“A child is supposed to love learning”

Katharine Birbalsingh made her name when she wowed the Conservative Party conference last October. H

Katharine Birbalsingh taught me when I was a year 8 in secondary school, in 1999. Just about all I can remember is that we called her "Ms Singh" and gave her a hard time. On the end-of-year French trip, she also helped some kids in my year get a French girl's number.

It came as a surprise, then, when I saw her name in the media recently. Around 12 years after she had been my teacher, I discovered that she had just released a book, To Miss With Love, about her experiences teaching in the state sector, and had even been invited by the Education Secretary, Michael Gove, to deliver a speech at the Conservative party conference last year, an event that propelled her into the media spotlight.

"Ordinary School", the backdrop for To Miss With Love, is a fictional creation, but one that had often hilarious, often disturbing parallels with my own, which in the spirit of the book I will name "Average School". Knowing that Katharine had taught at Average School, I was very curious to see what she was saying about the state sector, and even more curious about why she was being associated with the Conservatives.

As I read To Miss With Love, familiar situations from everyday school life came back to me, but it also showed behind-the-scenes issues that I was unaware of while I was there. Suddenly the reasons for a series of ridiculous decisions and situations I witnessed were exposed, and I began to wonder whether the state system really is broken, as Birbalsingh asserts.

I met her at a small café in Brixton, south London. She is tall, thin and dark-skinned, with a fantastic explosion of hair and an accent of ambiguous descent. My own trajectory, as I described to her, involved five unhappy years at Average School, studying for A-levels at "Slightly Better Than Average School", and finally earning a degree from "Stuffy Russell Group University", a point she quickly picks up on.

"The irony of this is, you'll write this piece and people will say 'Well, you're a success, you're at the New Statesman, you got a degree from Stuffy Russell Group University, you got two A*s and 6 As', or whatever it is, and people will look at you and say, 'Well, how can we say this, how can we say that your state school education failed you?' But it did fail you."

Shouldn't school be horrible?

On this basis, I explain I'd be inclined to concur with the people who believe that if you can succeed at state school, it shows the system works. But Birbalsingh points out the contradiction in my reasoning, based on what I mentioned earlier about hating school – about being constantly scared, about not being able to learn, about hating many of my classmates.

"You sat in chaos for five years, you were miserable, you had to get out in the end. If that's how you think of your secondary school education then the system has failed you. A child is meant to be happy in school, a child is supposed to love learning. It's awful!"

I admit I'd never thought about it that way before. To me, school was supposed to be horrible, but perhaps that in itself is evidence of how I was failed. In this sense, Birbalsingh is very convincing.

"My point is that Ordinary School really does represent normal schools," she continues. "Average is considered to be a really good school. It's 'good with outstanding features', as Ofsted said – just like Ordinary School. You went to a 'good' school and yet you lived in fear every day! If that's true, then how can anybody say to me that the system isn't broken?

"I think that the criteria that Ofsted uses now – they're looking at the wrong thing, they're looking at 'Are lessons fun?', so that's one of the things that needs to change. The thing is, we all trust Ofsted. We all think, 'Oh, if they think this school is good, it must be good.' "

I offer that perhaps people who have kids at a nice, reasonably successful state school in Hampshire or Devon would disagree.

"That's what I find so outrageous," she continues, "because they're saying, 'It's all right for us so leave it the way it is.' I think even those kids are being failed, but they're not being failed as obviously. They're all taking exams that are being dumbed down, they're all learning skills instead of knowledge. All these things are still part of the whole system."

Birbalsingh has been criticised for putting the onus on schools rather than parents for creating bright, socialised young people. But when there are as many social problems as we have in inner London, what good is it to blame schools for failing children?

"I can't do anything about the families. I can't change those parents. If you've got an alcoholic mother, father's never around, I can't do anything about them, but I can change the school system. I'm just expecting us to be the very best that we can be."

A question of choice

But in her book, Birbalsingh comments that every child can be made to develop an appreciation of things like Shakespeare. Is this not too much to expect of kids?

"Middle-class kids in public schools aren't born loving Shakespeare!" she says. "You have to be taught to learn it. When you can understand it, you come to love it. But it's only through a hard slog that you come to the other side.

"If you give choice to children, then they'll always choose the easier option. Why wouldn't they? So you don't just say, 'Actually, you can take business, or you can take physics.' You say, 'You're taking physics,' and then you make physics as interesting as possible and you try and spark their interest and you help them succeed at it because children love what they succeed at."

