Power and Responsibility in Education (Educational Dilemmas, Vol 3)

Educational Dilemmas: Debate and Diversity Volume Three: Power and Responsibility in Education

Edited by Keith Watson, Celia Modgil, Sohan Modgil CASSELL

Educational Dilemmas: Debate and Diversity Volume Three

Educational Dilemmas: Debate and Diversity Volume One: Teachers, Teacher Education and Training Volume Two: Reforms in Higher Education Volume Three: Power and Responsibility in Education Volume Four: Quality in Education

Educational Dilemmas: Debate and Diversity

Volume Three

Power and Responsibility in Educationn Edited by Keith Watson, Celia Modgil and Sohan Modgil

CASSELL

Cassell Wellington House 125 Strand London WC2R OBB

PO Box 605 Herndon VA 20172

© Keith Watson, Celia Modgil, Sohan Modgil and the contributors 1997 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical including photocopying, recording or any information storage or retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publishers. First published 1997 British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. ISBN 0-304-32891-X Typeset by York House Typographic Ltd, London Printed and bound in Great Britain by The Bath Press

vi Contents

John Tomlinson Responds to Mike Wallace 15 Markets or Democracy for Education Stewart Hanson Markets or Democracy for Education? A Reply to Stewart Ranson by James Tooley Public Institutions for Co-operative Action: A Reply to James Tooley by Stewart Ranson 16 Co-operation without Deliberation: The Market Solution James Tooley

Part Five: Separate School Provision 156 158

171

180 185

Part Four: The Control of the Curriculum 17 Curriculum Control and Responsibility: An International Perspective Michael Crossley and Roger Garrett 18 Multicultural Curriculum Planning as a Political Activity R. Murray Thomas 19 Divergent and Convergent Trends in Multicultural Education in Russia and its Neighbouring Countries Wolfgang Mitter 20 Is the National Curriculum an Exercise in De-skilling? A Critique of UK Curriculum Development in Relation to Future Needs Paul Ganderton

197

209

221

21 New Christian Schools: A Question of Balance Geoffrey Walford 22 'Opting In' Under the 1993 Education Act: A Case-study Ruth Deakin Geoffrey Walford Responds to Ruth Deakin Ruth Deakin Responds to Geoffrey Walford 23 Alternative Christian Schooling: The Historical and Contemporary Context of the Australian Experience Ian Lambert 24 Alternative Christian Schooling: A Search for Meaning Brian V. Hill

247

254

264 266

268

280

Part Six: School Leadership 25 School Autonomy in the Light of Controversial Views: A Comparative Approach with Special Regard to Pedagogical and Curricular Issues in the European Context Wolfgang Mitter 26 The Case for Leaderless Schools Lynn Davies 27 The Case for School Leadership Brian Fidler

291 304 316

229 Name Index Subject Index

327 334

Acknowledgements

The editors wish to acknowledge that certain sections of Jon Lauglo's chapter (Chapter 1) overlap in a summary form with his article 'Forms of decentralization and their implications for education' which appeared in Comparative Education 31(1), 1995. These summaries are printed here with the kind permission of Carfax Publishers. Chapter 14 and the following replies, which form part of the debate between James Tooley and Stewart Ranson, also appeared in the British Journal of Educational Studies, XXXXI(4), December 1993 and XXXXIII(l), March 1995. These papers are published with kind permission from Black-

well Publishers. The editors also wish to express their gratitude to the following people who have made these volumes move from an idea to a reality: to Naomi Roth for her unstinting support and encouragement; to all the contributors who have joined into the spirit of this venture; to the copy-editors who have worked so hard and speedily; and, above all, to Margaret King for all her labours in typing and sifting through scripts, for her good humour in times of frustration and for her work in compiling a database for these volumes.

Abbreviations and Acronyms

AACS AARE AAU ABE ACE ACEP ACSI AEC

AI ALBSU

ANC APEL APPEP

APU ASQC AT

BD

BEMAS BERA CAI CARE CATS CBI

Australian Association of Christian Schools Australian Association for Research in Education Academic Audit Unit adult basic education Accelerated Christian Education Australian Co-operative Assessment Programme Association of Christian Schools International Australian Education Council annual inspection Adult Literacy and Basic Skills Unit African National Congress accreditation of prior learning from experience Andhra Pradesh Primary Education Project Assessment of Performance Unit American Society for Quality Control Attainment Targets [UK national curriculum! Education Committee of the Board of Deputies of British Jews British Education Management and Administration Society British Educational Research Association computer-aided instruction Christian Action Research and Education credit accumulation and transfer system Confederation of British Industry

CCS CEC GEE CES CFBT CIS CLEA CNAA COSC COTU CPCS CPD CPS CSAQ CSC CSI CSS CST CTC CVCP DAC DAE DES DFE DNE

Christian Community Schools Commission of the European Communities Citizens for Excellence in Education [USA] Centre for Educational Sociology Centre for British Teachers Commonwealth of Independent States Council of Local Educational Authorities Council for National Academic Awards Cambridge Overseas School Certificate Central Organization of Trade Unions Christian Parent-controlled Schools [Australia] continuing professional development Centre for Policy Studies Christian Schools Association of Queensland Christian Schools Campaign [UK] Christian Schools International Commonwealth of Soviet States Christian Schools' Trust city technology college(s) Committee of Vice-Chancellors and Principals Development Assistance Committee Development of African Education Department of Education and Science Department for Education Department of National Education

Abbreviations and Acronyms ix

EDSAC

EHE EP EPF EQUIP ERA ERASMUS

ERIC ERS ESOL ETUC

EurECA FAS FE FERC FEU

FHE GCE GCSE GDP GNP EE HEFCE

HEI HEQC HMI HMSO

HoC IAEA ICVA IDA

Education Sector Adjustment Credit Enterprise in Higher Education educational psychologist education production function education quality improvement programme Education Reform Act European Community Action Scheme for Mobility of University Students Educational Resources Information Center (USA) Education Renewal Strategy English as a second or other Ianguage European Trade Union Council European Educators' Christian Association Funding Agency for Schools [UK] further education Further Education Funding Council Further Education Unit Further and Higher Education General Certificate of Education General Certificate of Secondary Education gross domestic product gross national product higher education Higher Education Funding Council of England higher education institute Higher Education Quality Council Her Majesty's Inspectors/ Inspectorate Her Majesty's Stationery Office [UK] House of Commons International Association for Educational Assessment International Council of Voluntary Agencies International Development Assistance

