings, whether that means taking a food parcel to neighbours or putting on an impromptu music recital in the street. There has also been a good deal of welcome humour and cheerful self-deprecation in the British response, which is admirable.

I suppose though what bothers me is why this compassion and social solidarity is not translated into electoral outcomes or social policy that would at least ensure the stability and even-running of vital services on which we all depend. How can a country that loves its health service enough to celebrate it and its workers on a weekly basis not love it enough to fund it adequately or to pay all its workers a decent wage? For several decades, this has been perhaps the chief paradox in British political life. While the public is in general to the left of the governing party and in favour of putting more money into education and the National Health Service, most people are also convinced that the level of investment required to ensure a decent level of service – something comparable to that in Germany or France, for example – is unaffordable. The decade of austerity Britain has endured only achieved public support because people were convinced that overspending on public services caused, or left us unable to cope with, the financial crisis, and that cuts were therefore inevitable rather than a calculated act of political will (which they emphatically were).

The fact that so many people have bought into a belief that many other people consider not only untrue but a political ploy to justify an assault on the public sector has helped polarise politics in the UK and prompted (or accelerated) a coarsening of political discourse. Little credit is given to political opponents, political positions are exaggerated and distorted, and people are vilified because of the things they believe. This is all stoked by a news media that, with a few honourable exceptions, seems to have abandoned any attempt to sort fact from fiction, and a right-wing commentariat paid large sums to adopt positions that will incite their readers and incense their political opponents.

Of course, this febrile political climate has been exacerbated by Brexit and the debate that has surrounded it – an ugly mix of disinformation, outrageous lies and political fantasy fuelled by ill-concealed racism – and a succession of governments that drew their authority from a narrative based very largely on a deliberate distortion of reality. The price to be paid for English ethnic nationalism and ideologically driven austerity is only beginning to become clear, but it is certain to be high. And while the current crisis is exposing some of the damage done, it is also driving calls for a new social settlement and a reappraisal of political values. There is a chance here to build a different, fairer and more equal Britain, in which opportunity and reward are more evenly distributed. Whatever else this virus is, it also represents a once-in-a-generation chance to change direction. It almost certainly will not come again in my lifetime.

Much has been made of the comparability of the crisis Britain now faces and the crisis it faced emerging from the Second World War. Laden down with debt and in economic disarray, the country nevertheless rejected the leadership of Churchill and the Tories and elected a progressive Labour government that went on create the National Health Service and the modern welfare state, among other reforms that included the creation of national parks. Post-war France and Germany too launched major programmes of social reconstruction and sought to address long-standing social and economic inequalities. People emerged from the war with an enhanced sense of shared social responsibility and a spirit of solidarity founded on mutual sacrifice. There was a general humanising of social policy, including in education, and an extension of people’s rights, recognised both nationally and internationally in the creation of the United Nations and UNESCO.

It is sometimes said that in the UK the appetite for social reform was in part fuelled by adult education, and, in particular, by the Army Bureau of Current Affairs (ABCA) that kept service people informed about current events during the war and gave them an opportunity to engage in debate about the future of the country. ABCA was the brainchild of W.E. Williams who led the British Institute for Adult Education before the war and was instrumental in the creation of the Arts Council and the British Film Institute, among other civically orientated interventions. It gave members of the services the chance to meet and discuss serious issues of topical concern, such as gender equality and the ‘abolition of war’ (though Churchill personally intervened to prevent the Beveridge report, which would lead to the creation of the NHS, being debated). The British adult education movement was also closely connected to the Labour movement, with many of the early generation of Labour MPs graduating from the Workers’ Educational Association (WEA), either as students or as tutors (and often both). The WEA offered courses designed not only to support individuals to get on in life and in the workplace, but also to promote active citizenship. Its implicit aim, in the words of historian and WEA tutor John Harrison, was to change the world without resort to revolution.

While the adult education tradition survives, its social and civic ambitions have been muted, and we have seen a steady disappearance of spaces in which people can come together and discuss issues of urgent social and political concern. There are few educational places or spaces left where what is taught is not carefully policed and regulated. The education system as it is now planned and funded tends against original or creative thought, inhibits reflection or philosophical thinking, and very largely restricts the opportunity to study the liberal arts to the already privileged (those who tread the golden path from private school to elite university). Unless we can begin to change this, I suspect our chances of emerging from the current crisis into a better future, as opposed to one in which current inequities are perpetuated and further entrenched, are slim. For this to happen, we need more than a few liberal minded politicians pressing for progressive reform; we need a citizenry fully engaged in reform and galvanised by the possibility of playing a meaningful role in the future shape and development of their country. This will not happen without education, and without a revitalised adult education movement, in particular.

Of course, it is unrealistic to expect conventional politics to create such a step change. The kind of education the founders of the WEA envisioned – education that supports and fosters active citizenship and social improvement – runs directly counter to the current government’s aims for education, and indeed its political ambitions, which rest on, and self-consciously promote, an ignorant and divided electorate, poorly informed and politically confused. Change has to come from below, which is why I feel so encouraged by the spirit of self-authorisation we are beginning to see. This, and the determination to do right by our kids, and by our frontline workers, all point hopefully to a better future. But this future will not come to us – we must be prepared to fight for it.