But doesn't this mentality still alienate the archetypal dumb kid, like Dopey from the book?

"Well it depends. Remember, five Cs at GCSE is rated high – it's not expecting that much, and I think a vast majority of our children can get five Cs at GSCE. However, there is a small minority of kids who can't, and that's when BTecs are perfectly applicable."

The emphasis Birbalsingh puts on standards and respect for authority in the book is interesting. David Lammy, the MP for Tottenham and former education minister, wrote of her that "she reminded me of aunts back in Guyana. Hers is a small 'c' conservatism of the West Indian variety. It has a tough attitude to personal responsibility, underpinned by a Christian belief in personal salvation."

This seems reasonably accurate and when I was at Average School I thought that the strict reinforcement of standards that Birbalsingh so strongly supports – including tucking in your shirt and not wearing hats indoors – was petty, causing more arguments and lost learning time than was necessary.

"It's the broken windows theory," she argues in response. "You need to look after small things. If kids don't have a uniform at all, it doesn't matter, but if you do and the kids disobey, you are allowing them to undermine your authority."

Free schools have caused a lot of controversy since the idea was taken up by Michael Gove in government last year. Many have claimed they will increase social divisions by creaming off middle-class families from the local state schools, and the journalist Fiona Millar refers to the idea as the "comprehensive-grammar, secular-faith, Latin-speaking, liberal-education school". Free schools will be funded by the state, but as Katharine explains:

"They have to follow the admissions code. They cannot select. It's exactly like a state school except it's not set up by the local authority, it's set up by a group of parents or teachers. And obviously it's a very rigorous process to get approved, so it's not just like you can go and set up a school tomorrow."

But what if a free school is set up by the people Katharine disapproves of – middle-class lefties with a lax approach to discipline and choice – or just people who know nothing about education?

"Some schools could be set up that aren't very good. But the point about a free school system is that if the school isn't very good it can be closed. Now, people say, 'That's a bad idea. Where are the kids going to go?' They just go to some other local school!

"We're hoping that most of the free schools being set up will be good schools. If they're bad schools, then they close and we move on from that. I'm trying to make a difference. It's like the Titanic is going down – all I can do is take my little boat to the side and throw as many kids as I can inside it, and row away."

Mix it up

One controversial topic Birbalsingh touches on in To Miss With Love is the high level of failure among black children.

"In addition to schools failing our kids, there are two reasons for black failure," she says. "There's the whole family situation – there's a lot of absent fathers – that is a difficulty, but – and this is a big thing – the street culture: rappers, MTV, all that stuff, because they buy into it.

"You were the white kid at Average, but, in a way, you had an advantage being white, because you could culturally step out of that; you could just be the quiet white kid who didn't have anything to do with the black kids, whereas the black kids there, they have to buy into that, otherwise they're not 'cool'. They have a reputation, like when Furious says in the book, 'You don't understand, I've got a rep,' and I'm saying, 'What do you mean?!' "

After reading To Miss With Love and thinking about some of its criticisms, I began to wonder whether they were directed towards the actual ideas Birbalsingh was proposing – which, I can vouch, are based on 12 years of teaching in inner-London state schools – or more unfairly towards the fact that her views were considered to be those of a right-wing Tory.

"Well the fact is that everything Michael Gove is doing I agree with, and the fact is that I voted for the Conservative Party because I agreed with their educational policies. Unfortunately we have reached a stage where the Labour Party has abandoned good discipline and high standards in schools. If the Labour Party were to reclaim that, then next time, I would be voting for Labour.

"So it just so happens that apparently my views are right-wing. So I suppose I am right-wing when it comes to education. When it comes to everything else, I'm not – I'm a mixture of things."

"To Miss With Love" is available from bookshops, published by Penguin (£9.99). Read Fiona Millar's review of the book for the New Statesman here.

Liam McLaughlin is a freelance journalist who has also written for Prospect and the Huffington Post. He tweets irregularly @LiamMc108.

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Erdogan’s purge was too big and too organised to be a mere reaction to the failed coup

There is a specific word for the melancholy of Istanbul. The city is suffering a mighty bout of something like hüzün at the moment. 

Even at the worst of times Istanbul is a beautiful city, and the Bosphorus is a remarkable stretch of sea. Turks get very irritated if you call it a river. They are right. The Bosphorus has a life and energy that a river could never equal. Spend five minutes watching the Bosphorus and you can understand why Orhan Pamuk, Turkey’s Nobel laureate for literature, became fixated by it as he grew up, tracking the movements of the ocean-going vessels, the warships and the freighters as they steamed between Asia and Europe.