IEA

IFM IIEP IIP ILEA ILO IMF INSEE INSET IPET IPPR IQE ISR IT ITE IWGE JEDT JFS JICA KAL KELT LEA LING LMS MDI MIT MNC MORI

NACE NAHT NC

International Association for the Evaluation of Educational Achievement international faculty mobility International Institute for Educational Planning Investors in People Inner London Education Authority International Labour Organization International Monetary Fund Institut National de la Statistique et des Etudes Economiques in-service training Implementation Plan for Education and Training Institute for Public Policy Research ideal quality of education Institute for Social Research information technology initial teacher education International Working Group on Education Jewish Educational Development Trust Jewish Free Schools Japan International Co-operation Agency knowledge about language Key English Language Teaching (Programme) local education authority Language in the National Curriculum local management of schools measure-driven instruction Massachusetts Institute of Technology multinational corporation Market and Opinion Research International National Association of Christian Educators [USA] National Association of Head Teachers National Curriculum

X

NCC NCE NECC NEPI NESIC NETCC NFER NGO NIER NQA/NQT NSW NTA NUT NVQ NZDE ODA

ODI OECD OFSTED OISE PGCE PRP PSLC PSSC PTA QAD ROD RE/I SACRE SAT

National Curriculum Council National Commission on Education National Education Coordinating Committee National Education Policy Investigation National Education Standards and Improvement Council National Education and Training Coordinating Council National Foundation for Education Research non-governmental organization National Institution for Educational Research newly qualified teacher New South Wales [Australia] non-teaching assistant National Union of Teachers National Vocational Qualification New Zealand Education Department Official Development Assistance [Japan]; Overseas Development Administration [UK] Overseas Development Institute Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development Office for Standards in Education Ontario Institute for Studies in Education Post-Graduate Certificate of Education performance-related pay Primary School Leaving Certificate Physical Science Study Committee Parent-Teacher Association Quality Assessment Division Research, Development and Diffusion religious education/instruction Standing Advisory Council for Religious Education Standard Assessment Test

SBCD SCAA SCE SCERT SCS SEN SENCO SLD SMT SNO SoA SOED SSCEP

SYPS TA TAPE TEC TGAT TQA TSC TVEI UDACE UFC ULIE UN UNDP UNESCO

UNICEF UPE UWC

school-based curriculum development School Curriculum and Assessment Authority School Certificate of Education [Scotland] State Council for Educational Research and Training Society of Christian Schools [British Columbia, Canada] special educational needs special needs co-ordinator severe learning difficulties Senior Management Team supranational organization Statements of Attainment Scottish Office Education Department Secondary Schools Community Extension Project [in Papua New Guinea] Strathclyde Young People's Survey teacher assessment technical and further education Training and Enterprise Council Task Group on Assessment and Training Teacher Quality Assessment Teachers Service Commission Technical and Vocational Education Initiative Unit for the Development of Adult Continuing Education Universities Funding Council University of London Institute of Education United Nations United Nations Development Programme United Nations Educational, Scientific, and Cultural Organization United Nations (International) Children's (Emergency) Fund universal primary education University of the Western Cape

C ContributorsS

David Atchoarena is a Programme Specialist in the International Institute for Educational Planning (UNESCO). He holds a doctorate in economics from the University of Paris - Sorbonne. He has produced several publications on educational planning in small countries and on technical and vocational education and training. He participates in the HEP training and research programmes in the area of human resources development. Michael Crossley is a senior lecturer in the Centre for International Studies in Education at the University of Bristol and was previously Associate Dean (Planning) in the Faculty of Education at the University of Papua New Guinea. Dr Crossley has taught in England and Australia and was editor of the Papua New Guinea Journal of Education from 1985 to 1990. He is currently a member of the Editorial Board for Comparative Education, an executive editor for the International Journal of Educational Development, and is a founding series editor for the Bristol Papers in Education. Current research includes methodological work on the potential of qualitative research in developing countries, and collaborative case-studies of changes in the quality of education in primary schools in Belize, Central America. Lynn Davies is Professor of International Education and Co-director of the International Unit of the School of Education, University of Birmingham. She also job-shares coordination of the Faculty Graduate School. She has lived and worked in Mauritius and Malaysia and has researched education in various parts of Africa and Asia. Particular academic interests are in school management in developing countries; gender and management; and democratic school organization. Recent books are Beyond Authoritarian School Management:

The Challenge for Transparency (Education Now) and Study Skills in Teacher Training (Macmillan) Ruth Deakin was headteacher of Oak Hill School, 1984-92, and Principal until 1994. She obtained a Master's degree in education in 1994 at Bristol University and has continued to study full time for a PhD, with an Economic and Social Research Council Scholarship. Her field of research is Education Policy, particularly looking at the role of beliefs and values and the grant-maintained status policy. Tony Edwards is Professor of Education at the University of Newcastle upon Tyne. His recent research has included, in collaboration with Professor Geoff Whitty, an evaluation of the effects of the Assisted Places Scheme (reported in The State and Private Education, Palmer Press, 1989), and a study of city technology colleges (reported in Choice and Specialisation in Urban Education, Routledge, 1993). He chairs the governing body of a Northumberland comprehensive school. Brian Fidler teaches and researches at the University of Reading. He is senior lecturer and course leader for the MSc Managing School Improvement, and editor and author of a number of books on school management. His latest book is Strategic Planning for School Improvement. He is editor of School Organisation, the international journal specializing in school management and school development. He is also treasurer of the British Educational Management and Administration Society. Paul Ganderton is Head of the Environmental Studies Department and Information Technology

