We need to focus on good apprenticeships

Expanding provision should not be at the expense of quality.

Young people in the UK are being squeezed on two fronts. They face a difficult labour market, with youth unemployment now over a million and continuing to rise. And, for those who don’t go to University, the education system does not always perform well. In her review of vocational education, Alison Wolf argued that many - but by no means all - vocational qualifications offered ‘little or no labour market value’.

In response, politicians have rediscovered apprenticeships. There are good reasons for this. Ministers like to announce impressive numbers of new apprentices starting work. They feel like they’re addressing a current problem (youth unemployment) while solving a long-standing one (education for those who don’t go to University). And apprenticeships have a reassuring retro sound – reminiscent of the past glories of manufacturing or the strength of the German economy. They are the most recognisable and respected brand left in vocational education. But how exactly will apprenticeships address youth unemployment and the shortage of meaningful vocational qualifications?

Nobody questions that, in theory, apprenticeships are a good thing. But they are diverse and some apprenticeships are better than others. While apprenticeships are an important part of efforts to address the UK’s economic problems, the pay off will be in the long-term only. And, unless they are handled cautiously, political efforts to expand the system may reduce the quality.

In the UK, we tend to be sniffy about vocational education. The strength of our Universities, and declining employment in manufacturing, means we have favoured other parts of the system. While the UK provides clear and well structured pathways into work for those who do well at school, routes are less clear for those who don’t. Past attempts at reform have often been fudged. As the Wolf report argued, many vocational qualifications in the UK are essentially ways to postpone young people’s entry into the labour market.

Apprenticeships are good when they provide a route into employment and meaningful training for those who do not want to go to University. They offer vocational training, alongside genuine mentoring and career progression, which can help young people enter the labour market and succeed throughout their careers.

This does not mean they can, or should, be seen as a solution to youth unemployment. The ‘gold standard’ apprenticeships at Rolls Royce or BT tend to be oversubscribed many times over – Michael Gove has argued that some are harder to get into than Oxbridge. This is good as it suggests they are valuable qualifications. But it also makes them unlikely to help the young people least likely to enter the labour market. Those leaving school with poor prospects are as unlikely to get into the top apprenticeships as they are into the top universities.

But there are apprenticeships on offer at many levels. The most advanced apprenticeships – Higher Level Apprenticeships – are the equivalent of a foundation degree. Intermediate Apprenticeships are the equivalent of a few GCSE’s. Some apprenticeship programmes successfully link meaningful work and valuable training, others don’t.

Some have raised concerns that as the number of new apprenticeships expands, fewer of them will be of a high quality. In February, David Cameron proudly announced that the numbers of young people starting apprenticeship in 2011 was 63 per cent higher than in 2010. Yet recent stories of poor quality apprenticeships in low skilled employment, with cursory opportunities for training, threaten to devalue the brand. The recent controversy around Morrison’s was one example.

Alongside such anecdotal evidence, there has been a measurable change in the type of apprenticeships which are underway. As the number of new starts has increased, the average length has decreased: according to the National Audit Office, 19 per cent of apprenticeships started in 2010/11 lasted less than six months, up from 12 per cent in 2008/9. In response, the government has announced that new apprenticeships will have to last 12 months or more. But other issues, such as quality of training, remain problems.

Vocational education matters – and this is why keeping up quality is so important. And few doubt that apprenticeships, when done well, are good. Apprenticeships are often a good pathway for young people into work, ensuring that they can develop meaningful skills alongside the work experience which is crucial in today’s labour market. But in a rush to increase quantity there is a risk that quality may be affected. Given the lack of options for young people in the labour market, that would be a bad thing.

David Cameron meets a Waitrose apprentice. Credit: Getty

Neil is the Senior Economist at The Work Foundation

 

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The Tinder dating app isn't just about sex – it's about friendship, too. And sex

The lines between sex, love and friendship are blurrier than ever, as I found out quickly while using the app.

The first time I met someone using Tinder, the free dating app that requires users to swipe left for “no” and right for “yes” before enabling new “matches” to chat, it was an unqualified success. I should probably qualify that. I was newly single after five years in a committed relationship and wasn’t looking for anything more than fun, friendship and, well, who knows. A few weeks earlier I had tried to give my number to a girl in a cinema café in Brixton. I wrote it on a postcard I’d been using as a bookmark. She said she had a boyfriend, but wanted to keep the postcard. I had no date and I lost my page.