I went to an Ottoman palace on the Asian side of the Bosphorus, waiting to interview the former prime minister Ahmet Davu­toglu. He was pushed out of office two months ago by President Recep Tayyip Erdogan when he appeared to be too wedded to the clauses in the Turkish constitution which say that the prime minister is the head of government and the president is a ceremonial head of state. Erdogan was happy with that when he was prime minister. But now he’s president, he wants to change the constitution. If Erdogan can win the vote in parliament he will, in effect, be rubber-stamping the reality he has created since he became president. In the days since the attempted coup, no one has had any doubt about who is the power in the land.

 

City of melancholy

The view from the Ottoman palace was magnificent. Beneath a luscious, pine-shaded garden an oil tanker plied its way towards the Black Sea. Small ferries dodged across the sea lanes. It was not, I hasten to add, Davutoglu’s private residence. It had just been borrowed, for the backdrop. But it reminded a Turkish friend of something she had heard once from the AKP, Erdogan’s ruling party: that they would not rest until they were living in the apartments with balconies and gardens overlooking the Bosphorus that had always been the preserve of the secular elite they wanted to replace.

Pamuk also writes about hüzün, the melancholy that afflicts the citizens of Istanbul. It comes, he says, from the city’s history and its decline, the foghorns on the Bosphorus, from tumbledown walls that have been ruins since the fall of the Byzantine empire, unemployed men in tea houses, covered women waiting for buses that never come, pelting rain and dark evenings: the city’s whole fabric and all the lives within it. “My starting point,” Pamuk wrote, “was the emotion that a child might feel while looking through a steamy window.”

Istanbul is suffering a mighty bout of something like hüzün at the moment. In Pamuk’s work the citizens of Istanbul take a perverse pride in hüzün. No one in Istanbul, or elsewhere in Turkey, can draw comfort from what is happening now. Erdogan’s opponents wonder what kind of future they can have in his Turkey. I think I sensed it, too, in the triumphalist crowds of Erdogan supporters that have been gathering day after day since the coup was defeated.

 

Down with the generals

Erdogan’s opponents are not downcast because the coup failed; a big reason why it did was that it had no public support. Turks know way too much about the authoritarian ways of military rule to want it back. The melancholy is because Erdogan is using the coup to entrench himself even more deeply in power. The purge looks too far-reaching, too organised and too big to have been a quick reaction to the attempt on his power. Instead it seems to be a plan that was waiting to be used.

Turkey is a deeply unhappy country. It is hard to imagine now, but when the Arab uprisings happened in 2011 it seemed to be a model for the Middle East. It had elections and an economy that worked and grew. When I asked Davutoglu around that time whether there would be a new Ottoman sphere of influence for the 21st century, he smiled modestly, denied any such ambition and went on to explain that the 2011 uprisings were the true succession to the Ottoman empire. A century of European, and then American, domination was ending. It had been a false start in Middle Eastern history. Now it was back on track. The people of the region were deciding their futures, and perhaps Turkey would have a role, almost like a big brother.

Turkey’s position – straddling east and west, facing Europe and Asia – is the key to its history and its future. It could be, should be, a rock of stability in a desperately un­stable part of the world. But it isn’t, and that is a problem for all of us.

 

Contagion of war

The coup did not come out of a clear sky. Turkey was in deep crisis before the attempt was made. Part of the problem has come from Erdogan’s divisive policies. He has led the AKP to successive election victories since it first won in 2002. But the policies of his governments have not been inclusive. As long as his supporters are happy, the president seems unconcerned about the resentment and opposition he is generating on the other side of politics.

Perhaps that was inevitable. His mission, as a political Islamist, was to change the country, to end the power of secular elites, including the army, which had been dominant since Mustafa Kemal Atatürk created modern Turkey after the collapse of the Ottoman empire. And there is also the influence of chaos and war in the Middle East. Turkey has borders with Iraq and Syria, and is deeply involved in their wars. The borders do not stop the contagion of violence. Hundreds of people have died in the past year in bomb attacks in Turkish cities, some carried out by the jihadists of so-called Islamic State, and some sent by Kurdish separatists working under the PKK.

It is a horrible mix. Erdogan might be able to deal with it better if he had used the attempted coup to try to unite Turkey. All the parliamentary parties condemned it. But instead, he has turned the power of the state against his opponents. More rough times lie ahead.

Jeremy Bowen is the BBC’s Middle East editor. He tweets @bowenbbc

This article first appeared in the 28 July 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Summer Double Issue