The case against for-profit schools

There are no empirical grounds for handing state schools over to the private sector.

There are no empirical grounds for handing state schools over to the private sector.

In recent months we have seen a growing clamour from right-of-centre think tanks and conservative commentators for commercial providers to be able to set up and run schools for profit. The latest in a long line of think-tank reports putting the case for for-profit providers is to be published this week.

Proponents argue that commercial education providers will raise standards in our schools more rapidly and consistently than the existing mix of not-for profit academies, free schools or mainstream state schools. However, the evidence for this claim is weak.

What evidence exists is limited to a small number of cases: among developed countries only Sweden, some US states and Chile have experimented at scale with commercial providers of publicly funded schools. Among those cases, the performance of commercial providers is mixed. In some US states studies show for profits making little difference to pupil test scores compared to not for profits, while in others they do better. Analysis of the performance of free schools or their equivalents in Sweden and Chile show that not-for-profit free schools out perform for-profit free schools.

The OECD finds no evidence for the claim that private providers produce systematic improvements in school results. Rather, the OECD finds that the most important factors in raising educational standards are the quality of teaching, high levels of school autonomy coupled with robust accountability, and comprehensive strategies for narrowing attainment gaps between children from different class backgrounds.

It is sometimes alleged that only commercial education providers have an interest in expanding good schools, because they are driven by the profit motive to do so, whereas not-for-profit and state schools lack this incentive. Competition drives out weak providers and allows good ones to flourish and competition works best when private rewards are at stake.

Properly regulated competition can play a role in improving outcomes in public services. Managed competition in the NHS, of the kind pioneered by the former Labour government, has been shown to have improved productivity.

However, the evidence for the benefits of competition in education is not strong. The OECD's analysis of its 2009 PISA results is clear on this point, stating that 'countries that create a more competitive environment in which many schools compete for students do not systematically produce better results.'

A recent LSE study is often cited to prove that competition in education works. It found that the introduction of sponsored of academies in England by the last Labour government was accompanied by improvements in neighbouring schools. This was an important study, which showed Labour's sponsored academies improving at a faster rate than comparable schools. And contrary to recent claims, this held true even when GCSE equivalents were excluded from the data. The study offers good grounds for believing that allowing new providers into the school system can increase innovation and improve outcomes.

What the study does not show is that competition per se generated these improvements. It is just as likely that better results in schools near academies rose because of wider school improvement programme affecting all schools during that period.

There are good reasons why we should want a more diverse range of providers in our school system. They can bring new expertise, energy and innovation into state education. But they do not need either a competitive school environment to raise standards nor a profit motive to expand. England has a vibrant not for profit independent sector and there is no shortage of not for profit organisations willing to run academies and free schools. Many are expanding very successfully. There is therefore no strong case for introducing commercial providers on either innovation or competition grounds.

None of this is to say that there should be no role for the private sector in our schools system. Private companies already provide school support and careers services. In England we have seen the enormous growth in the use of private home tutors. A key challenge for policy makers is to ensure that this inevitable rise in parental spending on children's education does not lead to wider inequalities in educational attainment. For example, this could include allowing pupil premium funding to be used to pay for more one to one tuition for disadvantaged pupils provided by the private sector.

In all advanced economies, education systems are undergoing change and renewal, often at a rapid pace. Standing against reform is reactionary, not progressive. But we need the right reform. Schools themselves should not be run for profit. They are civic institutions at the heart of the public realm. Parents want to be able to trust that they always put the interests of their children first. There are no empirical, theoretical or normative grounds for handing them over to the private sector.

Rick Muir is Associate Director at IPPR

Rick Muir is director of the Police Foundation

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The dog at the end of the lead may be small, but in fact what I’m walking is a hound of love

There is a new, hairy face in the Hovel.

There is a new, hairy face in the Hovel. I seem to have become a temporary co-owner of an enthusiastic Chorkie. A Chorkie, in case you’re not quite up to speed with your canine crossbreeds, is a mixture of a chihuahua and a Yorkshire Terrier, and while my friend K— busies herself elsewhere I am looking after this hound.

This falls squarely into the category of Things I Never Thought I’d Do. I’m a cat person, taking my cue from their idleness, cruelty and beauty. Dogs, with their loyalty, their enthusiasm and their barking, are all a little too much for me, even after the first drink of the day. But the dog is here, and I am in loco parentis, and it is up to me to make sure that she is looked after and entertained, and that there is no repetition of the unfortunate accident that occurred outside my housemate’s room, and which needed several tissues and a little poo baggie to make good.

As it is, the dog thinks I am the bee’s knees. To give you an idea of how beeskneesian it finds me, it is licking my feet as I write. “All right,” I feel like saying to her, “you don’t have to go that far.”

But it’s quite nice to be worshipped like this, I have decided. She has also fallen in love with the Hovel, and literally writhes with delight at the stinky cushions on the sofa. Named after Trude Fleischmann, the lesbian erotic photographer of the Twenties, Thirties and Forties, she has decided, with admirable open-mindedness, that I am the Leader of the Pack. When I take the lead, K— gets a little vexed.

“She’s walking on a loose lead, with you,” K— says. “She never does that when I’m walking her.” I don’t even know what that means, until I have a think and work it out.

“She’s also walking to heel with you,” K— adds, and once again I have to join a couple of mental dots before the mists part. It would appear that when it comes to dogs, I have a natural competence and authority, qualities I had never, not even in my most deranged flights of self-love, considered myself to possess in any measurable quantity at all.

And golly, does having a dog change the relationship the British urban flâneur has with the rest of society. The British, especially those living south of Watford, and above all those in London, do not recognise other people’s existence unless they want to buy something off them or stop them standing on the left of the sodding escalator, you idiot. This all changes when you have a dog with you. You are now fair game for any dog-fancier to come up to you and ask the most personal questions about the dog’s history and genealogy. They don’t even have to have a dog of their own; but if you do, you are obliged by law to stop and exchange dog facts.

My knowledge of dog facts is scant, extending not much further beyond them having a leg at each corner and chasing squirrels, so I leave the talking to K—, who, being a friendly sort who could probably talk dog all day long if pressed, is quite happy to do that. I look meanwhile in a kind of blank wonder at whichever brand of dog we’ve just encountered, and marvel not only at the incredible diversity of dog that abounds in the world, but at a realisation that had hitherto escaped me: almost half of London seems to have one.

And here’s the really interesting thing. When I have the leash, the city looks at me another way. And, specifically, the young women of the city. Having reached the age when one ceases to be visible to any member of the opposite sex under 30, I find, all of a sudden, that I exist again. Women of improbable beauty look at Trude, who looks far more Yorkie than chihuahua, apart from when she does that thing with the ears, and then look at me, and smile unguardedly and unironically, signalling to me that they have decided I am a Good Thing and would, were their schedules not preventing them, like to chat and get to know me and the dog a bit better.

I wonder at first if I am imagining this. I mention it to K—.

“Oh yes,” she says, “it’s a thing. My friend P-J regularly borrows her when he wants to get laid. He reckons he’s had about 12 shags thanks to her in the last six months. The problems only arise when they come back again and notice the dog isn’t there.”

I do the maths. Twelve in six months! That’s one a fortnight. An idea begins to form in my mind. I suppose you don’t have to be a rocket scientist to work out what it is. But no. I couldn’t. Could I?

Nicholas Lezard is a literary critic for the Guardian and also writes for the Independent. He writes the Down and Out in London column for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 28 April 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The new fascism