The education system we have now has failed to equip people adequately for democracy (except the kind of illiberal democracy we are seeing develop in Britain and the United States, among other places). It was never intended to produce active, engaged citizens, yet the world we are seeing emerge demands that, at least if it is to be better, fairer and more socially just than the one that preceded it. Do we really want to continue educating people for a world that will soon have ceased to exist? Shouldn’t education prepare us for a future that is about more than a competition for wealth and status, as our future, if we are to have one, must be? Remaking that system, and offering education that can support the development of a fairer, greener, more sustainable future, is the educational challenge of our lifetime. We can longer put it off, or leave it to the politicians to solve. The challenges are global, but change must begin locally in creating new kinds of education for new kinds of citizenship that make sense in our communities as well as in the context of the wider problems we face; education that is locally rooted but that transcends nationalism with its global reach. Education remains our best chance of a new normal in which we can all happily live.

A call to action on adult education

The fourth Global Report on Adult Learning and Education (GRALE 4) is published today by the UNESCO Institute for Lifelong Learning. Edited by John Field and Ellen Boeren, the report focuses on participation in adult education, highlighting the need for countries to do more to expand and widen participation, notably through increased investment and the development of policies that target the poorest and most vulnerable. Furthermore, it stresses the wide benefits of adult education (a theme of GRALE 3) and its potential contribution to a range of different agendas captured in the 2030 Agenda for Sustainable Development and its 17 goals. The strong message of the report for the international policy community is that without action on adult education, in the form of better data, renewed political will, increased funding and better targeting of poor and excluded groups, we will not only fail to achieve the Sustainable Development Goal on education (SDG 4) but also jeopardise progress against the others.

Perhaps the most troubling finding of the report is that participation of already marginalised groups is advancing at a slower rate than that of other parts of the population, thus reinforcing deep and already entrenched inequalities. The lowest increases in participation were reported for adults with disabilities, older adults and minority groups. In a range of countries, adult education provision was found to have decreased for vulnerable groups such as adults with disabilities and people living in remote or rural areas. In too many cases, the report says, disadvantaged and vulnerable groups simply do not participate in adult learning and education. The problem is compounded by how little we know about these groups and their engagement with adult education. More than a third of countries reported not knowing the ALE participation rates of minority groups, refugees and migrants, for example. This lack of data represents a significant impediment to engaging vulnerable groups and ensuring provision is designed with their needs in mind. Clearly, we are some way from realising the 2030 Agenda’s ambitious commitment to ‘leave no one behind’ in pursuit of sustainable development.

The funding picture is similarly depressing. Investment is inadequate, not only in low-income countries but also in lower middle income and in high-income countries. Nearly 20 per cent of countries reported spending less than 0.5 per cent of their education budgets on adult learning and education while a further 14 per cent reported spending less than 1 per cent. As the report points out, under-investment hits socially disadvantaged adults the hardest. It also hampers the implementation of new policies and efficient governance practices. Some very limited progress is being made on funding but it is insufficient. Less than a third of countries (28 per cent) reported that ALE spending had increased as a proportion of the education budget since 2015, with 17 per cent reporting a decrease and 41 per cent reporting no progress. Low-income countries were more likely to report a decrease than an increase. Clearly, the stated intention to increase national spending on adult education, reported by almost two-thirds of countries in GRALE 3, has not been translated into action. Adult education remains under-funded and strikingly little is being done to change this.

The report also examines progress in different subject areas (drawing on the three fields of learning set out in UNESCO’s 2015 Recommendation on Adult Learning and Education). It found that while countries reported significant progress in the quality of literacy and basic skills and continuing training and professional development, progress in citizenship education (including liberal, popular and community education) was negligible. Only 2 per cent of 111 responding countries reported progress in developing quality criteria for curricula in citizenship education, for example, and no more than 3 per cent of countries reported improvements against any quality criterion for this field of learning. Participation in adult education for citizenship was also very low compared to the other fields of learning, with progress likewise slower. These are important, if unsurprising, findings. They suggest that citizenship education, so important in promoting democratic values, critical thinking, respect for human rights, solidarity, tolerance and social cohesion, remains very much the poor relation compared to literacy and basic skills and vocational education. Yet the need is urgent. Not only do we need more and better-targeted investment, we need to reconsider what we think is valuable in and about education and recognise that participation has public, social and civic benefits, as well as economic ones.