My Tinder date was a master’s student from Valencia called Anna (her name wasn’t really Anna, of course, I’m not a sociopath). When I arrived at the appointed meeting place, she told me I was far more handsome IRL (“in real life”) than my pictures suggested. I was flattered and full of praise for the directness of continental Europeans but also thought sadly to myself: “If only the same could be said about you.”

Anna and I became friends, at least for a while. The date wasn’t a success in the traditional sense of leading us into a contract based on exclusivity, an accumulating cache of resentments and a mortgage, but it had put me back in the game (an appropriate metaphor – people speak regularly of “playing” with the app).

According to Sean Rad, the co-founder who launched Tinder in late 2012, the service was invented for people like me. “It was really a way to overcome my own problems,” he told the editor of Cosmopolitan at an event in London last month. “It was weird to me, to start a conversation [with a stranger]. Once I had an introduction I was fine, but it’s that first step. It’s difficult for a lot of people.” After just one outing, I’d learned two fundamental lessons about the world of online dating: pretty much everyone has at least one decent picture of themselves, and meeting women using a so-called hook-up app is seldom straightforwardly about sex.

Although sometimes it is. My second Tinder date took place in Vienna. I met Louisa (ditto, name) outside some notable church or other one evening while visiting on holiday (Tinder tourism being, in my view, a far more compelling way to get to know a place than a cumbersome Lonely Planet guide). We drank cocktails by the Danube and rambled across the city before making the romantic decision to stay awake all night, as she had to leave early the next day to go hiking with friends. It was just like the Richard Linklater movie Before Sunrise – something I said out loud more than a few times as the Aperol Spritzes took their toll.

When we met up in London a few months later, Louisa and I decided to skip the second part of Linklater’s beautiful triptych and fast-track our relationship straight to the third, Before Midnight, which takes place 18 years after the protagonists’ first meet in Vienna, and have begun to discover that they hate each others’ guts.

Which is one of the many hazards of the swiping life: unlike with older, web-based platforms such as Match.com or OkCupid, which require a substantial written profile, Tinder users know relatively little about their prospective mates. All that’s necessary is a Facebook account and a single photograph. University, occupation, a short bio and mutual Facebook “likes” are optional (my bio is made up entirely of emojis: the pizza slice, the dancing lady, the stack of books).

Worse still, you will see people you know on Tinder – that includes colleagues, neighbours and exes – and they will see you. Far more people swipe out of boredom or curiosity than are ever likely to want to meet up, in part because swiping is so brain-corrosively addictive.

While the company is cagey about its user data, we know that Tinder has been downloaded over 100 million times and has produced upwards of 11 billion matches – though the number of people who have made contact will be far lower. It may sound like a lot but the Tinder user-base remains stuck at around the 50 million mark: a self-selecting coterie of mainly urban, reasonably affluent, generally white men and women, mostly aged between 18 and 34.

A new generation of apps – such as Hey! Vina and Skout – is seeking to capitalise on Tinder’s reputation as a portal for sleaze, a charge Sean Rad was keen to deny at the London event. Tinder is working on a new iteration, Tinder Social, for groups of friends who want to hang out with other groups on a night out, rather than dating. This makes sense for a relatively fresh business determined to keep on growing: more people are in relationships than out of them, after all.

After two years of using Tinder, off and on, last weekend I deleted the app. I had been visiting a friend in Sweden, and took it pretty badly when a Tinder date invited me to a terrible nightclub, only to take a few looks at me and bolt without even bothering to fabricate an excuse. But on the plane back to London the next day, a strange thing happened. Before takeoff, the woman sitting beside me started crying. I assumed something bad had happened but she explained that she was terrified of flying. Almost as terrified, it turned out, as I am. We wound up holding hands through a horrific patch of mid-air turbulence, exchanged anecdotes to distract ourselves and even, when we were safely in sight of the ground, a kiss.

She’s in my phone, but as a contact on Facebook rather than an avatar on a dating app. I’ll probably never see her again but who knows. People connect in strange new ways all the time. The lines between sex, love and friendship are blurrier than ever, but you can be sure that if you look closely at the lines, you’ll almost certainly notice the pixels.

Philip Maughan is Assistant Editor at the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 26 May 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The Brexit odd squad