When does licence become invention?

Johann Hari has gone one step too far.

We all do it -- journalists, historians, even human beings. We all tinker with the truth in order to create an actuality that feels more truthful than the truth itself. How many times have you deliberately misquoted someone in order to make that anecdote a little bit funnier? How many times have you retrospectively put words into your own mouth in order to banish an espirit d'escalier? How quickly "I wish I'd said" becomes "what I said"! In fact, claiming that you said something you meant to say is considered so acceptable that even MPs are allowed to edit their speeches in Hansard. The relationship between what actually happened and what we say that happened is a fraught one, as every police detective will tell you.

I'm having a similar problem with my current book project, which is a new history of the Great Escape. Some of the RAF officers' memoirs are at such a huge variance to what they told MI9 investigators after the war, that it is now almost impossible to even get near the truth. This isn't because they were liars (OK, a couple were), but because they had told the stories so many times, over so many decades, that the natural tendency to exaggerate, inflate, massage and entertain has twisted the truth into something that is nearer to fiction than fact. For historians, the best you can do is to go with what your knowledge tells you is right, and to trust testimony made nearer the event than, say, at a speech made at a golf club last week. Anyway, for me, chasing the unobtainable -- that is, the truth -- is part of the fun of writing history.

Because the truth is a flakey place indeed, I'm somewhat sympathetic to the plight in which Johann Hari of the Independent now finds himself. Journalists face the same problem of representing the truth as historians, but they have to deal with it on a much tighter timescale. And, unlike historians (ahem), journalists are under a lot of pressure to deliver something punchy and immediately appealing. In other words, the temptation to sex up the dossier is huge.

I remember once writing a piece for the Times on the archaeological work going on at London Bridge during the building of the new Tube station. My features editor asked whether we could say that the archaeologists had discovered a Roman brothel. I said it was possible, as there were often brothels at the entrances to cities, but there was no proof. He told me to put that in, and -- you've guessed it -- he cut out my disclaimer, and the piece appeared the next morning claiming that the Museum of London had found a Roman brothel. Cue angry letter, which I left him to deal with.

But former colleagues and I did worse, far worse. One was sent to Heathrow Airport to interview women in WH Smith about their holiday reading. Unsurprisingly, he couldn't be bothered to go, and he went back home and wrote the piece from there. I recall chucking in the odd line to this great work of fiction. I was particularly proud of my "totally made up woman in her late 30s", the ambiguity of which sailed very close to the wind. In the mid 1990s, I once covered a Rolling Stones comeback concert in Sheffield for the news pages in which I was supposed to interview members of the audience, but I was too gauche for some reason, and just made up the quotes, because -- and this is perhaps salient -- I thought my quotes would better tell the story than the people I was supposed to be talking to.

Because of my guilty hack past, I initially found it hard to throw stones at Hari's misleading insertion of interviewees' previously spoken or written words into an interview. His justification seems almost plausible:

So occasionally, at the point in the interview where the subject has expressed an idea, I've quoted the idea as they expressed it in writing, rather than how they expressed it in speech. It's a way of making sure the reader understands the point that (say) Gideon Levy wants to make as clearly as possible, while retaining the directness of the interview. Since my interviews are intellectual portraits that I hope explain how a person thinks, it seemed the most thorough way of doing it.

I think Hari is mistaken to claim his interviews are "intellectual portraits", because that gives him an artistic licence to write up an interview in the same way as Lucien Freud might paint the Queen. A newspaper interview should be a fairly straightforward and truthful account of an encounter -- it's not a profile, and if it is, it should be billed as such. And if Hari wants to include his subject's words from other sources, then it's very easy to stitch them in without losing any immediacy.

I was wrong to make up my quotes all those years ago, and Hari is wrong to make up his quotes today. The problem is, Hari is playing a bigger game than I was when a junior writer on the Times many years ago -- he is very high profile and he has even won prizes. He shouldn't play fast and loose with quotes, and neither, if an unpublished letter from Rowan Wilson to the Independent is correct (I'll leave you to Google that one), should he make things up. That letter is particularly damning.

We are all guilty of using licence, but to rely on it to the extent that Hari has done is to cross over into the world of invention. We have to draw these lines somewhere, and Hari must surely know, in his heart, that he has stepped over where most of us "content providers" mark that boundary. He should apologise to his readers.

A protest in 2016. Getty
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Fewer teachers, more pupils and no more money. Schools are struggling

With grammars and universal school meals, both main parties have decided to answer policy questions no one is asking.

