I’ve often thought there is a tendency in teaching to try to offer intellectual justification for educational trends that lead primarily to diminishing the role of the teacher. Partly, I suspect, this is because of a philosophical and cultural fetish for anything that contravenes settled notions of authority and hierarchy; partly, it is because of a hazy commitment to such nebulous terms as ‘independence’ and ‘freedom’.
But what if there were more to it? I’m no historian, and so couldn’t chart any patterns of causation or correlation, but what if so many of these trends were actually just attempts to add bien pensant pseudo-psycho-baubles to what are essentially strategies of self-preservation? What if the constant move toward making the teacher less important in the educational process is the result of the fact that the teacher finds it increasingly difficult to be in control of the educational process?
Let me explain. Over on ResPublica’s blog, Joe Nutt can be found musing on the difference between current indigenous educational philosophies and those prevalent in more successful educational systems through the medium of, well, red ink.
In essence, he is arguing that to improve educational standards we must demand academic excellence, both from our students but also from our teachers. To tease out the differences, he notes that whereas in Finland he witnessed a teacher who was willing to cover a pupil’s work in thorough and detailed written feedback, in Britain there is naught but jangled nerves about covering work in red pen, either because we no longer believe in academic excellence, or because our current commitments lie with other pastoral concerns, such as confidence building and the like.
As such, for Nutt a commitment to excellence in teaching, which means also in teachers, is the single most important factor in improving standards and outcomes, this being more crucial than (for example) the structure of the institution in which they work.
And he has a point. I’m sure I’m not the only one who has had to endure sanctimonious twaddle about the use of red pen in the classroom. Or the cruelty inherent in ‘over-correcting’ work. In this sense, maybe Nutt is correct in saying that the issue is a cultural one rather than an organisational or institutional one, meaning that any solution to it lies in a conversion of the heart rather than the Head (see what I did there?).
I’m sure Nutt would also have the support of a great many of those who send their children to schools expecting them to be educated. To focus in on one example, it is not at all uncommon to hear people criticising teachers for the standards of marking, or more specifically the fact that they ignore such seemingly fundamental things as spelling and grammar and instead cover a book in ticks and the occasional motivational refrain. This is perfectly understandable: parents, along with everybody else, expect teachers to educate the young and whilst this clearly includes subject knowledge, they also expect ‘the basics’ (spelling and grammar) to be picked up on as being a non-negotiable core aspect of the teacher’s duties.
And, all things being equal, these people are absolutely right in that expectation.
But then, there’s rather more to it than that. Because what Nutt’s argument presumes, and the argument of those parents suggests, is that if only teachers could be converted to the cause of academic excellence then the most significant barrier to achieving this standards vision will have been removed.
But this is simply not true: even for those who yearn to spill the red ink, the reality is that they are not always able.
To explore this a little, lets take the example of a humanities subject teacher. Now, teachers in Britain, at least those without any management responsibility, will have to teach twenty-two classes per week. At an average of, say, thirty children per class, that works out at six hundred and sixty pieces of work per week. That is, by the end of each week, each teacher will have accrued 660 pieces of work that they need to have marked.
Now, imagine the teacher has given their class a set of 10 questions to complete. Or, a piece of prose to write which covers, say, one side of their exercise book. Not only does that teacher have to ensure that all content is accurate and/or well expressed, and make corrections accordingly, they also have to pick up on that grammar and spelling that any normal person would reasonably expect them to amend. There is rather more to it than that, of course, dependent on the level of work set and much else, but let us keep it basic for now.
As such, it is not at all unreasonable to assume that as an average, to mark a piece of work in full detail could take, say, three minutes. (There are many variables, but let’s just take this as a reasonable average)
Now do the sums: 660 pieces of work, with each taking three minutes to mark. That would mean marking each week works out at 33 hours. On top of the 22 hours teaching. And the however many hours planning for those lessons. And making the resources for them. And everything else that comes with being in a school, from pastoral roles to extra-curricular activities to myriad else besides.
And one could (perhaps should) have added in homework, usually one piece per subject per week, but as this varies from school to school I’ll leave it out: nonetheless for most teachers, the setting, chasing and marking (and punishing for non-submission) has to be factored into their time too.
