So Labour failed on education, did it? Not so, says Mehdi Hasan

As usual, the conventional wisdom is wrong. So says the FT.

Our education system isn't perfect. Far from it. But, in recent years, it has become fashionable to deride the performance of the schools and teachers in this country; in opposition, the Tories, aided by their cheerleaders in the right-wing media, spouted context-free statistics about the numbers of "functionally illiterate" children and talked down the educational achievements of primary and secondary school pupils. Nowadays, the conventional wisdom is that Labour failed on education, despite Tony Blair's famous pledge ("Education, education, education").

The conventional wisdom, as is so often the case, is wrong. In today's Financial Times, Chris Cook reports:

Poorer children closed the educational achievement gap on children from wealthier backgrounds during Labour's last term of office, according to a comprehensive Financial Times analysis of exam results achieved by three million 16-year-olds over five years.

When looking at a basket of core GCSE qualifications -- sciences, modern languages, maths, English, history and geography -- the FT found a sustained improvement in the results achieved by children from the poorest neighbourhoods. Between 2006 and 2010, after stripping out the effects of grade inflation, the bottom of the distribution shifted upwards: the gap closed by one-sixth of a grade in every one of these GCSE subjects. There was no significant change in the number of these subjects sat by these pupils.

The pink paper quotes Simon Burgess, professor of economics at the University of Bristol and director of the Centre for Market and Public Organisation, as saying:

We may have here the first evidence of a turning of the tide.

According to Burgess, the results suggest that

. . . declining social mobility is not an immutable force, but can be changed. Indeed, it seems that it was changed by the education policies of the previous government.

Nick Clegg, the Deputy Prime Minister, has said his mission in life is to improve social mobility. Perhaps, then, he could learn some lessons from those "backroom boys", Miliband and Balls, who he is so keen to deride and denounce.

Mehdi Hasan is a contributing writer for the New Statesman and the co-author of Ed: The Milibands and the Making of a Labour Leader. He was the New Statesman's senior editor (politics) from 2009-12.

GETTY
Show Hide image

Would you jump off a cliff if someone told you to? One time, I did

I was walking across the bridge in Matlock park, which is about 12 feet high, with a large group of other kids from my year, in the pouring rain.

Ever heard the phrase, “Would you jump off a cliff if they told you to?” It was the perpetual motif of my young teenage years: my daily escapades, all of which sprang from a need to impress a peer, were distressing and disgusting my parents.

At 13, this tomboyish streak developed further. I wrote urgent, angry poems containing lines like: “Who has desire for something higher than jumping for joy and smashing a light?” I wanted to push everything to its limits, to burst up through the ceiling of the small town I lived in and land in America, or London, or at least Derby. This was coupled with a potent and thumping appetite for attention.

At the height of these feelings, I was walking across the bridge in Matlock park, which is about 12 feet high, with a large group of other kids from my year, in the pouring rain. One of the cool girls started saying that her cousin had jumped off the bridge into the river and had just swum away – and that one of us should do it.

Then someone said that I should do it, because I always did that stuff. More people started saying I should. The group drew to a halt. Someone offered me a pound, which was the clincher. “I’m going to jump!” I yelled, and clambered on to the railing.

There wasn’t a complete hush, which annoyed me. I looked down. It was raining very hard and I couldn’t see the bottom of the riverbed. “It looks really deep because of the rain,” someone said. I told myself it would just be like jumping into a swimming pool. It would be over in a few minutes, and then everyone would know I’d done it. No one could ever take it away from me. Also, somebody would probably buy me some Embassy Filter, and maybe a Chomp.

So, surprising even myself, I jumped.

I was about three seconds in the air. I kept my eyes wide open, and saw the blur of trees, the white sky and my dyed red hair. I landed with my left foot at a 90-degree angle to my left ankle, and all I could see was red. “I’ve gone blind!” I thought, then realised it was my hair, which was plastered on to my eyes with rain.

When I pushed it out of the way and looked around, there was no one to be seen. They must have started running as I jumped. Then I heard a voice from the riverbank – a girl called Erin Condron, who I didn’t know very well. She pushed me home on someone’s skateboard, because my ankle was broken.

When we got to my house, I waited for Mum to say, “Would you jump off another cliff if they told you to?” but she was ashen. I had to lie that Dave McDonald’s brother had pushed me in the duck pond. And that’s when my ankle started to throb. I never got the pound, but I will always be grateful to Erin Condron. 

This article first appeared in the 25 August 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Cameron: the legacy of a loser