Gove – Stumbling with Confidence

From out of the educational wilderness…towards what?

Two things became clear to me this week, both connected with education.

The first, I suspect, has been clear to many for quite some time, so I’m just ‘keeping up at the back’ on that one. The second one is far less publicly obvious, but I reckon is rather more insidious than the first.

The first is that the Tories have probably given up on the idea of winning the next election (my predictive text insisted on ‘ejection’!) and forming a government. So they have embarked on a mission to change the educational landscape so fundamentally and significantly that no government will be able to undo or reverse – within the lifetime of that government or even just a lifetime – any of the changes that have been wrought.

The second thing that occurred to me, which became obvious at a meeting I attended at the Department for Education (DfE) on the reform of ‘A’ levels, is that the ideological pressure is now so great that the language of education is being changed fundamentally, literally as we speak it and write it.

Others have commented – in various and many articles and blogs – how words and phrases such as ‘child-centred’ and ‘progressive’ that used to have such a positive, hopeful meaning now attract only scorn and derision from those who deign to govern us. There has also been a great deal of concern and comment regarding the constant dismissal and consequent erosion of the arts – which, by their nature, tend to be child-centred and progressive – in the national curriculum and in the media discourses on education. It’s all about STEM: Science, Technology, Engineering, Mathematics.

It’s also worth noting that the academies and free schools, that are so favoured by our government, are not tied to the national curriculum, so other measures (see below) are required to ensure the focus on STEM is maintained.

Recently the ideological focus has expanded to encompass not only the primary and secondary sectors, but also the tertiary sector and higher education (note: Mr. Gove has admitted in print that he would love to have the whole educational system under his guiding wing at the Dept. for Education).

To accompany and support this expanded focus, and to maintain the ideological commitment to STEM, we have had to adopt a new vocabulary of educational double-speak, in which some ‘A’ levels are designated ‘facilitating subjects’ for entry into a ‘good university’, while others – mainly but not only arts subjects – are designated ‘non-facilitating subjects’. In addition, Ofqual (the government agency responsible for all qualifications in the schools’ sector) has decreed that all ‘A’ levels must be designated as either ‘exam-assessed’ or ‘non-exam assessed’, the latter referring to any form of assessment that is not a traditional, sit-down, written examination: a not uncommon phenomenon in the arts. What is astonishing is that the nice, seemingly intelligent people at Ofqual and the DfE insist that there is absolutely no implication of value in that language. They insist that all subjects are regarded as equal, despite the unequivocal evidence that some are clearly more equal than others. The baleful consequences can be seen in the growing list of schools that have deleted arts subjects from the list of A levels they offer.

Our political leaders have taken it upon themselves to lead us out from what they perceive as the desert of educational disaster – in which we have been wandering for at least 40 years – and to enter the promised land flowing with STEM and increased PISA scores. When it comes to education, particularly in England, they are guided not by the evidence provided by years of careful, rigorous research by educational researchers, nor by the evidence provided by scientists in new and potentially paradigm-shifting fields such as educational neuroscience. Rather they stick a finger in the air to see which way the ideological wind is blowing, listen carefully to what their favourite soothsayer has to say on the evils of past educational discourses and practices, check that the pillar of right-teous ire that is the Daily Mail is well and truly behind them and that the pillar of smoke and mirrors is in front of them…and off they go, confident that the caste of pedagogic priests and disciplinarians that they have appointed will ensure obedience and silence dissent.

As we traipse reluctantly behind them, we look back to see the tattered tents and banners of genuine, life-enriching and life-enhancing education left blowin’ in the wind.

On history and all that (Part 2): a marvellous lesson

I was once privileged to witness the most marvellous history lesson…taught by a drama teacher.

It was in a comprehensive school. The students, a mixed class of girls and boys, were taking GCSE History, and the theme was England in the 17th century. The ‘teacher’ was Dorothy Heathcote, the eminent and inspirational drama education specialist. (For those who have never heard of her, do read this http://www.mantleoftheexpert.com/community/about-us/dorothy-heathcote/.)

One of the things Dorothy used to say was that the most powerful word in education is the word ‘might’. Ask a child “what IS the answer to this?” pre-supposes there is a single ‘right’ answer. It’s a closed question. But ask “what MIGHT be the answer to this?”, then you open up the possibilities, the curiosity, the imagination.