xii

Contributors

at Queen Mary's Sixth Form College in Basingstoke UK. He has a doctorate in environmental planning and a Master's degree in educational management. He has written in the areas of geography, environmental planning and educational management. He has been involved as an exchange teacher in Australia. He also examines for the Cambridge Examinations Board. Roger Garrett started his teaching career in Colombia, South America, where he spent five years as a head of science and deputy headteacher. While teaching in the UK, as head of science, he undertook research for his MA and PhD. He has been a lecturer at the University of Bristol since 1979 and is currently Director of the Centre for International Studies in Education. His main research interests are problem-solving in maths and science and the effectiveness of aid for development. Brian Garvey was educated at Oxford and London Universities. After school teaching in England and Zambia and taking a PhD at London School of Oriental and African Studies, he worked on the staff of the University of Zambia for six years. Since 1979 he has lectured in educational administration at the School of Education and the Centre for Development Studies of the University of Leeds and has worked as an educational management consultant in three continents for UNESCO, UNDP, the British Council, the Overseas Development Administration and the World Bank. Brian V. Hill has been Foundation Professor of Education at Murdoch University since 1974. Born in Perth, Western Australia in 1934, he was formerly a high school teacher in Western Australia, ISCF Travelling Secretary in New South Wales, lecturer at the University of Western Australia, and senior lecturer in the University of Wollongong. He is the author of numerous books over 200 academic articles and chapters. Current research interests include the quest for a values consensus to guide community schooling. Roger Iredale is currently Professor of International Education and Dean of the Faculty of Educa-

tion at the University of Manchester. Prior to that he was Chief Education Adviser for the British Government's Overseas Development Administration. He has also taught in Algeria and India. He has written widely on Britain's aid programme and in his spare time writes poetry for which he has won several prizes. Henry Kaluba is Chief Programme Officer (TMS) in the Education Department of the Commonwealth Secretariat. Prior to joining the secretariat he was Assistant Dean (Postgraduate Studies) at the School of Education, University of Zambia. During his tenure at the University of Zambia, 1980-93, he was involved in consultancy work for the government and international supporting (donor) agencies. Among the major assignments undertaken include: Pre-Project Studies for GRZ/ World Bank (1992); evaluation of the Self-Help Action Plan in Education (SHAPE) in Zambia for SIDA (1993); the impact of the economic crisis in Mozambique and Zambia on basic education for SIDA (1987). Main interests are foreign aid policies to education and training in developing countries; and improving the quality to teacher management in Africa. Kenneth King is Professor of Comparative and International Education and Director of the Centre for African Studies at the University of Edinburgh. He is a former Chairman of the British Comparative and International Education Society and is current editor of NORRAG News, the newsletter of the Northern Research and Advisory Group. He is author of The African Artisan, Aid and Education and numerous books and papers on aid, international education and networking. Ian Lambert holds an MA in twentieth-century literature from the University of London and a PhD from Cambridge University Faculty of Education. His doctoral studies at Cambridge were concerned with an investigation of the new Christian schools' movement in Britain. He is currently a Lecturer in Education at the National Institute for Christian Education, PO Box 78, Doonside, Sydney, Australia, 2767. His current research focuses

Contributors xiii

on parent and community learning partnerships in secondary education. Jon Lauglo is Professor of Sociology, Department of Sociology and Political Science, The Norwegian University of Science and Technology, 7055 Dragvoll, Norway; and a Consultant Fellow of the International Institute of Educational Planning in Paris. He is also a research associate at the Norwegian Centre for Youth Research, Oslo. His publications in recent years have been on comparative studies of decentralization policies, vocational training, the role of educational research for policy-making and on the historical role of populism in shaping Norwegian education. Correspondence: Dalsveien 53, 0387 Oslo, Norway. Fiona Leach is a senior lecturer in international education at the University of Sussex. She has worked extensively in Africa on British aid projects in education and completed a doctorate at Sussex University in 1990 on the subject of 'Counterpart Relationships on Technical Cooperation Projects'. She has written numerous publications on the subject of development projects. Her current professional and academic interests are: international aid, including alternatives to official donor assistance to education; project management and implementation; the cross-cultural transfer of knowledge and skills; gender, education and development; women and the labour market. Noel F. McGinn is a Professor in the Graduate School of Education and Fellow of the Institute for International Development of Harvard University. For a number of years he has worked with ministries of education in developing countries on policies to improve management and planning. He is the author of Framing Questions, Constructing Answers: Linking Research with Education Policy for Developing Countries. Wolfgang Mitter was educated at the University of Mainz and the Free University of Berlin. He taught at a secondary school until 1964, when he became Professor at the Liineburg College of Education. In 1972 he was appointed head of the department of

General and Comparative Education at the German Institute for International Educational Research at Frankfurt am Main. He has also served as director of this institute for twelve years, and he has taught comparative education at the University of Frankfurt since 1974. Sohan and Celia Modgil studied at the Universities of Durham, Newcastle, Manchester, Surrey and London (King's College and the Institute of Education). In addition, Sohan Modgil spent a period of time at the University of Geneva. They have written, edited and co-edited books on Piaget, Kohlberg, Eysenck, Jensen, Chomsky, and Skinner; on controversial sociologists such as Giddens, Goldthorpe and Merton; and in the fields of multicultural education, cultural diversity and education and development. Celia Modgil has served as Head of Initial Teacher Education as well as Deputy Head of the Department of Educational Studies at Goldsmiths College, University of London. Sohan Modgil is Reader in Educational Research and Development at the University of Brighton. Stewart Ranson is Professor of Education in the School of Education at the University of Birmingham. Before his appointment in 1989 he spent 15 years at the Institute of Local Government Studies in the same university. The focus of his work has been on the changing government, politics and management of education. Early research interests included relations between central and local government and the politics of reorganizing schools in response to demographic change. Recent studies have included parent participation and curriculum development on 'the birth of democracy'. Currently, he is directing a major UK-wide project on learning in contexts of disadvantage as part of ESRC's Local Governance Initiative. Publications include The Learning Society; Management for the Public Domain (with John Stewart); The Role of Local Government in Education; The Politics of Reorganising Schools; The Changing Government of Education and School Cooperation: New Forms of Local Governance (both with John Tomlinson); Democracy Then and Now (with John Lloyd and Jon Nixon).

