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.

 

1919 and all that

1919

This year we will mark the centenary of a milestone in the history of adult education in the UK and, indeed, internationally: the publication of the final report of the Adult Education Committee of the Ministry of Reconstruction, better known as the 1919 Report. The report represents a hugely important statement of the value of adult education and its role in creating and sustaining successful democratic societies, animated by shared civic, social and economic goals. It not only recognised the wide impact adult education can have on society, notably in responding to the massive social, economic and political challenges of the time, but also accorded government, national and local, a direct responsibility for ensuring its adequate supply. Adult education, it argued, is not a luxury – as governments subsequently have tended to see it – but is in fact indispensable to national recovery and to sustainable, effective democracy.

This farsighted and ambitious perspective emerged at a time when the country was in profound crisis and the need to learn from past mistakes was acute. Prime Minister Lloyd George’s government created the Ministry of Reconstruction in 1917, charging it with the task of overseeing the rebuilding of ‘national life on a better and more durable foundation’ once the Great War had ended. It set up numerous committees to consider different aspects of life in Britain, including labour relations, local government, housing and the role of women in society. One of these committees was on adult education. It included luminaries such as Albert Mansbridge, founder of the WEA, Basil Yeaxlee, who oversaw the YMCA’s programme of adult education during the war, and chair Arthur L. Smith, Master of Balliol College and another key figure of the British adult education movement. A young R.H. Tawney drafted much of the final report. The Committee’s remit was ‘to consider the provision for, and possibilities of, adult education (other than technical or vocational) in Great Britain’. However, in practice, it went somewhat beyond its terms of reference to consider all forms of adult education, including technical and vocational, on which it makes a number of recommendations.

The final report was presented to the Prime Minister in 1919. It emphasised the social purpose of adult education in supporting enlightened and responsible citizenship and in creating a ‘well ordered welfare state or Great Society’ organised around ‘the common good’. The main purpose of education, Arthur L. Smith noted in his covering letter to the Prime Minister, was ‘to fit a man [sic] for life’, including not only ‘personal, domestic and vocational duties’ but also ‘duties of citizenship’. The ‘goal of all education’ must therefore be citizenship, he wrote, ‘that is, the rights and duties of each individual as a member of the community; and the whole process must be the development of the individual in relation to the community’. He argued that the main political, social and economic challenges faced by the country could be tackled only with the help of a greatly expanded, publicly funded system of adult education. Not only did peace between nations rest on a ‘far more educated public’ but so too did the health of British democracy, harmonious industrial relations and the elimination of the social ‘cankers’ of drink and prostitution. The ‘necessary conclusion’, Smith wrote:

is that adult education must not be regarded as a luxury for a few exceptional persons here and there, nor as a thing which concerns only a short span of early manhood [sic], but that adult education is a permanent national necessity, an inseparable aspect of citizenship, and therefore should be both universal and lifelong … the opportunity for adult education should be spread uniformly and systematically over the whole community, as a primary obligation on that community in its own interest and as a chief part of its duty to its individual members, and that therefore every encouragement and assistance should be given to voluntary organisations, so that their work, now necessarily sporadic and disconnected, may be developed and find its proper place in the national education system.

The members of the committee had been greatly impressed with the progress made by the adult education movement in the nineteenth century and in the early part of the twentieth. The report surveyed these developments in detail – tracing the history of adult education in Britain from the early adult schools (probably the first recognisable and distinctively adult education provision in Britain) to the mechanics’ institutes, the cooperative movement, people’s colleges and university extension programmes – but placed particular stress on ‘the recent expansion of adult education … sprung spontaneously from the desire of working people for a more humane and civilized society’. This new approach, the report noted, was reflected in the support given by trade unions to Ruskin College and the foundation and expansion of the Workers’ Educational Association and other ‘collegiate institutions’ such as the Working Men’s College and Morley College in London, Swarthmore in Leeds, Fircroft residential college in Birmingham and Vaughan Memorial College in Leicester. The WEA, in particular, had ‘combined in one organisation a large number of working-class and educational bodies … to stimulate and give effective expression to the growing demand for higher education among adult men and women’.