The environment was a standard classroom, with melamine tables and plastic chairs.

The session started with Dorothy hanging three large blank sheets of paper on the wall. On the top of one she wrote: ‘I know this about the 17th century’. On the second she wrote ‘I think I know this about the 17th century’. On the third she wrote ‘I’d like to know this about the 17th century’.

She then asked the students to fill out each paper. Not a great deal went on the first one. A bit more went on the second one. A quite a bit more on the third one.

Dorothy then quickly went through each one, checking to see if there was any more to be added.

She then asked the students to get into groups of two or three, and gave each group a set of photocopied sheets of paper. They were taken from one of those guides to antique furniture, and contained images and information about 17th century tables and chairs

Dorothy asked each group to look at the images and read the information, and then to select one – either a table or chair.

She then announced that from that moment on the classroom was now Heathcote’s Expert Antique Restoration Workshop. The students were now all experts at restoring antique furniture, and she was in charge. She then, pointing to the classroom tables and chairs, asked the workers to start restoring the piece of furniture they had selected.

Notwithstanding a bit of embarrassed bewilderment, the students started to ‘work’ on their chosen item: inspecting it, discussing what might be wrong with it, what needed repairing, starting to repair it, etc.

Dorothy walked round inspecting the work, and would ask questions. A typical exchange would be as follows:

Dorothy: What have you got there?

Student: It’s an oak dining chair, Miss.

D: Where’s it from?

S: Something Hall, Miss. I think it’s one of those big houses. [they’d read that on the sheet]

D: What’s wrong with it?

S: Er…it’s got a big split. [that wasn’t on the sheet]

D: Any idea how that split might have occurred?

S: Not sure, Miss. But there’s some scorch marks around the split, so we reckon it was in a fire and perhaps got chucked out of a window. [definitely not on the sheet!]

D: And how do you reckon that might have happened?

And you could see the students’ imagination switch into gear, and out came stories about corridors, and candles, and late night trysts, and a chase, and a dropped candle, and the panic, and the servants being woken up and being ordered to save the furniture, and the chair being thrown out of a high window….

Each group created and shared its own story, using what they knew, what they thought they knew, and what they imagined. And slowly but surely, a real sense of 17th century life began to be created and understood.

After a short break, the session re-started. Now two new characters were introduced along with a set of typical everyday ’17th century’ artifacts e.g: a ring, a quill and ink, a bell, a hand written letter, a pamphlet, etc. The characters – played by actors – were the lady of the house, and a male servant. Each sat at each end of the room, and the students – moving between the two – could ask them questions about their lives, and about the various artifacts which they could touch and examine, each of which had a story attached to it.

As in the first session, layer upon layer of knowledge and understanding gradually was created.

At the end of the session, Dorothy returned to the three sheets of paper, and once more asked the students to fill them in. This time round, what had been the sparsely filled ‘I know this…’ sheet was now filled – confidently and, in some cases, passionately – with information.

The obvious lesson, from this history lesson, was that it’s our natural curiosity about people, our ability to imagination the world through a different pair of eyes, and our love of stories, that powers our understanding of history. Facts and chronologies, of themselves, do not an understanding of history make. But engendering curiosity, imagination and, indeed, passion, might well encourage the pursuit of the factual.

On history and all that (Part 1): my deal with history

There’s been much sound and fury recently about the teaching of history in schools, prompted by the pronouncements and interventions of Michael Gove, the Secretary of State for Education.

Like many I really love and am fascinated by history. But, though I am an educationalist, I’m not an historian or history teacher (nor for that matter is Michael Gove) so I won’t comment on what should be in or out of the history curriculum – I’ll leave that to the experts to argue about. This is more about my own personal history of my journey into history.

I really didn’t get history when I was at school, though I did it for A-level. I loved art and english, couldn’t do music because it clashed with art, and history was the least worst option. In fact my attendance and achievement was such that Mr. Davis, the history teacher, who took great pride in the success of his students and in his teaching of the history of 19th century Europe and America, suggested strongly that it might be for the best if he did not enter me for the exam.

With pride suitably hurt, I decided to make a deal with Mr. Davis. In exchange for allowing me to take the exam, I would revise hard and ensure that I at least passed. He, somewhat reluctantly, agreed, and we shook hands on it.

As I lived in London, the next day I travelled to the centre of the city and headed for Foyles, the famous bookshop. There I purchased the past seven years of A-level history papers.