The UK was among the 46 countries that did not respond to the survey. However, the picture assembled from the 159 countries that did respond will resonate strongly here. Participation in adult education in the UK has been in steep decline for more than a decade, as the annual NIACE/Learning and Work Institute surveys demonstrate. The 2019 survey found that only one in three adults (35 per cent) had taken part in learning in the past three years, the lowest figure recorded since the survey began in 1996. Participation is substantially lower (20 per cent) among people from lower social grades (DE), with 48 per cent of people in social grades AB reporting participation. The gap has widened by three percentage points in the past year. These findings are unsurprising, given the extent to which governments have been prepared to cut adult education funding, on every front. The adult skills budget was cut by 40 per cent between 2010 and 2016, prompting the Association of Colleges to warn that further education provision for adults in the UK could disappear entirely by 2020, while part-time and mature study has also fallen dramatically since the Conservative-Liberal Democrat coalition introduced its costly reforms to higher education in 2011. Part-time higher education student numbers fell by 56 per cent in just five years from 2010 and there are more than 1 million fewer adults in further education now than there were in 2010.

The scale of these cuts, carried out under the ideological cover of austerity, is remarkable and unprecedented. They have been accompanied by a policy obsession, introduced by Labour and intensified under successive coalition and Conservative governments, with ‘world class skills’, seen as the key to improving Britain’s stagnating productivity levels. This bias has meant a progressive narrowing of the curriculum, at every level of education, while opportunities for adults to study for reasons other than basic skills and employability have shrunk significantly. The result is a crisis not only of provision but of also value. We start from a depressingly low base, both practically and philosophically.

For this reason, I particularly welcome the emphasis given in GRALE 4 to the wider benefits of adult education – civic, democratic, social, personal and community, as well as economic – and its insistence that governments recognise ‘the role of citizenship education in tackling the broader social issues that shape participation in ALE’ and take ‘an integrated, inter-sectoral and inter-ministerial approach to governance’. The high degree of obfuscation, concealment, distortion and downright lying that has characterised the general election campaign makes a compelling case for more political education and a particular focus on media literacy. To quote the 1919 Report, the centenary of which has sparked renewed interest in lifelong learning in the UK, adult education is ‘an inseparable aspect of citizenship’. An ‘uneducated democracy’, it continues, ‘cannot be other than a failure’.

As GRALE 4 also shows, the challenges we face – demographic, technological, democratic and environmental – make a very clear case for more, not less adult education, throughout life and in all the different contexts in which adults learn. Many of these challenges are global, though their weighting varies from country to country. In the UK, they include:

  • low levels of adult skills, particularly at a basic level (as the report of the Centenary Commission on Adult Education notes, 9 million British adults of working age have low basic skills, while people aged between 16 and 25 have on average worse literacy and numeracy skills than those aged 30 to 45);
  • social and economic inequality, both within and between regions, and the tendency for disadvantage to be passed on from one generation to the next;
  • technological change in the workplace and the changing nature of work more generally;
  • the democratic crisis, the decline of the public sphere and the emergence of populism in mainstream politics;
  • climate change and the need to find greener, more sustainable ways of living and working; and
  • demographic change.

Demographic change – the UK’s ageing population – has for some time been the elephant in the room in British education policy debate. Like many other countries in the developed world, the UK will have to fill a much higher proportion of the jobs of the future through retraining the adult population rather than through the recruitment of new school leavers. This means giving adults more opportunities to learn new skills or update existing ones, to remain active and engaged in learning for longer, and to access second-chance education in the community. Yet, against all of these indicators of progress, we have in fact been going backwards, and quite consciously, it seems to me. The UK is not alone in this. GRALE 4 suggests older adults continue to be a low priority in education planning and policy-making in most countries in the world.

The UK, in common with the other United Nations member states that signed up to the 17 Sustainable Development Goals, is committed to ensuring ‘inclusive and equitable quality education’ and promoting ‘lifelong learning opportunities for all’ (SDG 4). There are some signs that, as a country, we are waking up to the value of adult education and lifelong learning. With Brexit looming, there is growing recognition that the UK will have to rely to a greater extent on homegrown skills, and this is reflected in Labour’s plans for free adult education up to Level 3, the Conservatives’ national retraining scheme and the Liberal Democrats’ promise to give every adult a ‘skills wallet’ worth £10,000 to spend on education or training. There have also been party commissions on lifelong learning and, of course, the Centenary Commission on Adult Education, the final report of which argues for ‘universal and lifelong’ access to adult education and sets out a range of recommendations intended not only to increase participation in adult education in all its forms but also to increase the cohesion and cross-sectoral coordination of the work. As commission member, Sir Alan Tuckett, noted recently in the TES:

[T]he first and most critical of the commission’s 18 recommendations is that government should lead in developing a national adult education and lifelong learning strategy that secures the engagement of the whole of government and recognises the vital importance of devolving decision-making.