xiv

Contributors

Raymond Ryba is Senior Research Fellow in Education at the University of Manchester and a former Dean of its Faculty of Education. He is the current Secretary General of the World Council of Comparative Education Societies, and, among other relevant functions he has been Chairman of the British Comparative and International Education Society and President of the Association Francophone d'Education Compared. He has written and researched widely in the fields of Comparative Education, European Education and Economic Education over the past 25 years and his related publications include several books and a large number of papers. He has also directed a number of major related national and international research and development programmes, including work carried out on behalf of UNESCO, the European Commission and the Council of Europe, which have also been concerned with these themes. In 1989, he was invited to set up and direct the European Commission's European Dimension in Education Unit. Currently, he is coordinating, on behalf of the Council of Europe, a major curriculum development programme related to the Council's 'Secondary Education for Europe' Programme. Yusuf Sayed is a senior lecturer in the Faculty of Education at the University of the Western Cape, South Africa. He has recently completed a PhD at the University of Bristol. His research interests include education policy and educational management. He was the convenor and one of the cowriters of the Governance and Administration report produced by NEPI (National Education Policy Investigation). Ronald G. Sultana is a senior lecturer in sociology of education in the Departments of Foundations in Education and of Sociology at the University of Malta. He is the founder and co-ordinator of the University's Comparative Education Programme, and represents the Mediterranean region as a member of the international board of editors of such journals as Qualitative Studies in Education, International Journal of Educational Development and Teaching in Higher Education. He is the author of over 40 scholarly articles published in

international journals and of a book entitled Education and National Development (1992). He has edited Themes in Education: A Maltese Reader (1991); Parents and Teachers for a Better Education (1994) and co-edited Maltese Society: A Sociological Inquiry (1994). He is currently directing two major research projects, one entitled 'Malta and Schooling in Modern Europe', the other 'Class, Status and Power in Malta'. R. Murray Thomas retired in 1991 from the University of California, Santa Barbara, where he had served for 30 years as an educational psychologist and Director of the program in international education. He is the co-author of Political Style and Education Law in Indonesia (1980) and What Wrongdoers Deserve (1993). He edited Politics and Education: Cases from 11 Nations (1983), International Comparative Education (1990), and Education's Role in National Development Plans (1992). John Tomlinson is Professor of Education and Director of the Institute of Education in the University of Warwick. He previously was the Chairman of the Schools Council and Vice-Director of Education for Cheshire. He has sat on numerous government committees and advisory boards, and has been Chairman of the Universities Council for the Education of Teachers (UCET). He is the author of The Control of Education and has written widely about the changes in teacher education. James Tooley is a Research Fellow at the Centre for Social Ethics and Policy, University of Manchester and Director of the Education and Training Unit at the Institute of Economic Affairs, London. His PhD was in philosophy of education from the Institute of Education, University of London. He is the author of Disestablishing the School (1995) and Education without the State (1996). He is the Conference Organizer and ex officio member of the executive of the Philosophy of Education Society of Great Britain. Before moving into educational research, he was a secondary school mathematics teacher in Zimbabwe and London.

Contributors xv

Geoffrey Walford is a Fellow of Green College, University of Oxford, and University Lecturer in Educational Studies (Sociology). He was previously senior lecturer in sociology and education policy at Aston University. His recent books include: Privatization and Privilege in Education (Routledge, 1990), City Technology College (Open University Press, 1991, with Henry Miller), Choice and Equity in Education (Cassell, 1994) and, as editor, Researching the Powerful in Education (ICL Press, 1994).

ing where he is also Director of the Centre for International Studies in Education Management and Training. After serving with the British Council in several countries, he moved to Reading in the mid-1970s. He is author of Educational Development in Thailand and Education in the Third World and has numerous other books and papers to his name. He is currently Editor-in-Chief of the International Journal of Educational Development.

Mike Wallace is Professsor of Educational Management and Policy at the University of Wales, Cardiff. He has explored the management of multiple innovations at school level, planning for change in multiracial primary schools, the role of the senior management team in secondary schools and the role of the mass media in the education policy process. He is currently investigating the emergence of management teams in large primary schools and the management of large-scale initiatives to reorganize schooling.

Associate Professor Clive Whitehead was born in the United Kingdom in 1939 but educated mainly in New Zealand. He is a graduate of the University of Canterbury where he completed Master's degrees in history and education, and of the University of Otago where he completed his PhD and taught for six years. Prior to university teaching he taught in secondary schools in New Zealand and the United Kingdom for nine years. He has taught at the University of Western Australia since 1976. His principal research interests include British education policy in India and the Colonial Empire and contemporary educational planning and administration.

Keith Watson is Professor of Comparative and International Education at the University of Read-

The Control of Education: Where Does Power Lie?

KEITH WATSON, CELIA MODGIL AND SOHAN MODGIL The present volume is one of a series of four which look at the educational dilemmas that face governments, professional educators and practising administrators in the light of debates, disagreements and diverse opinions regarding many current educational issues and reforms. As far as possible examples and contributors give an international flavour to the debates. The idea for the series began some years ago but to bring it to fruition has taken some considerable time. In many countries of the world there have been, and still are, rapid and fundamental changes in society, the economy and education, both in terms of purpose as well as in terms of shape and delivery. Many of the problems faced by individual countries have resulted from global economic pressures and changes, often originating from the policies of multinational corporations and international agencies (lion, 1994; Kennedy, 1993; McGinn, 1994; Watson, 1995). Many of the educational solutions to perceived local problems are often remarkably similar either in terminology or in effect (see for example Turner, 1993; UNESCO, 1993; World Bank, 1994, 1995). As a result governments throughout the world are faced with a series of educational dilemmas resulting from these pressures and changes. A few of these can be illustrated as follows: how to exert greater government control while at the same time allowing for local autonomy at institutional level and allowing for the individual development of pupils within the school system; how to spread the burden of finance for an ever expanding and changing system within increasing resource constraints (in the richer countries the emphasis is

