I am a mother of almost 11 years and a teacher of 15 years.
I am currently searching for a secondary school for my eldest. Yes, he is growing up and yes we have a big transition coming up but 10 year olds still get scared at bedtime, cry when they are tired, sob when you put a dinner in front of them that they don’t like and struggle to share with their siblings. They are little humans developing a sense of self, belonging and connection. They are at the beginning of lifelong work.
I am on my first secondary school tour and I am concerned. I ask the tour guides (aka Year 11’s) questions about their life in school. Are you happy here? “I am, but I don’t feel that we have as many opportunities” was one very honest answer. I asked him to tell me more. He said that there wasn’t enough focus on real life opportunities and enrichment activities.
I asked one child about discipline in school. “We get 20 (minutes) if we talk in the corridors, 40 if we touch someone”. I asked him to clarify the touching, he continued “like, if you just put your hand on someone's shoulder, or hug them you get 40 minutes detention”. The girls standing next to me told me that she found it “really hard and upsetting when you get parked”. I asked what she meant by parked. She explained that you have to have a detention which is 'parking’ and if you get parked more than once you go to “RR” which she later told me is the Reflection Room. I asked what reflection looked like. “Basically you sit staring at a wall, you have a table to do your work at and you are not allowed to talk”. So not much reflection at all it seems? In fact the word reflection seems to have been put there for show, a little tokenistic when there is little to no opportunity for deeper thought or conversation. Curious to know more I asked the very polite Year 11 tour guide about needing the toilet in class. “We are not allowed to go in class unless we have a toilet pass” How do you get one of those? “Your parents have to get a GP letter” to which I responded “well that's not great for those on their period is it” (good luck getting a GP note for that) to which the student fell into an awkward silence, clearly too embarrassed to continue speaking - not my intention at all but I was beginning to feel unsettled.
As I continued to walk around the school and observed teachers with warm smiles and open arms I felt that the children must have got this wrong? Maybe this was just their perspective and they had confused or over dramatised things? I took my opportunity when I found myself standing next to a Head of Year who asked if I had any questions. I smiled but was feeling nervous, “I am concerned by the damage that extremely punitive measures may have on the children, I understand that I need to see this from the educator perspective, can you explain to me why you need to have silence in the corridors and no touching?” The teacher looked taken aback, almost as if he wondered how I had found this out. His explanation included a "need for order in a time when children are focused on their learning" and "an understanding that parents and staff are dealing with girls getting touched” and “pushing and rough handling” going on in the corridors that they have to respond to (hence the 40 minutes for touching someone else). He also stated that they do not look to punish, they seek out good behaviour to reward but they always follow through should sanction need to be imposed.
And herein lies the problem. I am wholeheartedly against rewarding and consequences in the extrinsic form. Of course children will be silent if it gives them points and, of course they will do what you want them to do if they know they will otherwise be punished but where is the real learning?
The in-depth understanding of what it means to be respectful, caring and thoughtful?
The importance of consent and boundaries?
The explanation as to why children are wanting to leave the class to go and hang out in the toilets?
How can children instead be motivated and autonomous?
As my tour guide moved on, the Head of Year eagerly moved me on with him (appearing relieved that he no longer had to justify these archaic approaches to yet another confused parent).
In the final talk of the evening the Head Teacher requested that we “trust them all to do their job” and that sometimes we may not understand their responses but they are the professionals and it all comes with good intentions. As an educator who is writing a book about the importance of educator autonomy, I wholeheartedly agree! I do not believe that this is the fault of the teachers - this is what happens when we rely on high stakes accountability, data and competitive school league tables to see us through. The children come last in the decision making.
I left the Head Teachers speech at “we sweat the small stuff”. A talk made up of academic attainment, uniform rules and a dash of pastoral care. I had had enough and my decision had been made. Sadly, being a teacher and having my finger on the education pulse I am aware that this is not the story of a one-off secondary school but is an example of the evolving landscape in secondary education - a team of professionals who feel that they do not have the time, space or energy to develop a deeper understanding of the complexities behind these challenging behaviours. Schools feel out of control, so they must demand it in ways that are inhumane and lack respect or curiosity. I get it, we are overworked, underpaid and have to deliver an irrelevant and overpacked curriculum. This is not a teacher bashing article.
It seems that if we could focus more on holistic growth and development alongside academic achievement (and not as a tick box exercise) then everything else would organically flow. How can we expect children to develop skills to work alongside each other, to really respect each other and explore and develop their identity and sense of self when in secondary school they are shut down?
I can only hope that a curriculum review will deliver us educators time - time to seek to understand, time to love and to show compassion. Time to teach.
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