This is an important principle and relates, again, to a key recommendation of the GRALE report, to promote ‘an integrated, inter-sectoral and inter-ministerial approach to governance to enable Member States to realize the wider benefits of adult education to the greatest extent possible’. The report also acknowledges that devolved decision-making ‘helps to better serve the needs of adults, businesses and stakeholders in the local community’. This reflects a recognition, also present in the 2030 Agenda for Sustainable Development, that the SDGs must ‘be addressed in a sensitively holistic way if they are to fulfil their potential to transform the lives of the most vulnerable and excluded people on the planet’. That means understanding the crucial role of adult education in achieving not only SDG 4, but also other key goals recognised in the other 16 SDGs, including those on climate change, poverty, health and wellbeing, gender equality, decent work and economic growth, and sustainable cities and communities. Achieving all of these goals demands an adult population that is informed, adaptable, resilient, creative, willing to learn and prepared to shape change, at home and in their communities, as well as nationally and globally. And this requires a system of lifelong learning capable of delivering ‘holistic, integrated solutions’, that enables all adults to learn throughout their lives, whatever their social background or income, wherever they live or work, whatever life happens to have thrown at them up to now, fostering values and competences fitted to the challenges and complexities of the modern world.

I hope, this time, that adult education will get the kind of sustained and thoughtful policy attention – and funding – it deserves.

 

 

 

 

A place of hope, not hate: Adult education and a life after Brexit

There is much discussion of the febrile nature of political debate in Britain just now, and the violence of the language used by politicians to incite public opinion against their opponents. One of the worst and most reckless offenders is, of course, the Prime Minister, Boris Johnson, a man whose fancifully high opinion of his own rhetorical abilities is matched only by the extraordinary casualness with which he deploys them. In a high-profile and typically light-touch interview with the BBC’s Andrew Marr this morning, Mr Johnson was permitted to repeatedly characterize the Benn Act, which his opponents hope will force the government to seek a Brexit extension and avoid a no-deal Brexit, as the ‘Surrender Bill’ – this on a day when one of the most prominent Brexit-supporting newspapers further stoked the flames of violent conflict with a front page warning of remainers’ ‘foreign collusion’.

Evidently, the Prime Minister has as little regard for national unity or the need to build communities of consensus as he has for telling the truth. The tone he has adopted is not surprising – it serves not the interests of the country, but his own trivial but all-consuming desire for political power – but it is profoundly damaging for any hope we might have of healing the divisions that are dominating and coarsening British political discourse.

It is irresponsible and extremely dangerous. The divisions caused by the referendum are real and painful – the lack of credit given by either side of the debate to the other is pretty much unprecedented, in my experience. We have never felt further apart. It is regrettable and troubling to see senior politicians prepared to exploit this baleful state of affairs for personal or tribal gain (if Johnson’s odious hedge fund backers can be termed a ‘tribe’). But I think it is important to note that the divisive nature of British politics did not originate in Brexit. Indeed, while Brexit has undoubtedly deepened the uncivil war of words, the no-man’s land between left and right has been widening for some time. While we hear sporadic gunfire, we no longer see one another’s faces, or hear the voices of those we dispute with.

As with Brexit, the engine of discord between progressives and conservatives in the UK is fuelled by a feeling that change is impossible, a general sense of hopelessness that, in turn, drives the recklessness expertly exploited by Farage, Johnson, Cummings, et al. Inequality, low wages, worsening living standards, declining infrastructure, an ailing health service, and an education system that routinely fails the poorest while giving the already privileged an unfair advantage, unfairly compounded throughout life: the punishing human toll of these debilitating trends is deepened significantly by the seeming impossibility of positive change. What is behind this sense of hopelessness?

Many communities in Britain have experienced decades of neglect – an unmanaged decline overseen by all mainstream parties – while their concerns, well-founded or not, have been, at best, ignored, at worse, derided, making them ripe fodder for the exploitation of Britain’s wannabe populists. But underpinning this sorry record of political neglect has been the internalization of the ‘big lie’ of British politics: the notion that there is no alternative to neoliberalism, with its attendant squeezing of opportunity and rampant inequality – that investing more in education, health or people’s wellbeing or standard of living will prove economically disastrous, and indeed that the increased investment in public services under the last Labour government resulted, in large part, in the financial crisis, the long shadow of which still dominates out politics more than a decade on.

This lie was most clearly and artfully articulated under the Conservative-Liberal Democrat coalition that ushered in the politics of austerity (though it was implicit in Labour’s drift to the right in the search of an elusive ‘third way’). It was the necessary justification of a policy that put the bill – and most of the blame – for the financial crisis at the door of the public sector. Most of those making this argument have known it to be untrue or at least a serious distortion of the truth. But it has been incredibly effective in cementing in the public’s mind both the need for austerity and the financial imprudence of any attempt to bring about substantive progressive reform. The narrowing of the range of voices discussing these issues in the mainstream media, and the generally dismissive attitude taken to anyone prepared to challenge the ‘consensus’ has helped ensure the lie sticks. And while the purpose of those who popularized it may have been simply to marginalize the Labour Party and to convince the victims of neo-liberalism to vote for more of the same, it has had a more profound effect, making sensible mainstream social-democratic progressive reform almost impossible and limiting the levers available to politicians set on progressive change, while contributing both to Labour’s lurch to the left and to the Tories’ death-embrace of right-wing populism. While Brexit has shone a bright light on the divisive, binary nature of British political culture, these divisions are bigger than Brexit and will outlive it. The challenge for progressives is to change the self-defeating internal narrative of British politics – the story that keeps the wheels of progress spinning uselessly off the ground – and create a new, more inclusive, compassionate and democratic one.