on diversification and training, in the poorer countries it is still on meeting the demand); how to maintain political unity in the face of growing ethnic and cultural diversity; how to reform the curriculum and assessment procedures while at the same time raising academic standards; how to improve the management and efficiency of education through greater parental and community involvement in the decision-making process. During the past few years the British government has, as one example, introduced a number of apparently very radical proposals for educational reform restructuring examinations, changing the balance of control between the central government, local government and the community, industrial involvement in the running of schools, new ways of financing schools and universities, the autonomous management of institutions, etc. These culminated in the Education Reform Act 1988. Many of the reforms have aroused strong opposition and heated debate. Yet how far these reforms are radical, and how far they are part of an ongoing international debate about resolving crucial education dilemmas has never been adequately addressed. It is interesting to note that the British government used comparative educational studies to justify loans at higher education and the introduction of a common curriculum at school level, but it has chosen to ignore other lessons that could be learnt from comparative studies especially in the area of teacher training. The levy of an education tax on industry to pay for technical education, as for example happens in France and Sweden; the accountability of locally elected school boards, as happens in the USA and Canada; community fi-

The Control of Education: Where Does Power Lie? xvii

nance for all post-primary schooling, now being developed in many Commonwealth countries, are all other examples of where ideas could be borrowed and lessons learnt from comparative studies. Ironically the British government could have strengthened its arguments from such data. Equally surprising has been the reluctance to recognize the likely effects of a free European market on educational provision, especially in areas of the National Curriculum. Yet Britain is not alone in seeking to improve the quality of educational provision by reforming nearly every aspect of the education system from parental involvement on governing bodies to the reform of higher education, from an emphasis on technical and vocational studies to the restructuring of teacher education. It is frequently argued that these policies have come about as a result of the influence of the Radical Right, e.g. Chitty (1989), Flude and Hammer (1990), but many of the current changes are not unique to this country. Japan is looking afresh at its teacher education, the role of parents in school and the place of testing and assessment. For some years France has been seeking to devolve greater power to headteachers in schools while at the same time it has been modifying its national curriculum. In the USA not only has there been a growth of 'magnet' schools and private schools, especially among religious groups, but there is growing concern that the push for multicultural education is likely to endanger the unity of the nation. While all the developed countries are concerned about how best to continue financing the ever growing educational industry many Less Developed Countries have already begun experimenting with novel approaches: community finance, fees, loans, 'bonding' and the like. (See, for example, Bray and Lillis, 1988; Watson, 1991). The point is that educational systems throughout the world are either in crisis or in ferment and there is no common agreement about how best to deal with the issues confronting governments and professional educators. These are exciting times and there are many legitimate disagreements and viewpoints. The aim of this series of books, therefore, has been to explore these disagreements and debates in educational circles, as well as the dilemmas

facing many governments and policy-makers from a variety of perspectives, and, wherever possible, incorporating an international and comparative perspective. There are thus single-authored overviews, joint chapters incorporating a general agreement on differing perspectives, joint chapters in the form of a dialogue between differing academic contenders, position chapters leading to critical responses. Where possible the latter approach has been encouraged. The variety of presentations reflects the range of issues and approaches felt to be most appropriate by the different authors. As far as possible the editors have sought to attract an international authorship providing international insights on the educational issues and dilemmas concerned. Interest in the series has been immense and the authorship, already large, could easily have been increased by another 50 per cent. Unfortunately it is a comment on our times that many interested academics simply felt that they did not have the time to contribute because of pressures of work and other commitments. The fact that so many have given of their labours to contribute is both a measure of their interest and enthusiasm and a result of some cajoling from the editors! But for all those who have contributed there is a united sense of gratitude that time has been set aside from already very busy schedules to become involved. The broad areas of these four volumes — teachers and teacher education; the reform of higher education; the control of education; and quality in education - were finally selected by the publishers as being perceived to be the most pertinent educational issues facing many countries during the 1990s. It is to these that we now turn.

Legitimate areas of debate Central to the debate in many countries have been legitimate concerns about the purposes of education. Should education be confined to school and college levels only, or should it involve adults learning throughout life? Should it be a training

xviii Keith Watson, Celia Modgil and Sohan Modgil

for specific employment opportunities, for survival in an increasingly harsh economic climate, or should it, as many of the great educational philosophers have argued over the years (UNESCO, 1994) and as most national statements of educational goals and purposes imply, be for the development of moral, social, intellectual, aesthetic and physical development of the individual, irrespective of his or her station in life? Closely linked with these concerns have been related debates about the content of education. These have ranged around whether or not there should be a common, or core, curriculum, such as have enveloped much educational argument in Australia, England and Wales, and the United States, or whether there should be a nationally prescribed curriculum but with elements of local flexibility. In any case who should have the ultimate say over the content of individual subjects on the curriculum - subject specialists, curriculum planners, teachers, businessmen/industrialists, politicians or parents, or some combination of any or all of these has also proved to be controversial. As several chapters in Volume 4 particularly imply there is considerable disagreement about individual areas of the curriculum. While these debates have ranged from the heated and esoteric to the political and philosophical, by far the majority of the world's nations have neither the inclination nor the financial wherewithal to implement fundamental curriculum changes. Their concerns have focused on issues of quality: quality of provision; quality of teaching; quality in terms of efficient use of scarce resources; the quality of the graduates from the different levels of the system. As several authors in Volume 4 highlight, this interest has spawned a whole new literature appertaining to quality in education, most of the original material emanating from an industrial or business environment. Perhaps this is not surprising since many governments have recognized both the financial costs of a national education system and the need to ensure that costs are kept under control, but also there is a belief that part of the quality issue is the efficient, and effective, use of increasingly limited resources. In a number of countries this has led to moves to decentralize educational administration,

