Show Hide image

Gove's free schools policy is already in trouble

Even the parents wanting to set up free schools are frustrated.

From the outset, the coalition's support of free schools was heralded as its defining education policy. Groups of parents, teachers or community members would be given the power and resources to set up their own schools, particularly in areas of high social deprivation. These groups would sweep aside the concerns of the bureaucratic local authorities and build pioneering institutions that would help lift hundreds of thousands of children out of poverty. In June 2010, Gove said that the principle behind free schools was "closing the attainment gap" between the poorest and richest students.

A year later, we learned that there were 323 free school proposals but only 40 groups received the go-ahead: nine out of ten proposals were rejected. Four free schools are expected to open in September. The former Labour adviser Peter Hyman is now aiming to set up one in east London. Considering that there are 20,000 state schools in England and the approved free schools add up to just 0.2 per cent of this, it's a droplet in the ocean. By my estimate, they will take in no more than 4,000 children - 2 per cent of Gove's initial target of 200,000. This statistic alone indicates that the policy has failed. Even if every free school were stuffed with poor children, the total number would amount to a tiny fraction of the four million children living in poverty. Given Gove's stated intention to close the attainment gap, it's worth asking how many free schools will serve our poorest children.

My analysis indicates very few. First, of the 40 approved schools, six are currently private; there is no reason to believe that their intake will change significantly when they become state-funded. Furthermore, 11 of the schools are religious, catering for the Jewish, Hindu, Sikh, Muslim and Christian faiths. Research carried out by the Campaign for State Education indicates that faith schools tend to attract children from prosperous backgrounds.

Nearly a third of free schools will be run by private companies. Educational chains such as Ark, Harris and E-Act have been running inner-city academies for years but are now part of the free schools programme in a big way. A parent-led group behind an unsuccessful application to become a free school lamented that going with a private provider was the "only game in town". Such companies are used to working with poorer pupils but a close analysis of their methods shows that their achievements are patchy. Many rely on vocational qualifications, excluding undesirable students and cherry-picking the brightest pupils to boost results.

Just four of the approved schools meet Gove's initial criteria for free schools: local parents setting up schools to help poor children. But even these are open to question. The BBG Parents' Alliance's school in Kirklees is a bona fide effort by parents to establish a school in their deprived community. Yet a report published the Department for Education (DfE) last year said that the 900-pupil institution will create a surplus of school places in the area. The millions spent on the BBG free school could also be more fairly distributed among existing local schools.

Cloak and dagger

For such a tiny programme, despite what seemed like efforts by the government to hide the figures, we know the free schools project is proving expensive: 97 civil servants are working on it, the New Schools Network has been given £500,000 to promote its cause, and many others, such as the free schools founders and private companies, are almost certainly in receipt of considerable sums, as yet undisclosed.

As nearly every free school's unique selling point is small class sizes, we also know that they are going to be very expensive to staff. This isn't even counting the capital costs of the buildings to house such schools. The DfE has refused all Freedom of Information requests for us to know these - even when presented as parliamentary questions - but we know that they are going to be high. In February, the Today programme reported that the cost of one school is going to be £15m.

The DfE's reluctance to reveal the costs signals another problem: the general cloak-and-dagger secrecy surrounding the project. Even the parents wanting to set up free schools are frustrated. One free school campaigner told me: "Our biggest concern is the lack of transparency in decision-making at the DfE. Policy is being made up on the hoof. There appears to be no strategic consideration of where new schools are needed." On top of this, there are concerns that because "amateur" parents are in charge and untrained teachers are allowed to teach, standards will be low.

The discontent is widespread. Commenters on the Local Schools Network website express concern that free schools will increase social segregation and suck resources away from existing institutions. In many cases, the programme involves taking resources from our poorest children in local authority schools and giving them to a privileged few. Small though it is, the free schools policy is already proving a disaster.

Francis Gilbert is a teacher. He blogs for the Local Schools Network and is the author of "The Last Day of Term", to be published in July by Short Books (£12.99)

This article first appeared in the 30 May 2011 issue of the New Statesman, Hands up who knows how to fix our schools

Getty
Show Hide image

The French millennials marching behind Marine Le Pen

A Front National rally attracts former socialists with manicured beards, and a lesbian couple. 