The failure to persuade, to build consensus or form coalitions has been the main fault of Jeremy Corbyn’s leadership of the Labour Party. While he has, quite properly and pretty much uniquely (if not always particularly clearly), sought to develop a nuanced position on Brexit capable of commanding wide support on both sides, Mr Corbyn has done far too little to reach out and engage, even within his own party. This, regrettably, has been typical of his style of leadership. Because of this, while he has overtly challenged the divide in British politics and offered an alternative narrative, in many respects quite compelling, the uncompromising, uncollegiate nature of his politics has ended up reinforcing it. As a result, many Labour members and supporters, including those initially sympathetic to his leadership, have come to see him as an obstacle to progressive change. This is unfortunate as many very compelling and radical aspects of his policy agenda would be unlikely to survive a change of leadership. The argument within the Labour Party about Corbyn’s leadership concerns both the policy direction of the party and his ability, given his limitations as a leader, to deliver the change his policies promise (which I suspect have the broad support of most members).

The problem for Corbyn and other supporters of progressive social change is the lack of engagement in social democratic ideas in British political life and culture. This is a frustration of the left which often results in the mainstream media and the BBC, in particular, taking much of the blame for their exclusion. This is partly justified but there is a wider story here too: there is considerable resistance to these ideas among the general public, as well as a lack of understanding, which the media reflects and feeds, and politicians exploit. Although it will do considerable economic harm, and has already inflicted significant reputational damage to the UK, Brexit also represents an important opportunity to offer a vision of a new Britain that is more equal and socially just, and where opportunity and wealth are more evenly spread across the country, regionally and in terms of social class. But for this to happen we need two things: people need to feel empowered and be persuaded that change is possible (‘resources of hope’, in Raymond Williams’ wonderful, ageless phrase), and places where people can come together to discuss, shape and effect positive change (what we might term ‘spaces of hope’).

Historically, important social progress, such as extensions to the franchise or the creation of the National Health Service, have resulted from a combination of political and economic shock and a widening of educational opportunity, especially in adult education (for example, that provided by the Army Bureau of Current Affairs during the Second World War). We desperately need a conversation about the future of Britain that starts from the ground up, that is not managed but has the same open-ended, democratic characteristics of the best adult education traditions. The best way to learn about and become engaged in politics is by doing it. Social movements such as the climate crisis protests offer more opportunities for adult educators to create spaces for debate and learning. But we also need to see education for active citizenship not as a threat to elites whose power is premised on artful dissembling but as the lifeblood of strong and resilient democracy and support it accordingly. This, however, is unlikely to happen while the forces of populism continue to occupy Downing Street (for the first time since I started writing about adult education there genuinely seems no point in even proposing increased support for adult education), but we can all perhaps do our bit to create spaces for constructive debate, at home, in our communities, schools, institutions and workplaces, to enable civil, polite debate and respect for others, while arguing for broader change through more conventional means. Some combination of these is essential, both for postive social change and a healthy democracy.

Democracy and education remain the best ways out of the mess we are in, and, of achieving, in the face of the super-rich, their parliamentary agents and the media interests they control, a progressive Britain that is a place of hope, not hate.

The kids are alright

Greta Thunberg gave a remarkable and impassioned speech to the United Nations’ General Assembly yesterday, calling on the governments of the world and the international community to ‘understand the urgency’ and act to address the climate crisis.

She and other young campaigners have changed the political narrative on climate change and sustainability over the past year. Ms Thunberg’s solo strike in her native Sweden sparked a worldwide movement of school strikes, culminating in last Friday’s remarkable global display of nonviolent public resistance to political inaction (1.5 million people took to the streets in Germany alone). Young people have become the global leaders of the debate about the climate crisis – and with that comes the promise of real change; the only bright spot on an otherwise pretty bleak horizon.

Change is possible, but we must want it, and we much be prepared to pay what it costs. That, of course, is likely to be painful and discomforting for many; it is a long-term, not to say, permanent, commitment – something that will not be accomplished in months or even years. It will mean turning the world order on its head, challenging inequalities and doing things differently, listening to ideas we have previously dismissed as idealistic or unrealistic, thinking about our economic and social futures in different ways. Business as usual is no longer an option.

Unsurprisingly, given the threat this popular movement represents to the entrenched economic interests of the powerful, many are quick to dismiss its leadership and aims, to allege hypocrisy or to impugn protesters’ motives. Personal attacks on Greta Thunberg are common and frequently vicious. Resistance to change, while less visible and certainly less reflective of what the public at large thinks, is nevertheless extremely difficult to overcome, representing, as it does, the strongly held views of those who benefit the most from the global order and who also bear the least risk from its consequences for climate change. The likely outcome of these views prevailing will be something akin to genocide in the poorest parts of the world.