ostensibly on the grounds of increasing parental and community involvement in local decisionmaking as well as participation in the running and administration of schools, but in reality it has been a back door way of encouraging, some would say of forcing, local communities to make a greater financial contribution to the education of their children. This is nowhere truer than in higher education. At the school level, however, it has been assumed that greater financial and administrative responsibility at local, and especially at institutional, level would lead to greater managerial efficiency, improved effectiveness of the process of schooling and ultimately to the improved quality of the whole educational process (Lockheed and Verspoor, 1990). This has certainly been key to the thinking of several Canadian provincial governments as well as that of the British, Czech, Bulgarian and New Zealand governments. Some of these issues, and the fallacies lying behind them, are addressed in Volume 3. For many politicians and educational theorists, however, quality improvement is not measured in terms of administrative reform or institutional management autonomy but in terms of outcomes. As a result assessments, examinations and the place of testing in schools is put under the microscope as a number of chapters in Volume 4 highlight. But it is very clear that, in this area alone, there is considerable scope for professional disagreement and debate. Curriculum control, raising academic standards through administrative and financial reforms and the extension of standardized tests, introducing criteria for a quality audit of both individuals and institutions, are only a few of the educational concerns confronting most governments. For the majority the bottom line is the amount of the national budget that is, or can be made, available for education, where savings can be made and where additional revenue can be raised. One major area is to allow the development of private institutions or even to encourage fee paying in the state sector as encouraged by several World Bank staff (see for example Psacharopoulos, 1990). Probably in no other educational area have the issues of privatization and fee paying been so acutely felt, and so hotly debated, as in higher

The Control of Education: Where Does Power Lie? xix

education (see World Bank, 1994; Buchert and King, 1995). In nearly every country of the world higher education has come under scrutiny during the past few years. New types of institution have been developed, and debates about the place and purpose of higher education, whether as a training ground for specific areas of employment or as a training ground for the intellect alone have been endemic. This is partly because of the rapid expansion of universities and other tertiary level institutions since the 1960s, partly because many graduates are no longer guaranteed employment in the public sector and have found it difficult to obtain meaningful employment for which they believe that their training and experience qualify them. As a result, increasing numbers of students clamour for the next, higher level of education at master's or postgraduate standard. This diploma escalation, and its knock-on effects on employment, has been critiqued elsewhere (Dore, 1976; Oxenham, 1984) but the cost of higher education, compared with that of both primary and secondary levels, especially in Less Developed Countries, and especially in sub-Saharan Africa (Hinchcliffe, 1985; World Bank, 1988) has more gradually been seen as a block on quality improvement because of the withholding of resources for primary education. Attempts at reforming the financial and administrative structures of higher education, government intervention in introducing new managerial techniques and quality audits and the implications of these changes for both academics and administrators are addressed in Volume 2. At the root of every education system, irrespective of level or type of institution, is the teacher. As a body teachers consume between 75 per cent and 95 per cent of the education budget. For each year of service they become more expensive. This principle applies in all societies, rich or poor, capitalist or socialist. The only problem is that in many poor countries neither the government nor the local communities can afford to pay them adequate salaries. In many parts of the world, therefore, there has been, and still is, a fundamental requestioning of the role of the teacher and the place and content of teacher preparation. There are widespread disagreements about both of these broad areas, some of which are addressed in Vol-

ume 1. In the Anglo-Saxon world the debate concerning the teacher's role and status has revolved around that of professionalism. How far is teaching seen as a 'profession' and how far, as a result of government intervention in the way schools are managed and financed, are teachers being deskilled and demotivated? By opening up schools, colleges and universities to market forces and by treating them as business organizations is there not a danger that commercial principles, as opposed to academic ones, become the predominant ethos? And if this happens what effect will it have, or should it have, on teacher preparation? Much of the debate about teacher preparation has revolved around location and content, both in the industrial world and in the developing countries. Should training be prior to a teacher commencing his/her teaching in a school, or should it be in-service while teaching; should it be based firmly in higher or tertiary education, either through specialized teacher training institutions or through university departments of education, or should it predominantly take place in schools, as is being advocated in England and Wales? Should teacher preparation focus on pedagogical training or should there be a considerable input of general education and theory? There is considerable professional disagreement at both a philosophical and a political level over these quite legitimate questions as the debates in Volume 1 highlight, but, as the chapters showing some of the developments in differing countries also indicate, the issues that confront those involved in teacher preparation in the United Kingdom are mirrored elsewhere: teacher preparation is in a state of intellectual ferment. So of course is the whole approach to the provision of education. For decades schooling was regarded as a public service to be funded by the state, with varying degrees of uniformity and cooperation. In many countries this is no longer the case as chapters in Volume 1 and Volume 3 illustrate. Principles of managerialism, market competition, parental choice and consumer (or customer?) rights have seen to that. Schools are being regarded as commercial propositions, business organizations, competing against one another for customers and clients - pupils and parents. No wonder there is such a heated debate; many peo-

xx Keith Watson, Celia Modgil and Sohan Modgil

pie's long-held beliefs and assumptions about education are being forcefully challenged and they feel decidedly uncomfortable as a result. The above paragraphs have only briefly touched upon a few of the debates and controversies that currently affect educational development in many countries of the world. Subsequent paragraphs will highlight the more specific issues raised in the current volume.