This explosion of voluntary activity, combined with the improvement in adult teaching represented by the ‘tutorial classes’ offered by universities as part of extra-mural courses, often organized in conjunction with the WEA, had been the main inspirations for the expansion in non-vocational adult education, the report said. It put particular stress on two factors. First, it highlighted the work of voluntary bodies in demonstrating ‘the necessity for the recognition of the peculiar needs of adults and for methods of education and methods of organisation and administration appropriate to the satisfaction of these needs … Non-vocational studies have developed in recent years largely because attention has been concentrated upon the formulation of methods in harmony with adult needs’. Second, it emphasised the importance of the university tutorial class model, noting the ‘seriousness and continuity’ of the students’ commitment, their growing ability to understand and evaluate sources and direct their own learning, the high quality of their work and the tendency of the classes to challenge and overcome intolerance. ‘Dogmatism does not easily survive question, answer and argument continued at weekly intervals for several months, and students learn tolerance by being obliged to practise it,’ it said.

The report sought to build on this ‘remarkable renewal of interest in adult education’, particularly among working-class people, and the growing trend towards ‘extending and systematising’ provision. The advance of the adult education movement was, it noted, in part an ‘expression of the belief that a wider diffusion of knowledge will be a power working for the progress of society, and the ideal which it places before its students and members is less individual success of even personal culture then personal culture as a means to social improvement’. The ‘primary object’ of such education was ‘not merely to heighten the intellectual powers of individual students, but to lay the foundations of more intelligent citizenship and of a better social order’. Technical training, while ‘necessary and beneficial’, and an ‘integral part of our educational system’, was not to be thought of as ‘an alternative to non-vocational education’, thus conceived. ‘The latter is a universal need; but whether the former is necessary depends on the character of employment,’ the report argued.

The committee urged substantial development in adult education, supported by public funds. In particular, it called for an expanded role for universities in delivering adult education, especially through the establishment of extra-mural departments, more and better-paid staff, and an increased role for the WEA and other voluntary organisations. Universities, the report said, should not look only to schools for their supply of students but ‘to the world of men and women, who seek education not as a means to entering a profession, but as an aid to the development of personality and a condition of wise and public-spirited citizenship’. They should make ‘much larger financial provision’ for adult study with the support of ‘liberal assistance … from public authorities, both national and local’, and reframe their priorities to reflect the importance of adult education, including by establishing an extra-mural department for adult students in every university. The Committee viewed extra-mural departments as a crucial link between universities and the wider, non-academic world.

Local education authorities were encouraged to see non-vocational adult education as ‘an integral part of their activities’, including through organisational and financial support for university tutorial classes and the creation of ‘non-vocational institutes as evening centres for humane studies’. These centres would have a special focus on the education of young adults and operate in cooperation with voluntary agencies. Authorities were also recommended to form ‘Adult Education Joint Committees’ within their local area ‘to receive applications for the provision of adult classes’. Ultimately, though, the report argued, the volume of educational activity would be determined ‘not by the capacity of universities and education authorities to provide facilities, but by the ability of organising bodies to give shape and substance to the demand’. The agencies should be regarded as ‘an integral part of the fabric of national education, in order to give spontaneity and variety to the work and to keep organised educational facilities responsive to the ever-widening needs of the human mind and spirit’. Their work, therefore, should be ‘maintained and developed’, supported though not directed by the state (the report put great stress on ‘self-organisation’). The ‘large expansion of adult education’ would only be possible with a ‘considerable increase in financial contributions from the State’. This in turn would require a system of inspection to ensure the education was ‘serious and continuous and, because of its quality, worth supporting’.

The 1919 Report, like the 1942 Beveridge Report that founded the British welfare state from amid the ashes of the Second World War, represents an attempt to renew and repurpose society in the wake of the most appalling destruction and loss. Its particular importance lies, in the words of R.H. Tawney, in demonstrating that adult education was ‘an activity indispensable to the health of democratic societies’. The Committee saw in adult education an opportunity to foster the capacities and attributes necessary in creating a new, fairer, more democratic society (including, importantly, the knowledge and understanding required by women who, following the extension of the franchise, had new roles as citizens). It sought to capitalise on the desire it identified among working people ‘for adequate opportunities for self-expression and the cultivation of personal powers and interests’ and the deeply rooted links between adult education and ‘the social aspirations of the democratic movements of the country’. The report recognised that all men and women had the capacity to participate in a ‘humane’ liberal education and to contribute to the democratic life of the country. It also saw that different approaches to teaching and organisation were required for adults, emphasising both the realities of their lives and the breadth of their interests, along with their need for ‘the fullest self-determination’ in their learning. Its focus on the role of education in supporting participatory democracy drew on the intellectual origins of the movement and its insistence on the importance of ‘true education’ which ‘directly induces thought’ and promotes active citizenship and social understanding. This perspective shaped and influenced the practice of British adult educators for decades to come, informing their view of their work as invested with ‘social purpose’.