Many ordinary people watching Ms Thunberg’s speech at the UN will have been impressed by her seriousness and sincerity; others will have found her too abrasive, too publicly angry and uncompromising. Some are outraged at the idea of children daring to raise their voices or have an opinion. I fear, however, that the people in the latter camps are missing the point. The old covert and deferential way of doing politics, if it ever worked, does not work now. Faced with the challenges we now are now watching unfold, it simply is not fit for purpose. Meaningful change will have to come from somewhere else. What I found particularly interesting about her speech was her confidence that change was coming, irrespective of the political will in the room.

I hope she is right. It is easier to see what isn’t working than to say what needs to be done to change it. Change is inevitable – the planet is demanding it – but we have a significant say in the nature of that change. Will we see wealthier countries increasingly prepared to isolate themselves from poorer parts of the world, where the impact of the climate crisis will be felt first, and most forcefully? Or will the global community work together to meet and exceed its targets on emissions and find solutions that prevent the worst impacts of climate change, and that work for everyone, particularly the poorest?

There is a two-fold role for educators in this. First, it is important that people understand what is at stake (they frequently underestimate the extent of climate change and its likely impact), and, just as crucially, what climate action will cost. Politicians who try to engage meaningfully with this issue are likely to make themselves deeply unpopular with many segments of the electorate. They will have to challenge powerful vested interests. Without public understanding and support for the idea of a sustainable future, whatever the price, none of these things will be possible.

Second, educators need to empower people to demand change and advocate effectively for it. As Ms Thunberg has demonstrated, non-violent public disobedience is extremely powerful. In fact, it is difficult to think of any examples of large-scale political or social progress that have not been accompanied by activism of this sort. There is an opportunity here for adult education to revive its traditional roots in social movements and purposeful civic, democratic action. To stop the climate crisis escalating, the movement started by Greta Thunberg needs to be just the start; we need to move the will of politicians through our actions and activism.

Some time ago, we all boarded a train that, for quite a while, has been headed fast in the wrong direction. Although we can see clearly, on the horizon, where we want to be, the train we are on takes us further and further away from our desired destination. To get where we need to go, we need not only to change direction, but also to find a new vehicle for getting us there. This new vehicle won’t be as salubrious as the one we are in now, it won’t move as fast or provide as much on-board entertainment, but it will take us where we want to go.

Above all, as Ms Thunberg told the UN, we need to challenge our addiction to endless economic growth, and reform our education system, which has, increasingly, been formulated primarily as a means of pursuing this absurd objective. The old teaching-to-the-test, standardized, utilitarian education model, that served the global order by producing useful, unreflective economic units, is no longer fit for purpose. It never was. The challenges of the future demand an education system that fosters hope and creativity, thoughtfulness, democratic citizenship and a willingness to learn throughout life. We need solutions that are not simply sophisticated ways of maintaining business as usual. And we need to be prepared to make the changes demanded by a more creative, mindful and future-oriented approach to living and organizing our societies.

Greta Thunberg has shown that it is no longer enough simply to be a cheerleader for reform. We all must work to make a difference, in our own lives, in our neighbourhoods and workplaces, and as active citizens. As organizations, we need not only to talk the talk of climate reform; we have to walk the walk too. I see little sign of even the most well-meaning organizations taking their own responsibilities as seriously as they now need to. This has to change. We need to set an example of sustainable living and working, to help create a new normal. We can all do better; we can all do more (to paraphrase, the question is not so much ‘Why should I?’, as ‘How dare I not?’). Whoever you are, whatever your job, wherever you work, you can play a part in being the change we need to see in wider society.

Uncritical friends

When I began work for NIACE (the National Institute for Adult Continuing Education, since merged to become the Learning and Work Institute) in 2002, the institute had entered into close partnership with a Labour government that was, at least in its first few years in office, strongly committed to progressive reform and investment in the adult learning and further education. NIACE’s approach was not universally acclaimed. Many in the sector – or the ‘movement’, as we still thought of it then – opposed NIACE’s approach. Critics felt that there was a danger of NIACE becoming too close to government, that accepting significant amounts of government funding for project implementation would tie its hands when it came to resisting regressive or potentially harmful policy reform.

NIACE was well aware of these objections and took them seriously. However, the view of director Alan Tuckett and his policy consigliere Alastair Thomson was that it was better to be at the table with ministers and civil servants, able to make good policies better and mitigate the impact of bad ones, than to be shouting perpetually from the sidelines, with clean hands but no influence. I have written elsewhere that this calculation was, on balance, a sound one (even if it meant that NIACE could not take everyone in the field with them). NIACE was able to exercise a strong influence on policy (in some cases, effectively writing it), to keep adult education at the forefront of ministers’ minds, and to effect significant reversals in policy where the prospects of adult learning and adult learners were perceived to be in danger. Although I was sceptical about this approach at first, I came to admire it and to see the value in NIACE’s willingness to put outcomes for adult learners above recognition (and, for some, credibility) in the field. As I have observed before, much of NIACE’s best advocacy work ‘was conducted sotto voce, with the institute preferring to be privately effective rather than publicly lauded’ (perhaps, one day, Alan or Alastair will tell this story – it would make a fascinating book).