If you ask people in Britain what the ­biggest political issues are, schools don’t make the top five. Yet last week Labour set its first party political broadcast in a fictional classroom where a teacher described Jeremy Corbyn’s plans for schools’ future. Without a Labour government, the teacher opines, there will be no more libraries, or teachers, or school trips. Though the scenario is a flagrant breach of the law – teachers must remain politically impartial – education isn’t a bad place for Labour to start its campaign. Schools really are quite screwed.

Three things are hitting hard. Schools have less money, fewer people want to be teachers, and an avalanche of under-sevens is hitting the playgrounds and won’t stop for several more years.

How did we get here? In 2015 the Conservatives pledged to keep school funding at the same rate per pupil over the lifetime of the parliament. Yet while the money coming in has remained flat, schools have faced huge hikes in costs, particularly staffing. Big increases in mandatory pension contributions and National Insurance have taken their toll; so has the apprenticeship levy. The
Institute for Fiscal Studies estimates that all told, schools will have lost about 8 per cent of their budget by 2020. That’s £3bn of savings that must be found. Or, more bluntly, the starting salaries of 100,000 teachers.

It is worth remembering at this point how huge the schools sector is and how many people are affected. About half a million teachers work in the 20,000-plus state schools. A further 300,000 people work in allied professions. There are eight million children and an estimated 12 million parents. Lump in their grandparents, and it’s fair to say that about 20 million voters are affected by schools in one way or another.

The budget squeeze is leading many of these schools to drastic measures: firing teachers, increasing class sizes, cutting music from the curriculum, charging parents for their child’s place on a sports team, dropping transport provision, and so on. Begging letters to parents for donations have become commonplace; some have asked for contributions of up to £60 a month.

On top of money worries, teachers are abandoning the profession. In 2015, an additional 18,000 went to work in international schools – more than were trained at universities over the same year. They joined the 80,000 teachers already working in British schools abroad, attracted by higher pay and better working conditions.

Graduates are also snubbing teaching. With starting salaries increasing at less than 1 per cent a year since 2010, new teachers are now paid about 20 per cent less than the average graduate trainee. Changes to higher education are also such that trainees must now pay £9,000 in order to gain their teaching qualification through a university. The government has missed its target for teacher trainees for five years now, and there is no coherent plan for hitting it.

No money and no teachers is less of a problem if you are in a demographic dip. We had a bizarrely low birth rate at the turn of the century, so we currently have a historically small proportion of teens. Unfortunately, the generation just behind them, of seven-year-olds and under, is enormous. Why? Because the “baby echoers”, born in the 1970s to the baby boomers, had children a bit later than their parents. Add to that the children recently born to immigrants who arrived in their twenties when the European Union expanded in the early 2000s, and Britain is facing an El Niño of toddlers. By 2025 a million extra children will be in the school system than in 2010.

To keep on top of the boom the government has been creating schools like a Tasmanian devil playing Minecraft. But 175,000 more places will be needed in the next three years. That’s the equivalent of one new secondary school per week from now until 2020.

In fairness, the government and councils have put aside money for additional buildings, and roughly the same number of parents are getting their first-choice school as before. The free schools policy, which delivers new schools, has not always been well managed, but it is now more efficient and targeted. However, many more children combined with squeezed budgets and fewer teachers typically leads to bigger class sizes. Most classrooms were built to house 30 pupils. Exam results may not get worse, but no parent wants their child working on a makeshift desk improvised out of a windowsill.

Instead of addressing these challenges, both main parties have decided to answer policy questions no one is asking. Theresa May wants more grammar schools, ostensibly because they will give more choice to parents – though these are the only schools that pick pupils, as opposed to the other way around. And she says they will aid social mobility, though all the evidence (and I really do mean all) suggests the opposite.

Jeremy Corbyn, meanwhile, is offering free lunches to all seven-to-11-year-olds, which sounds worthy until you realise that children from low-income families already get free lunch, and that feeding every child a hot sit-down meal is virtually impossible, given the limited space and kitchen facilities in most schools. Plus, the evidence this £1bn policy would make any significant difference
to health or attainment is pretty sketchy. Labour has also sensibly talked about cash and promised to “fully fund” schools, but it isn’t clear what that means.

What’s missing so far from the Conservatives and Labour alike is a set of policies about teacher recruitment or place planning. The sector needs to know how schools will be built, and where the teachers will come from for the extra kids. In other words, the message to both sides is – must try harder.

Laura McInerney is the editor of Schools Week and a former teacher

Laura McInerney taught in East London for six years and is now studying on a Fulbright scholarship at the University of Missouri. She also works as Policy Partner at LKMCo.

This article first appeared in the 27 April 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Cool Britannia 20 Years On

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