The control of education Part One discusses the issues pertaining to the centralization/decentralization debate in the context of administrative control. Jon Lauglo's paper argues the case for disaggregating the notion of'decentralization', and presents a range of types which differ as to their rationale. Under the rubric of 'political' rationales he highlights: Liberalism, Federalism, Populist Localism and Participatory Democracy. Under rationales that mainly concern quality and efficiency, he adds: Pedagogic Professionalism, Management by Objectives, the Market Mechanism and Deconcentration. Lauglo comments on their present importance in international policy debate. He further discusses alternative hypotheses about reasons for the present vogue of decentralization policies: (a) the internationally rising political hegemony of Liberalism; (b) the rise of postmodernist perspectives in philosophy; (c) political expedience related to a claimed 'crisis of legitimacy' of the state; and (d) shortage of resources for education. Noel McGinn argues that overemphasis on decentralization of education systems blinds us to the more fundamental issue of how to integrate disparate and conflicting interests. He suggests that many decentralization schemes weaken the management capacity of education systems, reducing their efficiency and effectiveness. Proponents, McGinn comments, claim decentralization will increase relevance; however, evidence suggests that in satisfying the interests of some groups, education is made less relevant for a larger

proportion. McGinn acknowledges that decentralization may increase participation, but in decisions of lesser importance. He suggests that policy initiatives are required to increase participation in national decisions. Within the context of the period of rapid change in South Africa since the unbanning of the African National Congress and other extra-parliamentary groups, in February 1990, Yusuf Sayed considers issues such as the state, decision-making powers and decentralization. He discusses these issues in accordance with their embodiment in three discussion documents which outline the visions of various political orientations for a post-apartheid education system, namely the Nationalist Party as outlined in their Education Renewal Strategy (ERS) document; the National Education Policy Investigation (NEPI) reports; and the African National Congress (ANC's) Policy Framework for Education and Training. Part Two incorporates discussion of a range of issues directed to Policy and Planning. Clive Whitehead focuses on the role of teachers in educational reforms. He identifies that most reform initiatives have been based on a top-down model and what now seems to be a naive assumption that teachers will act as directed. Whitehead refers to the ways in which teachers have responded to reform programmes in New Zealand, Western Australia and the United Kindom respectively. In New Zealand, attempts were made to persuade rather than coerce teachers to change their basic philosophy. Efforts proved successful in the primary schools but less so at the secondary level. In Western Australia and the United Kingdom topdown directives in the 1980s were greeted with cynicism and outright hostility by many teachers, who sensed that the changes were motivated more by political rather than educational motives. Whitehead elaborates that 'teachers may resist change, as Michael Fullan suggests, because they don't know how to cope with it, but many may equally resist current "band-wagons" because they genuinely do not consider them to be in the long-term interests of children.' Brian Garvey emphasizes that planning, which is one element of the national education service of any developing country, has been both augmented

The Control of Education: Where Does Power Lie? xxi

and influenced for the last three decades by statist philosophies of development, by the domination of administrative rather than' management processes and by practices devised originally to suit the interests of international funding agencies. These influences, he comments, have resulted in a growing divergence between plans and organizational reality at national and local levels and the failure of educational systems to learn the lessons of their past mistakes. Garvey anticipates that the future for national schooling systems would appear to demand more adaptive management and the subordination of plans to the changing exigencies of local circumstances. In similar vein, David Atchoarena reflects that planning was once considered as a key to educational development, but has now suffered from a sharp decline in confidence due to adhesion to deterministic models and a lack of concern for implementation issues. Within a context emphasizing the virtues of the market and proclaiming a limitation to state intervention, Atchoarena identifies that the concept of management has been promoted, as opposed to that of planning. However, he draws attention to new developments in educational planning: within a rapidly changing environment, an evolution in attitude has led to the greater recognition of the complexity of educational systems and to closer attention being paid to the various conditions particular to implementation. Atchoarena elaborates that this adaptation to new circumstances has generated a more open and pragmatic approach, seeking to improve the management of educational development, while taking into account both long-term prospects and objectives. He further comments that innovative planning paradigms now allow for the greater participation of all categories of personnel involved as well as further decentralization and the use of qualitative analysis. He illustrates that this conceptual shift is reflected in the work of the International Institute for Educational Planning (UNESCO) which faces new demands for the consolidation of institutional and professional capabilities through training. These transformations have revealed that planning itself can be a learning process.

Ronald Sultana examines the agenda of the European Union for education. He first of all argues that this agenda is an influential one, and that the EU has access to both direct and indirect mechanisms through which it can intervene in the construction of a specific understanding of education in a uniting Europe. Sultana comments that while this educational agenda has its positive and progressive moments, the overall economic and political ambitions of the EU need to be taken into account in order to grasp more effectively the process through which a utilitarian and technocratic rationality is permeating educational policy-making in Europe. Sultana further argues that in educational analysis generally, there has been little understanding shown that as an economic space or bloc, the aspirations of a Single Market which facilitates the free flow of capital, goods, persons and services represents the offensive of a capitalist class in the face of international competition, mainly from North America and the Pacific Rim. Sultana explores the possible implications of these processes for education. Raymond Ryba takes issue with Ronald Sultana in his rebuttal of the charge that the European Union is bent on shaping the educational agenda of member states. He argues that even though legislation to shape certain aspects of educational provision in member states is in place, the reality is that few European governments have moved to harmonize or Europeanize their school curricula. His main point is that subsidiarity allows for national differences and that for the foreseeable future there is little to indicate that schooling in member countries will become similar. As a result, Ryba maintains, Sultana's claims are unfounded. Fiona Leach focuses on international aid to education and why projects fail. For several decades, the development project has been a popular form of aid disbursement. However, Fiona Leach emphasizes that there is now general recognition among donors that projects have failed to promote development to the extent anticipated, in particular in terms of what is known as 'local capacitybuilding' or 'institution-building'. She suggests that in countries with poor infrastructure and low management capacity, where such support is most

xxii Keith Watson, Celia Modgil and Sohan Modgil

needed, the project tends to generate a set of dynamics and interrelationships which are counterdevelopmental. Leach highlights a number of key project features which contribute to this situation, namely: the co-existence of two opposing 'organizational cultures' (those of the project and the host institution), the imbalance in power between expatriates and local personnel, different levels of commitment between the two sides and different perceptions of the roles and duties of professionals. Leach ends by suggesting the need for fundamental change to the way in which projects are designed and implemented, in particular greater flexibility in project objectives which allows local staff to develop their own model of good management practice, less reliance on long-term expatriate advisers, the incorporation of explicit incentive mechanisms for local staff into the project and a wider involvement of stakeholders at all stages of the project. Roger Iredale's chapter examines the changing place of educational aid, the role of bilateral agencies and the growth of multilateral donor agencies. It also looks at the move away from project aid to support for programmes within the education sector. It highlights some of the ongoing debates in the donor agencies and shows that both donors and recipients are faced with an increasing number of dilemmas. Kenneth King explores the uncertainties about the fundamental objectives of aid in general (and aid to education and training in particular) against the background of globalization and changing North-South relations. Paradoxically, as aidflows in general have fallen, many donors, but particularly the World Bank, have become more sure of their policies for specific sectors, and more determined to leverage their adoption via loans or grants. The World Bank has been very influential in this arena, in respect not only of national governments but also of other development agencies. At first sight Japan would also appear to have been influenced by Bank policy, but a closer analysis reveals that Japan has maintained a fundamentally different attitude towards aid, paying much more attention to culture, ethics and values, and to the avoidance of dependency among recipients than the Bank. King argues that the greatest challenge to