What made this approach work and kept NIACE, as it were, honest, was the institute’s willingness to bite that hand that fed it, to tell ministers when their policies were likely to prove harmful to adult learners and to campaign with partners against regressive policy, in the interests of learners. NIACE styled itself as a ‘critical friend’ of government. This did not mean that the institute was unable to offer meaningful criticism but, rather, that the criticism it gave was frequently delivered privately and always in a constructive way, as a means of improving learning outcomes. As the Labour government lost sight of the animating spirit of David Blunkett’s The Learning Age, with its invocations of enlightenment and its aspiration to create a ‘learning society’, and focused funding increasingly on basic skills and employability, NIACE became more publicly critical of the direction of policy (see Alan Tuckett’s TES columns from 2003 on) while nevertheless maintaining good relationships with key ministers and civil servants, which meant that the government was aware of what the institute was doing, even if they could not be expected to like it. This enabled the institute to reduce some of the negative impact of policy, but it was unable, in the end, to change its direction. As funding for other types of adult learning shrivelled up and learner numbers went into steep and, as yet, unarrested, decline, NIACE’s approach cannot be declared an unmitigated success, but it was, to my mind, the right way to go and remains a useful template for advocacy in education.

One of its successes was to transmit the institute’s vision for adult education and lifelong learning to the incoming secretary of state and minister for further education, Vince Cable and John Hayes, respectively, following the 2010 General Election and the advent of the Conservative-Liberal Democrat coalition government. NIACE had cultivated a strong relationship with John Hayes and his adviser Scott Kelly when they were in opposition and, indeed, Hayes’s first speech as minister was given at an Adult Learners’ Week policy event. Cable too was a long-standing friend of NIACE, with personal experience of the benefits of adult education. These relationships helped ensure that adults learners were protected from the worst possible effects of austerity-induced cuts (for example, the anticipated withdrawal of ‘safeguarded’ funding for adult and community learning) and that further education survived the threat of having all of its funding withdrawn (a proposal put to Cable by a department civil servant). Nevertheless, the broad drift of policy – driven by an ideologically motivated desire to shrink the public sector – was hugely damaging to adult education, as part-time and mature student numbers went into freefall and the crisis in adult participation in further education was deepened. For all the talk about the wider benefits of adult learning – in 2010, for example, new Prime Minister David Cameron told Adults Learning that ‘adult learning and the way it inspires people is crucially important’ – the view that adult education is about the development of workforce skills increased its hold on policy, and the enthusiasm of ministers frequently amounted to little more than hot air. As I recall Alan Tuckett’s successor at NIACE, David Hughes, remarking, adult education now enjoys warm rhetorical support from ministers and shadow ministers alike, but this is rarely translated into policy. Still less is it reflected in outcomes for learners.

Undoubtedly, organisations such as NIACE that choose to work closely with government in shaping policy, and that accept money for support in implementation, do so at some cost to their independence and credibility among supporters. Despite this, as NIACE also showed, it is possible to achieve meaningful positive outcomes and to be critical, both privately and publicly, in an effective and useful way. However, sharing the table with policy-makers assumes a climate in which values and objectives are also, to a large extent, shared and where commitments made can be taken at face value. What I suspect we have seen in recent years is, on the one hand, an increasing preparedness among those in power to say one thing in public but think another, entirely incompatible, thing in private, and, on the other, a growing unwillingness among organisations dependent on public funding to call out policies that fail to live up to the avowed values of politicians, or indeed their own values. The broad nature of the impact of austerity has meant that organisations with an unhealthy dependency on government support have not been able to diversify their funding base (a long-standing problem faced by NIACE, which was never, to my understanding, adequately resolved). At the same time, the quality of political debate has declined, with policy-makers eschewing evidence in favour of the opinions of experts with whom they agree. Such unequal relationships cannot reasonably be termed friendships, still less critical ones.

In the best of friendships, values are to the fore, as is mutual respect. Where values move too far apart or respect diminishes, relationships break down or become abusive and unequal. If we remain in these circumstances, we run the risk of aiding damaging behaviour, or of being complicit in it. This has increasingly become my concern about the relationship between the key advocacy groups in the adult and further education sector in the UK and the government. When we agree to work closely with the government in implementing reforms necessitated by austerity, are we abetting that policy? When we accept the latest prime ministerial promise concerning further education at face value and flag up our willingness to work with the government to make it a reality, are we really doing the best for the learners and providers we represent? Rather than celebrating the support of politicians, shouldn’t we be calling them out as hypocrites who attach too little value to keeping their promises? This has always been a difficult road to walk and some degree of compromise is certainly inevitable. And, of course, much of the good work these groups do is not visible. But I have to wonder if we now have the balance right or whether we need to take an altogether more sceptical approach to our work with government and use our influence not only to secure the survival of our bit of the sector but also to assert our values and widen the diversity and authenticity of voices at the policy table accordingly.