“In 85 days, Marine will be President of the French Republic!” The 150-strong crowd cheered at the sound of the words. On stage, the speaker, the vice-president of the far-right Front National (FN), Florian Philippot, continued: “We will be told that it’s the apocalypse, by the same banks, media, politicians, who were telling the British that Brexit would be an immediate catastrophe.

"Well, they voted, and it’s not! The British are much better off than we are!” The applause grew louder and louder. 

I was in the medieval city of Metz, in a municipal hall near the banks of the Moselle River, a tributary of the Rhine from which the region takes its name. The German border lies 49km east; Luxembourg City is less than an hour’s drive away. This is the "Country of the Three Borders", equidistant from Strasbourg and Frankfurt, and French, German and French again after various wars. Yet for all that local history is deeply rooted in the wider European history, votes for the Front National rank among the highest nationally, and continue to rise at every poll. 

In rural Moselle, “Marine”, as the Front National leader Marine Le Pen is known, has an envoy. In 2014, the well-spoken, elite-educated Philippot, 35, ran for mayor in Forbach, a former miner’s town near the border. He lost to the Socialist candidate but has visited regularly since. Enough for the locals to call him “Florian".

I grew up in a small town, Saint-Avold, halfway between Metz and Forbach. When my grandfather was working in the then-prosperous coal mines, the Moselle region attracted many foreign workers. Many of my fellow schoolmates bore Italian and Polish surnames. But the last mine closed in 2004, and now, some of the immigrants’ grandchildren are voting for the National Front.

Returning, I can't help but wonder: How did my generation, born with the Maastricht treaty, end up turning to the Eurosceptic, hard right FN?

“We’ve seen what the other political parties do – it’s always the same. We must try something else," said Candice Bertrand, 23, She might not be part of the group asking Philippot for selfies, but she had voted FN at every election, and her family agreed. “My mum was a Communist, then voted for [Nicolas] Sarkozy, and now she votes FN. She’s come a long way.”  The way, it seemed, was political distrust.

Minutes earlier, Philippot had pleaded with the audience to talk to their relatives and neighbours. Bertrand had brought her girlfriend, Lola, whom she was trying to convince to vote FN.  Lola wouldn’t give her surname – her strongly left-wing family would “certainly not” like to know she was there. She herself had never voted.

This infuriated Bertrand. “Women have fought for the right to vote!” she declared. Daily chats with Bertrand and her family had warmed up Lola to voting Le Pen in the first round, although not yet in the second. “I’m scared of a major change,” she confided, looking lost. “It’s a bit too extreme.” Both were too young to remember 2002, when a presidential victory for the then-Front National leader Jean-Marie Le Pen, was only a few percentage points away.

Since then, under the leadership of his daughter, Marine, the FN has broken every record. But in this region, the FN’s success isn’t new. In 2002, when liberal France was shocked to see Le Pen reach the second round of the presidential election, the FN was already sailing in Moselle. Le Pen grabbed 23.7 per cent of the Moselle vote in the first round and 21.9 per cent in the second, compared to 16.9 per cent and 17.8 per cent nationally. 

The far-right vote in Moselle remained higher than the national average before skyrocketing in 2012. By then, the younger, softer-looking Marine had taken over the party. In that year, the FN won an astonishing 24.7 per cent of the Moselle vote, and 17.8 per cent nationwide.

For some people of my generation, the FN has already provided opportunities. With his manicured beard and chic suit, Emilien Noé still looks like the Young Socialist he was between 16 and 18 years old. But looks can be deceiving. “I have been disgusted by the internal politics at the Socialist Party, the lack of respect for the low-ranked campaigners," he told me. So instead, he stood as the FN’s youngest national candidate to become mayor in his village, Gosselming, in 2014. “I entered directly into action," he said. (He lost). Now, at just 21, Noé is the FN’s youth coordinator for Eastern France.

