The state school depicted in Katharine Birbalsingh’s novel doesn’t resemble any school I’ve encountered recently – as a teacher, parent or researcher. Towards the end of the book, despite the school being riddled with poor behaviour and teaching, it’s judged to be “good, with outstanding features” by Ofsted. The comprehensive where I now teach was recently judged in the same terms by Ofsted. It couldn’t be more different from Birbalsingh’s fictitious school: results are excellent, pupils are well-behaved, teachers are committed and the school is well-run.
Birbalsingh insists that her fabricated school represents the vast majority in the country. From my experience as a teacher and educational researcher over 20 years, I would say my current school is much more indicative of the state of comprehensive education. Time and again, I found myself questioning the validity of points made in this book. The narrator claims that only the “old-school” teachers are effective; the new ones don’t have an “ounce of creativity and ingenuity”. We’ve had an influx of new teachers into my school, and I’ve been struck by how well-trained they are, and by the high expectations they have of the children.
This is Birbalsingh’s hate-filled, ill-informed diatribe against a profession she feels has rejected her. But none of her smears are backed up with evidence – because the facts are not on her side. Currently, Ofsted judges over six out of 10 schools to be good or better, with behaviour in 86% being good; research conducted by universities shows that state-school pupils consistently outperform their privately educated peers at university. Birbalsingh believes her own bias trumps all this research – and the positive experience of millions of parents, pupils and teachers: you need only log on to the Local Schools Network campaign website to see the testimonies of parents who celebrate and support the state sector.
It’s no wonder Birbalsingh has presented her arguments in the form of fiction: that’s precisely what they seem to be.