The report led, among other things, to the creation of an Adult Education Committee to advise the Board of Education on the development of adult education provision. The Committee argued for a stronger coordinating role for local authorities and sought to expand the range of ‘responsible bodies’ involved in adult learning, alongside universities and the WEA, through the 1924 Board of Education (Adult Education) Regulations. This was, in part, a recognition that the report’s limited focus and relative neglect of the vocational dimension of adult education (which makes it, in places, a slightly awkward, unsatisfactory read). The Committee was evidently not entirely comfortable working within the limitations of its mandate. While it appreciated that a more comprehensive approach was desirable and necessary, it is undeniable that the report perpetuated the damaging distinction between vocational training and academic study, and underscored the relatively low level of esteem accorded the former in comparison with the latter – an issue that continues to dog education policy in the UK a century later.

The British Institute of Adult Education was founded in 1921, in the wake of the report, as a ‘thinking department’ focused on research and advocacy on adult education (it became the National Institute for Adult Continuing Education in 1983; and is now the Learning and Work Institute). Its remit was in part to ‘revive interest’ in the report and its recommendations, which, it was felt, had not been sufficiently noticed by the public. However, while it put strong emphasis on the involvement of local authorities, it quickly moved away from its early focus on university extension classes to take an interest in what it termed ‘various auxiliary services’, meaning the wide array of voluntary agencies, usually with a primary purpose outside adult education, involved in creating less formal, but often more accessible, opportunities for adults to learn. Its activities included collaboration with the BBC on developing an educational use for the wireless, a commission on educational and cultural films, an inquiry into public reading habits and a national advisory committee, set up with the National Council of Social Service, to develop educational work for the unemployed.

Later, under the direction of Secretary W.E. Williams, the Institute initiated a number of cultural projects, which led to the creation of the British Film Institute and the Arts Council. During the Second World War, Williams oversaw the work of the Army Bureau of Current Affairs (ABCA), established in 1941 by the War Office to provide weekly current affairs talks and discussions, led by regimental officers and supported by the fortnightly publication of pamphlets on issues ‘of topical and universal importance’. Williams felt strongly that serving men and women should not only have access to basic information about the war, but also have the opportunity to take part in the discussions that would shape the country that emerged from the conflict. General Sir Ronald Adam, President of the British Institute of Adult Education from 1945 to 1949, told the Institute’s 1945 conference that the ABCA programme was ‘a great manifestation of democratic faith’.

While voluntary organisations kept the recommendations of the report alive, albeit according to their own changing understandings of the needs of adults, the response from successive governments was cool. As Harold Wiltshire notes in his introduction to the University of Nottingham’s 1980 reprint of the report, the years that followed its publication were marked by economic crises and cuts to education spending, which lasted from the early 1920s well into the 1930s (when local authorities were instructed to make all non-vocational adult education classes self-supporting). This helped ensure that the recommendations of the Committee were widely ignored. It was not until the 1944 Education Act that education authorities were given a responsibility to provide ‘adequate facilities’ for full-time and part-time further education ‘for persons over compulsory school age’ and ‘leisure-time occupation, in such organized cultural training and recreational activities as are suited to their requirements, for any persons over compulsory school age who are able and willing to profit by the facilities provided for that purpose’. As a result of the 1944 Act, the number of evening institutes offering courses for adults more than doubled between 1947 and 1950, from just over 5,000 to nearly 11,000, while the number of students increased from 825,000 to 1,250,000. The 1943 White Paper on Educational Reconstruction, which preceded the Act, described wartime developments in army education as a catalyst for adult education reform and stressed the need for training in democratic citizenship through adult education, effectively reviving the idea of education as a civic project.

As Wiltshire argues, the 1919 Report’s lasting influence resides less in its direct practical or political impact or application than in ‘its general and pervading influence’ in establishing adult education as a ‘distinctive domain of education’, elucidating its ethos and purposes, and highlighting its problems and possibilities. For that reason, it remains a critical text, a reference point for advocacy and a landmark statement of the value of adult education. Reading it today, however, reminds one of how our much our political aspirations and ambitions for education have shifted. As Alison Wolf wrote in 2002:

[We] have almost forgotten that education ever had any purpose other than to promote growth … To read government documents of even fifty year ago … gives one a shock. Of course, their authors recognized that education had relevance to people’s livelihoods and success, and to the nation’s prosperity. But their concern was as much, or more, with values, citizenship, the nature of a good society, the intrinsic benefits of learning.