What made the NIACE model work was the fact that the institute had an unarguable bottom line – it was about defending the interests of adult learners of all kinds and across all sectors. It was not simply banging the drum for one bit of the sector or one group of providers. This is what made it such an important and irreplaceable part of the education policy community, and is the reason the Learning and Work Institute, for all its excellent work, cannot be said to occupy quite the same space or to fulfil quite the same purpose. I do not want to say that we have reached a point where the values and objectives of government are so removed from the progressive values of the further and adult education community that we can no longer sit around the table together. But the conversations we have there should reflect our understanding that we no longer operate in a particularly benign or progressive political environment. They should also acknowledge the fact that core values are not negotiable and come as a package – one cannot be sacrificed or silenced for another. There is also something dissatisfying about the prevailing one-dimensional, high-level model of policy influencing. We strengthen the branches but neglect the roots. I would like to see advocacy groups do more to strengthen their links with civil society and rediscover the social purpose ethos that has underpinned the adult education movement in the UK for well over a century. Time spent rediscovering our shared mission is never wasted because it reminds us that learners do not care about who is providing what – they want, and deserve, solutions that work for them, and that places on the sector an obligation to advocate holistic solutions that do not involve robbing Peter to pay Paul. We are the guardians of our mission and values. If we do not call out policies and practices that fail to live up to them, who will?

A reasonable hope of something better

Jeffrey Sachs, the economist, senior UN advisor and high-profile sustainability advocate, gave the keynote lecture of CEIS 2019, the annual conference of the Comparative and International Education Society, last night.

Speaking in San Francisco’s historic Herbst Theatre where the United Nations Charter was signed in 1945, Sachs stressed the link between the 2030 Agenda for Sustainable Development and the founding ambitions of the UN to ‘reaffirm faith in fundamental human rights, in the dignity and worth of the human person’, and ‘to promote social progress and better standards of life in larger freedom’.

Three years later, the UN General Assembly ratified the UN Declaration of human Rights, setting out the fundamental human rights that should be protected, including the right to education. Seventy years on, Sachs argued, the Sustainable Development Goals represented another attempt to implement the basic human rights that so animated the international community in the years following World War Two.

Four years into the sustainable development agenda, however, it was obvious we were not winning the battle, Sachs said. The achievement of SDG 4 on education, so crucial to the interrelated goals of the 2030 Agenda, was a case in point. With 260 million children of school age around the world not in school, the world, Sachs argued, was a starkly different place to that envisaged in the SDGs: ‘If you follow the logic, follow the arithmetic, then we’re not going to make it’.

‘We are desperately in need of a different course of action,’ Sachs said. There simply were not enough resources in poorer countries to address the challenge – it was down to the wealthier countries around the world to ‘do something different’ and increase taxation on the very rich to fund what were, on the global scale of things, relatively modest and achievable increases in spending.

‘The money is there,’ Sachs said. ‘We just need to raise our voices’, urging educators around the world to ‘fight harder for resources’.

It is hard to argue with this. The world is rich in resources, but those resources are shockingly unevenly distributed. While trillions of dollars in wealth are split between the thousand or so richest people on the planet, hundreds of millions of people have next to nothing and no hope of doing better. It is truer now than at any time in recent history that where you start in life determines how you end up. Opportunity is as unequally distributed as wealth.

The educator voice is important in all of this, of course, but I would question whether that voice is best applied simply in demanding more resources. It is critical too that we think about how those resources are allocated so that progress is permanent and people are galvanized to demand positive change for themselves, their families and their communities.

Making change meaningful means not only finding more resources – indispensable though that is – it is about doing education differently, and maximising education’s contribution to positive, progressive change, at every stage and age.

The interrelated nature of the SDGs and of the challenges they are intended to address means that, if we are serious about meeting them, we can no longer afford to think of education simply as concerning school and initial formal education. Finding new money for children’s education is important, but how much more effective would this expenditure be if the parents of the poorest, most marginalized children were able to support their kids through school and exemplify the culture of valuing learning we need to foster? But none of this will be possible unless, for example, we also address the huge global adult literacy challenge.

Education has a major role to play in addressing the challenges of sustainability, of course, but the nature of those challenges means that only holistic solutions will do. This is why lifelong learning – deliberately placed at the heart of SDG 4 and yet so often largely absent from discussions such as these – is so important.

Lifelong learning provides us with the organizational principle for thinking about educational priorities in a coherent, cross-sectoral and interconnected way. It is also key to the vision of education as a human right set out in the UN Charter and affirmed by Jeffrey Sachs last night.

Crucially, it puts learning and the learner at the centre of our thinking about education, and recognizes that it is only through lifelong education that we can give people the knowledge and capacity to advocate for effective long-term change in their own societies and hold their own politicians to account. This is where meaningful, lasting change has to begin – with a reasonable hope of something better.

The kind of change Sachs rightly demands can only be achieved from the ground up, in part through the increased provision of lifelong learning, and through a revival of adult education for civic and social purposes, in particular. Without it, progressive change, in the face of the entrenched inequality that has, for decades, had the tacit support of the governments in the industrialised world, will be difficult, if not impossible, to sustain.