Whilst this is clearly far from a rigorous scientific analysis, the general point is this: whilst Joe Nutt can rightly admire the Finnish teacher who spent six hours giving detailed feedback to one class on one piece of work, he is wrong to simultaneously speculate that the only barrier to this happening in the United Kingdom is cultural rather than institutional. The truth is that, however much one might desire to cover a page in detailed feedback (or evil red ink, depending on your view) there yet exists only so many hours in a day in which to do it. In this sense, the problem really is institutional, with philosophical or cultural considerations being the secondary issue.
Which brings me full circle and that daft idea that correcting work is somehow oppressive, or an example of bad practice, or whatever other reason given against it: might this not just be a manifestation of the preservation instinct, a way of saying (without actually having to say it) – we simply cannot do this?
Which is ironic. Not least because it would mean the trendy educational progressives become the stalwarts of the status-quo, the useful idiots finding ways to rationalise the system that simply demands too much.
If teaching is to improve then teachers need to be given time to be teachers. And that really is an institutional issue.
So, would you like to see smaller classes, reduced teaching hours, or a bit of both?
I have no hesitation in agreeing with you that the structure and the nature of the institution are significant and influential, and for good teachers to teach well in poor schools is a challenge, but it can be done and indeed is. My concern is that researchers and policy makers have given the institution, and that other great favourite stolen from business studies, “leadership,” more than a fair crack at the whip. And although sympathetic to your concerns about time, I was never expected in my entire career to mark every piece of work I set during a lesson, nor did I set work to be marked in every lesson. I was, however, perfectly able to set, assess and mark large numbers of work by all the classes I taught (and plan the 29 lessons I taught a week) all without taking work home. And that was English too, which meant the maximum workload in terms of corrections to be done. As a great teacher, who I learned a huge amount from once said, “Marking is the cross all English teachers have to bear.”
One of the things I’ve always found unsettling about the teaching profession is its attitude to time management. In fact by far the best and most useful CPD event I ever attended was a workshop on stress and time management run by two ex business people. Teachers so often think that they their time management issues are in some way unique. They aren’t. And more than that, there are lots of folks out there who not only have similar issues but have learned perfectly successful ways, and use simple and effective tools, to manage their time better.
Thanks for the response.
I have sympathy with the overall thrust of your argument regarding the managerialist culture that pervades school ethos and commitemtn to academic ethos that transcend mere utilitarian or functional concern. I’m concerned, however, that the rest of your response contains fairly significant straw men, and this leads you to downplay the significance of the objections being proposed.
Firstly, that you were able to successfully manage the workload when you were teaching is neither here nor there; whether workload is a problem for teachers is the real issue. Such a response is similar to the non-sequitur proposed by those who say there is no behaviour problem in schools because they’ve always managed perfectly well in the classroom. Congratulations and all the rest of it, but when poll after poll and research piece after research piece tells us that workload and pupil behaviour are two of the biggest factors for people leaving the profession (a state of affairs you noted, presumably with dismay, though did not pursue) then we must be willing to say ‘you know what, even if I managed perfectly well (without even having to take work home, mark you), perhaps workload is nonetheless a problem in the profession’.
Similarly with your second paragraph – the challenging workload and time-management requirements might well not be unique (I’m sure doctors, for example, have it even worse) but that does not resolve the question of whether or not the workload and time-management is reasonable or unreasonable, nor indeed whether or not these are significant factors in creating that cultural problem you identify. Again, for those lots of folk who manage perfectly well, good luck to them (though I suspect their success comes at gaming the system rather than successfully living with it, as indeed much of the advice I have received on time management has encouraged me to do), but the question remains unresolved as to how significant these factors are in obstructing the flourishing academic culture you wish to see.
Which leads to the last point, that being the main thrust of my article, that also being the one you’ve left mostly untouched: whether or not the excellence you desire is hindered by things such as workload. Your original article spoke of a teacher giving one class feedback for one essay that would have probably taken her six hours to mark. That is simply not something that could be consistently applied throughout the key stages with work commitments as they are or, alternatively, with days only as long as they are. Which leaves open the question of whether or not the solution to your problem is at the very least equally as much a structural problem as a cultural one, with plenty of teachers yearning for the kind of school culture you admire, and yet ultimately frustrated at their inability to be able to deliver it (a lack not of talent nor attitude, but of time). Which, as I’m sure you gather, I think it is.
Having read Nutt’s piece another thought occurs – have you put your finger on a cause of that 50% loss rate in the 5 years after teacher training? Teachers want to teach and get demoralised when they can’t?
I’d say you were pointing out the obvious but it so obviously isn’t obvious. :-/ Nice thought about the self-preservation.