This shift is reflected in the shocking decline in part-time and mature higher study, the closure of university adult education departments, the reduction in opportunities for adults to learn for reasons other than employment and employability, cuts to adult further education so deep they now threaten it with extinction and in the narrowing of the school curriculum. Outside education, local authority funding has been dramatically cut, on the altar of austerity, resulting, among other things, in the loss of many public libraries, highlighted in the 1919 Report as answering a vital need of adult students. When Philip Alston, the United Nation’s special rapporteur on extreme poverty and human rights, visited the UK at the end of 2018, he noted that more than 500 children’s centres had closed between 2010 and 2018 and more than 340 libraries between 2010 and 2016, an act of social and cultural vandalism ‘of particular significance to those living in poverty who may need to access a computer or a safe community space’. There is nothing woolly about this idea. Anyone who has lived in or around poverty knows how potentially lifesaving and life-changing such spaces can be.

The infrastructure of adult education in the UK has been effectively and efficiently dismantled; all at a time when the challenges posed by changes in technology, climate, demography and politics would seem to demand much more adult education, not less. Where once the rest of the world looked to Britain for guidance and inspiration in adult education, it now regards us with ill-disguised concern and sadness. It would be charitable indeed to suggest that this destruction of this tradition and complete disregard for public value in education policy was the result of anything other than informed political choices. The centenary of the report provides a much-needed moment for introspection and reflection on what we think education is for and why we value it. It is an opportunity to put adult education, once again, in the spotlight, to recognize the importance of engaged, thoughtful and civically responsible citizenship, and to show how adult education can help us renew our democracy and become a kinder, smarter, more cohesive, open and prosperous society. Let’s raise our voices once again.

Locked into poverty: Britain’s political choice

The United Nations Special Rapporteur on Extreme Poverty and Human Rights has been in Britain. He described a country in which ‘areas of immense wealth’ exist uncomfortably alongside areas of acute deprivation, characterized by cash-strapped and overstretched public services, rough sleepers and food banks, where millions of children are ‘locked into a cycle of poverty from which most will have great difficulty escaping’. His report pulled few punches. A fifth of the British population – 14 million people – live in poverty, with 1.5 million destitute, unable to afford basic essentials. By 2022, child poverty rates are projected to be as high as 40 per cent. ‘For almost one in every two children to be poor in twenty-first century Britain is not just a disgrace,’ he wrote, ‘but a social calamity and an economic disaster, all rolled into one’. Worst of all, and most importantly, he pointed out that all of this was a political choice, the result of ‘mean-spirited, often callous policies’ about which the British government remains ‘determinedly in a state of denial’.

The reality described by Philip Alston will, I suspect, be familiar to most people living in Britain. Food banks are now commonplace, as are families who rely on them. The Trussell Trust, Britain’s biggest food bank network, handed out 1.2 million food parcels to families and individuals in need in 2016-17. The Independent Food Aid Network estimates that there are more that 2,000 food banks in operation around the UK. Homelessness has also increased significantly since 2010, according to the National Audit Office (NAO), with a 60 per cent rise in the number of homeless families (including 120,540 children), driven, the NAO said, by government welfare reforms. The shocking rise in the number of rough sleepers is evident in every town and city in the country. Work is no longer a sure-fire route out of poverty. Some 60 per cent of people in poverty in Britain are in working families, often struggling with debt and poor housing, sometimes doing multiple jobs to make ends meet. It is a similar story for many of those living just above the poverty line, juggling low-paid, low-quality and insecure work, combining long hours with demanding family commitments and living in impoverished neighbourhoods where hope is in short supply. All of this – the poverty, the job insecurity, the homelessness, the stress and hardship of low-paid work, and, perhaps most of all, the absence of hope of things getting any better – are feeding Britain’s growing mental health crisis, not to mention the slow-down in life expectancy the UK is experiencing. These are all signs of a society in crisis.

