Education reform: Raising the floor or raising the ceiling?

“Wealthy parents choose [private schools] for their children, at least in part, as a risk-management strategy. If you look at the list of successful [private school] alumni, you’ll see some impressive names on it … but for a school that has been producing highly-privileged graduates for many years, it boasts very few world changers. Traditionally, the purpose of [a private school] is not to raise the ceiling on a child’s potential achievement in life but to raise the floor, to give him the kinds of connections and credentials that will make it very hard for him ever to fall out of the upper class. What [a private school] offers parents, above all else, is a high probability of non-failure.”

I found this quote while reading Paul Tough’s book How Children Succeed: Grit, Curiosity, and the Hidden Power of Character. It’s one of those books parents, teachers, youth workers should read because it demands questions and reflection about the work we do with young people. More importantly, it looks at how we understand the process of learning within a context obsessed with outcomes, no matter how successful those outcomes might be. I’ve been reflecting about my almost three years in the classroom at a public school while thinking about transitioning to another school in a few months. The quote above describes the taken for granted approach we have towards education: for those who are privileged, education is about maintaining that privilege — “raising the floor” — and for those who are not as privileged the hope is that education will be the tool they use to change their fortunes (and yes, “raising the ceiling” is central to this process).

Earlier this year I became concerned about the assumptions held at my school about the kind of children we teach. A bit of context: I teach at a “project school”, which was established in 2011. The idea was that a high quality education would be given to a mostly previously disadvantaged (black and coloured) student body. The high quality education is made possible through a partnership with an already established and successful school established just over 60 years ago. It’s important to note the geography of our school: it’s neatly tucked away in Cape Town’s “southern suburbs” and most of our students do not live in the area. Many have to travel as long as two hours by public transport to get to school on time (the day starts at 8am). These are the kind of demands made on our students to get a quality education: wake up very early and get home very late and in between, have a very demanding academic regiment.

The neighbouring schools are some of the most privileged schools in the country where students live in the same community as their school. The school neatly mirrors their middle-class values at home. Chances are their parents may have gone to the same or similar school during apartheid. As the quote above explains, our neighbouring schools are there to give students “the kinds of connections and credentials that will make it very hard for [them] ever to fall out of the upper class”.

There’s nothing wrong with these distinctions per se because it is old news that education is central to the class project we are all a part of: we must educate the masses out of their poverty.

What has been interesting for me in these three years are the messages we send many of our students about their positionality as previously disadvantaged students receiving a quality education. The unintended consequence has been that we (the staff) have all adopted a discourse that implies our students are special because they’re receiving a good quality education; that they should be very grateful for the education they receive because it is not the norm for previously disadvantaged students.

This discourse has often made me uncomfortable because as someone who went to a very privileged school, the discourse I was exposed to suggested that a quality education is the norm; it is what we should expect (to illustrate this further; I went to a school where closer to matric the question was “which university are you going to?” as opposed to “are you going to university next year?” or “what are you doing next year?” It was assumed that we had all received the kind of education that meant tertiary education was accessible, even though financial accessibility was questionable for some students).

Even though I came from a poor family, I was never made to feel special or exceptional because I was getting a quality education because being in a school designed to raise the floor for middle-class kids meant that a quality education was the most obvious thing to have. Perhaps I’m being naïve and possibly nostalgic about the complex education I received so I’m still thinking through this difference because what it’s saying is that wealthy kids deserve a good education while poorer kids have to earn a good education and they are therefore constantly reminded of the effort they have to put into their education because stakes are high. Is this a fair distinction? Will it bring us closer to the kind of education reform we need?

When we talk about “quality education” we mean the kind of education children in private and suburban schools receive. This is a very myopic view of education yet we fall into the trap every single day. It has implications for how we choose to understand the history of education in this country. There isn’t any innate quality in the way education is given at a privileged school. It’s largely a result of the class system created during apartheid (and perhaps even before that when formal education came in the form of colonialism) and largely maintained post-1994.

The classed society we have inherited means we are all nervous about education outcomes. The class conversation finds its way into my teaching all the time because my students are very aware of the education project they’re a part of. Watching them navigate not only their teenage lives, but also how they carry the anxiety about class mobility has made me question the role of education and poverty eradication even more.

The awareness of the kind of education children receive because they happen to have been born into the right family and community highlights how complex reform is. It’s as if we have to fight fate in order to change inequality. I’m beginning to doubt the power of education as a tool to eradicate inequality. As it stands, it exacerbates it and the sooner we recognise that, the sooner we can think of other ideas to fight inequality.