Gove’s “English baccalaureate” is a fig leaf for inaction

Rather than attempt to reform England’s overcomplicated exam system, Gove’s plan offers more of the

Michael Gove yesterday announced plans to introduce an English baccalaureate -- a certificate awarded to pupils who pass five or more GCSEs at grade C or above, including English, maths, a science, a foreign language and one of the humanities. The intention is to recognise and reward students who take a broad range of subjects and stem the exodus from old popular subjects, such as foreign languages and history.

While the aim is noble, the means are deeply flawed. An English baccalaureate won't solve the problem of grade inflation, nor will it simplify England's cumbersome and overcomplicated exam system. A baccalaureate is a fudge and little more than a fig leaf for inaction.

An "English bac" won't stretch bright pupils any further. High achievers are already encouraged to take languages and humanities anyway, as universities prefer these qualifications. Employers and universities will still be left with a glut of excellent grades to sift through. Students will not learn anything extra or more challenging -- all they will receive is another certificate.

Nor will the "English bac" make the oft-criticised vocational subjects any more respectable among universities and employers. There is absolutely no reason why vocational qualifications in ICT, engineering, or even the much-maligned media studies should not be rigorous and useful. An English baccalaureate rewards pupils who steer clear of such subjects, undermining the diploma system even further.

As it is, secondary education in England today is a barely coherent mishmash, with GCSEs and A-levels mixed in with BTecs and diplomas. Ostensibly, each qualification is the equivalent of the other; in reality, there's a hierarchy. Top schools and middle-class parents encourage students to take only well-regarded GCSEs and A-levels, and to leave BTecs and diplomas well alone.

The students at bog-standard comps, meanwhile, are lumbered with worthless qualifications that universities don't want and that employers don't need, as schools prop up their League ranking by shepherding students into less challenging subjects. The last thing the system needs is another tier of qualifications, complicating it further.

Rather than reforming, Gove is tinkering. The English baccalaureate will change nothing. Gove is continuing Labour's long-term education policy of ignoring calls to integrate secondary education properly in England.

In 2004, after two years' work, the Tomlinson report was released. It called for comprehensive reform of secondary education and the introduction of an integrated diploma system that would allow academic and vocational elements under the same, overarching system. The report was completely ignored by the Labour government. Instead, the English secondary education system was left as a complete Horlicks.

If Gove is serious about reforming education, he should start by sorting out the qualifications on offer, making the system comprehensive and understandable, and removing the innuendo that dictates which subjects are respectable and which aren't. Gove calls his proposals "formidable reform", but an English baccalaureate is just more insipid tinkering at the edges.

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Rarely has it mattered so little if Manchester United won; rarely has it been so special they did

Team's Europa League victory offers chance for sorely needed celebration of a city's spirit.

Carlo Ancelotti, the Bayern Munich manager, memorably once said that football is “the most important of the least important things”, but he was only partly right. While it is absolutely the case that a bunch of people chasing around a field is insignificant, a bunch of people chasing around a field is not really what football is about.

At a football match can you set aside the strictures that govern real life and freely scream, shout and cuddle strangers. Football tracks life with such unfailing omnipresence, garnishing the mundane with regular doses of drama and suspense; football is amazing, and even when it isn’t there’s always the possibility that it’s about to be.

Football bestows primal paroxysms of intense, transcendent ecstasy, shared both with people who mean everything and people who mean nothing. Football carves out time for people it's important to see and delivers people it becomes important to see. Football is a structure with folklore, mythology, language and symbols; being part of football is being part of something big, special, and eternal. Football is the best thing in the world when things go well, and still the best thing in the world when they don’t. There is nothing remotely like it. Nothing.

Football is about community and identity, friends and family; football is about expression and abandon, laughter and song; football is about love and pride. Football is about all the beauty in the world.

And the world is a beautiful place, even though it doesn’t always seem that way – now especially. But in the horror of terror we’ve seen amazing kindness, uplifting unity and awesome dignity which is the absolute point of everything.

In Stockholm last night, 50,000 or so people gathered for a football match, trying to find a way of celebrating all of these things. Around town before the game the atmosphere was not as boisterous as usual, but in the ground the old conviction gradually returned. The PA played Bob Marley’s Three Little Birds, an Ajax staple with lyrics not entirely appropriate: there is plenty about which to worry, and for some every little thing is never going to be alright.

But somehow the sentiment felt right and the Mancunian contingent joined in with gusto, following it up with “We’ll never die,” – a song of defiance born from the ashes of the Munich air disaster and generally aired at the end of games, often when defeat is imminent. Last night it was needed from the outset, though this time its final line – “we’ll keep the red flag flying high, coz Man United will never die" – was not about a football team but a city, a spirit, and a way of life. 

Over the course of the night, every burst of song and even the minute's silence chorused with that theme: “Manchester, Manchester, Manchester”; “Manchester la la la”; “Oh Manchester is wonderful”. Sparse and simple words, layered and complex meanings.

The match itself was a curious affair. Rarely has it mattered so little whether or not United won; rarely has it been so special that they did. Manchester United do not represent or appeal to everyone in Manchester but they epitomise a similar brilliance to Manchester, brilliance which they take to the world. Brilliance like youthfulness, toughness, swagger and zest; brilliance which has been to the fore these last three days, despite it all.

Last night they drew upon their most prosaic aspects, outfighting and outrunning a willing but callow opponent to win the only trophy to have eluded them. They did not make things better, but they did bring happiness and positivity at a time when happiness and positivity needed to be brought; football is not “the most important of the least important things,” it is the least important of the most important things.

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