Professor Alston’s analysis of the causes of this crisis are similarly hard-hitting. ‘Austerity’, he argues, has been driven not by a commitment to economic reform (the ‘living within our means’ mantra) but rather ‘a commitment to achieving radical social re-engineering’, a ‘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,’ he continues. ‘In the process, some good outcomes have certainly been achieved, but great misery has also been inflicted unnecessarily, especially on the working poor, on single mothers struggling against mighty odds, on people with disabilities who are already marginalized, and on millions of children who are being locked into a cycle of poverty’. Local authorities, especially in England, ‘have been gutted by a series of government policies’, effectively halving their funding and preventing them from playing their vital role as a ‘social safety net’. Libraries, meanwhile, ‘have closed in record numbers, community and youth centers have been shrunk and underfunded, public spaces and buildings including parks and recreation centers have been sold off.’ The costs of austerity have fallen disproportionately on the poor, women, ethnic minorities, children, single parents, and people with disabilities, the same groups likely to be hit hardest by Brexit.

In his conversations with ministers, Professor Alston encountered a combination of ignorance, disbelief and indifference, a refusal to accept that in-work poverty exists and an unwillingness even to engage with the issues in a serious way. He will not, therefore, have been surprised by the reactions of the Prime Minister’s office, which said that Mrs May ‘strongly disagreed’ with the findings, or the Work and Pensions Secretary, Amber Rudd, who declared the report to be ‘political’ and couched in ‘inappropriate’ language. These reactions were predictable, perhaps inevitable from a government which has carefully spun a number of myths 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. This narrative has a powerful hold on the public’s imagination in Britain, where a substantial proportion of the electorate believes that decent schools for all and a well-funded health service are unaffordable, despite the very obvious examples to the contrary offered by neighbouring northern European countries. Professor Alston challenges this narrative, arguing that the reforms were neither necessary nor, in purely economic terms, effective. While billions have been taken from the benefits system since 2010, they have been offset by the costs created elsewhere as underfunded hospitals, mental health centres, local authorities and police forces attempt to deal with the problems created. ‘Austerity could easily have spared the poor, if the political will had existed to do so,’ Professor Alston writes in the conclusion of his report. ‘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.’ Little wonder the government would rather attack the language and political nature of the report than deal with its substance.

The findings of the UN envoy represent a wake-up call and should prompt urgent action and a substantive change of direction from the government. Sadly, this seems unlikely from a government that is so in thrall to the fantasy narrative it has created that it is prepared to legislate against problems it knows do not exist, while allowing real problems such as poverty, probably the biggest challenge we now face as a society, to fester, unchecked. Nevertheless, the report represents an opportunity to take stock of where we have come to and to consider whether we really want to continue along this road. It can be read as a sort of draft manifesto for positive change in Britain. Alongside the misery of child poverty, the calamity of homelessness and the personal tragedy of women forced to sell sex for money or shelter, Professor Alston also recognised ‘tremendous resilience, strength, and generosity, with neighbors supporting one another, councils seeking creative solutions, and charities stepping in to fill holes in government services’. These are all things on which we can build, but I fear it will be to little avail if we are unable to create a different political narrative for Britain, one in which voters are not blinded by a false choice between austerity and bankruptcy. This is hugely difficult in a country increasingly divided by class, political perspective and geography, but it is essential that we find ways of talking to one another across these divides, of developing a meaningful consensus based on shared values. We need to decide who we want to be.

Poverty and inequality make these conversations difficult. Part of the reason poverty is so little reported is that it is simply not a factor in the lives of most leading journalists, who are drawn increasingly from backgrounds of privilege. Unsurprisingly, millions of people in Britain now feel wholly unrepresented by the media, their voices unheard, their views – or a caricature of them – routinely attacked or ridiculed. They feel acutely the ‘disconnect’ Professor Alston refers to between their own lived experience and the rhetoric of government ministers. As economically and socially damaging as Brexit is likely to be, it may also be an opportunity to reassess. We surely do not want to go further down the line of cutting back on public services, welfare, workers’ rights and conditions, in order to fund further tax cuts for the wealthy. This option is on the table and is, as I write, a strong possibility, but it would be a disaster on an unprecedented scale, a bonfire of Beveridge and the welfare state and a shredding of the social contract that has been weakened by stealth by successive governments. We need to find ways to mend this fabric, restoring the role of local authorities in fostering community and connection, reversing the appalling loss of important public spaces such as libraries, community centres and adult education centres and creating opportunities for people to access education that is not narrowly about training for a job. We need to revive education for democracy, for public value, citizenship and a good society. The government has been fond of telling us it will not pass on the legacy of debt to future generations. Instead, it seems set to pass on something immeasurably worse, an impoverished and divided society, shorn of its values and compassion, in which privilege is hoarded and poverty is a life sentence. It is about choice. I hope Britain makes the right one.