Metz, Creative Commons licence credit Morgaine

Next to him stood Kevin Pfeiffer, 27. He told me he used to believe in the Socialist ideal, too - in 2007, as a 17-year-old, he backed Ségolène Royal against Sarkozy. But he is now a FN local councillor and acts as the party's general co-ordinator in the region. Both Noé and Pfeiffer radiated a quiet self-confidence, the sort that such swift rises induces. They shared a deep respect for the young-achiever-in-chief: Philippot. “We’re young and we know we can have perspectives in this party without being a graduate of l’ENA,” said another activist, Olivier Musci, 24. (The elite school Ecole Nationale d’Administration, or ENA, is considered something of a mandatory finishing school for politicians. It counts Francois Hollande and Jacques Chirac among its alumni. Ironically, Philippot is one, too.)

“Florian” likes to say that the FN scores the highest among the young. “Today’s youth have not grown up in a left-right divide”, he told me when I asked why. “The big topics, for them, were Maastricht, 9/11, the Chinese competition, and now Brexit. They have grown up in a political world structured around two poles: globalism versus patriotism.” Notably, half his speech was dedicated to ridiculing the FN's most probably rival, the maverick centrist Emmanuel Macron. “It is a time of the nations. Macron is the opposite of that," Philippot declared. 

At the rally, the blue, red and white flame, the FN’s historic logo, was nowhere to be seen. Even the words “Front National” had deserted the posters, which were instead plastered with “in the name of the people” slogans beneath Marine’s name and large smile. But everyone wears a blue rose at the buttonhole. “It’s the synthesis between the left’s rose and the right’s blue colour”, Pfeiffer said. “The symbol of the impossible becoming possible.” So, neither left nor right? I ask, echoing Macron’s campaign appeal. “Or both left and right”, Pfeiffer answered with a grin.

This nationwide rebranding follows years of efforts to polish the party’s jackass image, forged by decades of xenophobic, racist and anti-Semitic declarations by Le Pen Sr. His daughter evicted him from the party in 2015.

Still, Le Pen’s main pledges revolve around the same issue her father obsessed over - immigration. The resources spent on "dealing with migrants" will, Le Pen promises, be redirected to address the concerns of "the French people". Unemployment, which has been hovering at 10 per cent for years, is very much one of them. Moselle's damaged job market is a booster for the FN - between 10 and 12 per cent of young people are unemployed.

Yet the two phenomena cannot always rationally be linked. The female FN supporters I met candidly admitted they drove from France to Luxembourg every day for work and, like many locals, often went shopping in Germany. Yet they hoped to see the candidate of “Frexit” enter the Elysee palace in May. “We've never had problems to work in Luxembourg. Why would that change?” asked Bertrand. (Le Pen's “144 campaign pledges” promise frontier workers “special measures” to cross the border once out of the Schengen area, which sounds very much like the concept of the Schengen area itself.)

Grégoire Laloux, 21, studied history at the University of Metz. He didn't believe in the European Union. “Countries have their own interests. There are people, but no European people,” he said. “Marine is different because she defends patriotism, sovereignty, French greatness and French history.” He compared Le Pen to Richelieu, the cardinal who made Louis XIV's absolute monarchy possible:  “She, too, wants to build a modern state.”

French populists are quick to link the country's current problems to immigration, and these FN supporters were no exception. “With 7m poor and unemployed, we can't accept all the world's misery,” Olivier Musci, 24, a grandchild of Polish and Italian immigrants, told me. “Those we welcome must serve the country and be proud to be here.”

Lola echoed this call for more assimilation. “At our shopping centre, everyone speaks Arabic now," she said. "People have spat on us, thrown pebbles at us because we're lesbians. But I'm in my country and I have the right to do what I want.” When I asked if the people who attacked them were migrants, she was not so sure. “Let's say, they weren't white.”

Trump promised to “Make America Great Again”. To where would Le Pen's France return? Would it be sovereign again? White again? French again? Ruled by absolutism again? She has blurred enough lines to seduce voters her father never could – the young, the gay, the left-wingers. At the end of his speech, under the rebranded banners, Philippot invited the audience to sing La Marseillaise with him. And in one voice they did: “To arms citizens! Form your battalions! March, march, let impure blood, water our furrows...” The song is the same as the one I knew growing up. But it seemed to me, this time, a more sinister tune.