On my arrival back home, I cleared a space on my bedroom floor, laid out the A-level papers, and started to make a chart of the questions. By the time I’d finished I’d worked out that there was always a question on Bismark and German unification, always a question on Garibaldi and Italian unification, invariably a question on an aspect of the American War of Independence, the Corn Laws and so on.

I then went out and bought several of those ‘help with your revision’ books (the internet wasn’t an available option in those days) that covered the various topics I had identified as ‘favourites’. I read them carefully and made copious notes.

On the day of the History A-level examination, I sat down in the school hall along with c. 50 other boys (it was an all-boys grammar school) and at the words ‘You may start’ I turned over the paper and opened it. There were seven questions, and I’d got six direct ‘hits’…and I could just about waffle through the seventh.

When I went to school some weeks later to pick up my results, my path crossed with that of Mr. Davis. He stopped, smiled a bit weakly, and said: “It seems I underestimated you, Kleiman. The powers that be have seen fit to award you a ‘B’. Erm..congratulations!” With that he shook my hand, shook his head, and walked off.

(to be continued…)

Straight to the Core: Gove, the Arts and the Core Curriculum

Nelson Mandela said that “Education is the most powerful weapon which you can use to change the world”, which is why politicians can’t help but meddle.

Here in the UK, with a long and – with a few notable exceptions – inglorious history of political meddling in the education of our children and young people, we currently have an über-meddler in the shape of Michael Gove (pictured), the Secretary of State for Education.

Mr. Gove is convinced, with the passion of the true zealot, that our education system is broken and that it needs a complete overhaul. He is particularly obsessed with the need for a ‘core curriculum’ which essentially takes us back to the 3R’s with some science and technology attached. I have nothing personal against young people being able to read, write and count. Actually I think it’s quite important. I think science and technology are important. But I do object strongly when – in order to achieve his ambition – Mr Gove decides that the arts are an irrelevancy when it comes to the content of his ‘core curriculum’.

Mr. Gove is an intelligent man. After all he was a leading journalist on The Times, and therefore ought to be used to ensuring that he quotes his sources accurately. Well, he keeps going on about how his ideas for this arts-free ‘core curriculum’ are informed by his admiration for the Massachusetts Common Core of Learning. As well he might be. The education system in Massachusetts is at the top of the US educational league tables.

Now, I don’t know if Mr. Gove has actually read the Massachusetts Common Core of Learning, or whether – returning to his journalistic habits – he is studiously ignoring the inconvenient truth. But there, in the Massachusetts Common Core of Learning, in stark black and white, is the following:

“All students should:
Acquire, Integrate and Apply Essential Knowledge (in)
– Literature and Language
– Mathematics, Science and Technology
– Social studies, History and Geography
– Visual and Performing Arts
– Health

Under ‘Visual and Performing Arts’ there is:
– Know and understand the nature of the creative process, the characteristics of visual art, music, dance and theatre, and their importance in shaping and reflecting historical and cultural heritage.
– Analyze and make informed judgments regarding the arts.
– Develop skills and participate in the arts for personal growth and enjoyment.

Under Literature and Language:
– Read a rich variety of literary works including fiction, poetry, drama and nonfiction from different time periods and cultures, relating them to human aspirations and life experiences.
– Analyze implications of literary works, and communicate them through speaking, writing, artistic and other means of expression.

All students should:
Use Mathematics, the Arts, Computers and Other Technologies Effectively
– Apply mathematical skills to interpret information and solve problems.
– Use the arts to explore and express ideas, feelings and beliefs.
– Use computers and other technologies to obtain, organize and communicate information and to solve problems.
– Develop and present conclusions through speaking, writing, artistic and other means of expression.

In 2006, UNESCO declared: “International declarations and conventions aim at securing for every child and adult the right to education and to opportunities that will ensure full and harmonious development and participation in cultural and artistic life. The basic rationale for making Arts Education an important and, indeed, compulsory part of the educational programme in any country emerges from these rights. Culture and the arts are essential components of a comprehensive education leading to the full development of the individual. Therefore, Arts Education is a universal human right, for all learners” (The Road Map for Arts Education,p3)

Please note the “essential components of a comprehensive education”. Perhaps Mr. Gove’s dislike of arts education derives from his antipathy to the word ‘comprehensive’?