We’ve become an insular profession weakened by narrow debate

I once came across a paper that spoke to my disenchantment with politics academia. It argued that academics discuss a narrow range of topics among themselves without much external input. Now I find myself feeling a similar disenchantment with the narrow and insular debates of my profession.

Educators are often protective of their patch and reports or commissions are frequently dismissed by the sector’s thought leaders and influencers. Daisy Christodoulou recently lambasted Labour’s learning and skills report as referring to “an education system that doesn’t exist”.

But how many times must universities and employers tell us young people lack the skills to succeed in their spheres before we listen? Schools do not exist just to serve business and universities, but they are a public good. The privilege of being on the frontline is accompanied by a responsibility to engage with the sectors our students go onto in the next stages of their lives.

Often in the media, organisations or esteemed individuals demand “schools teach X to solve problem Y”. Just recently, I heard a guest on the Today programme calling for bereavement lessons. Worthy no doubt, but where to fit this in? Schools cannot be the repository to resolve all our social ills.

But this general unawareness of what goes on in schools is sustained by the profession’s undeservedly low reputation (“Those that who can’t, teach”), which in turn is fed by our insularity. It isn’t enough just to say no to every suggestion. Professionals from a range of careers recently visited my school and heard student presentations on their work. I saw the veil being lifted for those adults, and valuable dialogue took place. This shouldn’t be so rare.

But we don’t help ourselves. Indeed, we reinforce this insularity through the narrow framing of our discussions in books, on ‘edu-Twitter’ and at conferences focused on the ‘how’ of education, pedagogy and behaviour management.

The more research-informed approach adopted by many schools has heralded many positive impacts, but the cost is a restricted Overton window. The grip of cognitive science means that if contributions do not have some alleged grounding in research or linkage to sacred texts like Teach Like a Champion or Rosenshine’s Principles of Instruction, it is harder to get a hearing.

The publishing industry has become almost entirely focused on catering to that, with books churned out about teaching techniques, or how to deliver a broadly standardised curriculum. More fundamental questions such as the purpose of education or interrogating whether schools are best serving their students are rarely touched upon.

This focus on the ‘how’ and ‘what works’ is understandable. Schools are subject to high-stakes accountability systems based on exam results and Ofsted judgements. But we debase our value if we reinforce the idea that a school and student’s worth can be reduced to a metric or scored fairly in a game with constantly shifting goalposts.

Following the recent downgrade of numerous schools from ‘Outstanding’ due to the updated inspection framework, Ofsted’s national director of education said the new judgments did not necessarily mean the schools had reduced in quality, that the opposite could in fact be true. Educators can do better to debate and communicate what makes our schools great, rather than letting Ofsted and exam grades define this.

Exam cancellations during the pandemic sparked a fleeting renaissance of educational thinking. We asked whether a more capacious vision for our schools could be realised, but we have reverted to the norm.

With the frenzied demands of the school day, teaching can feel a thoroughly unintellectual profession that does not actually discuss education. Trainee teachers might consider big picture ideas, never to engage in such questions again.

Online platforms, conferences and books, where there is more breathing space, are exactly where there should be an open and thriving discussion on education in its broadest sense.

Such breadth would benefit us as educators, our schools, our students and our communities. We just need to climb down from our ivory tower, whether we were marched up there, or ascended willingly.