aid agencies, including JICA, will be Africa, and that this will also prove to be a challenge to the present state of North-South policies and politics. Part Three addresses the various pressures for change in education within England and Wales. Tony Edwards argues in his chapter that the more 'open', competitive market being created in English education is likely to work to the detriment of already disadvantaged children. While acknowledging that neither 'individualists' nor 'collectivists' are likely to be converted to the other beliefs by evidence, he considers it important that the effects of extending consumer rights are closely investigated. John Tomlinson looks at the debate surrounding the place and purpose of the educational inspectorate in England and Wales. He examines some of the criticisms surrounding the system of inspection, and how the HMI weathered some of these criticisms during the 1980s, only to have that system replaced by a new one under the Office for Standards in Education. Tomlinson concludes by arguing that HMI may once again emerge as a strong force in maintaining educational standards. It is Mike Wallace's proposal that the mass media in Britain are both an integral part of the process of formulating and implementing education policies and a significant contributor to setting the policy agenda, shaping the content of policies and keeping certain educational issues out of the public eye. Wallace gives consideration to how media professionals constitute an interest group competing with others seeking an impact on education policy, in a context where no interest group has total control but some have greater power than others; how media professionals and other interest groups interact within the policy process; and how the discourse of media output supports the struggle between political ideologies. He suggests that media bias may constitute a conservative influence inhibiting the search for radical alternatives to the present range of education policies. This claim is explained by Wallace as the consequence of the relationship of relative autonomy between the media, education, the state and the economy, leading media professionals to act as

The Control of Education: Where Does Power Lie? xxiii

a 'loose cannon', often critical of politicians and their education policies but also expressing a fundamentally conservative ideology which favours the Conservative Party. Stewart Ranson also critically evaluates the effect of introducing markets into the institutional system of education and promotes the claim of a learning democracy to underpin a richer conception for developing the powers and capacities of all citizens. Following interchanges with Stewart Ranson regarding markets in education, James Tooley concludes the debate with his own chapter, in which he explains why current reforms introduced by, inter alia, the Education Reform Act (1988), do not transform education in the way that markets could; he points to radical alternatives if 'more authentic' markets in educational opportunities are permitted to flourish. Tooley addresses Ranson's interpretation of 'co-operation', suggesting that it precludes him from understanding the way co-operation can occur under market transactions; Tooley suggests that markets could provide cooperative solutions to educational collective action problems. Finally, he points out three shortcomings of democracy, concerning middle-class appropriation of welfare, social choice and public choice theory, and the epistemic argument; each of these, he considers, leads us to look more favourably at market, rather than democratic, solutions to educational problems. Issues concerning the control of the curriculum form Part Four within the context of 'Power and Responsibility in Education'. Michael Crossley and Roger Garrett examine reasons for renewed Western interest in centralized curriculum control, in the light of an analysis of the theoretical strengths and limitations of centralized and school-based curriculum change strategies. They document past and present international trends in this arena, paying particular attention to the dilemmas and dangers of the international transfer of educational policy and practice from developed to developing countries. Reasons for the apparent conflict between contemporary policy trends and research findings are explored, while the nature of the curriculum de-

bate is clarified and its importance highlighted for an international audience. As movements to increase the multicultural content of curricula continue to gain momentum, growing concern is expressed about who decides what that content will be and how those decisions are reached. R. Murray Thomas interprets that concern in political terms - as a struggle among cultural groups to have their interests represented positively in the schools' curriculum offerings. The dilemma that Murray Thomas addresses is reflected in the question: What kinds of information should be gathered to foster our understanding of multicultural curriculum development as a political process? He offers an answer to this in the form of an analytical framework that portrays multicultural curriculum planning as a contest among competing cultural constituencies, their participants, their rationales, and their strategies. Murray Thomas describes each of these four elements in terms of components that influence the success a group may achieve in promoting its interests in the curriculum. The components are illustrated with examples from various parts of the world. The trends in multicultural education in Russia and neighbouring countries are outlined by Wolfgang Mitter. He notes that the collapse of the multinational and multicultural Soviet Union has given way to the emergence of independent states which have inherited the full weight of multiculturalism within their 'new' territories. The need for economic co-operation, endeavours to maintain and/or restore academic relations and growing insight into, at least for the near future, the irreplaceable function of the Russian language as lingua franca, signal recent trends to convergency among both representatives and inhabitants of the CIS. However, Mitter continues, the divergent trends having replaced the Soviet doctrine of 'proletarian internationalism' continue to be dominating factors far beneath the manifest (and, partially, violent) conflicts. Education is particularly confronted with the socio-psychological factor which can be traced back to many comparative examples to be identified in the history of the past two centuries. He gives multifarious evidence that changes of political positions have considerable impacts on people's consciousness. In most

xxiv Keith Watson, Celia Modgil and Sohan Modgil

cases shifts from dominance and vice versa produce feelings of superiority versus inferiority (causing in their turn, compensational reactions). Mitter identifies that in such cases, multiculturalism has to cope with the phenomenon that interethnic relations, attitudes and manifestations are being transformed from 'subjective' to 'objective' forces. Education is, therefore, challenged to identify this phenomenon and transfers it to curricular pedagogic solutions. Paul Ganderton addresses the issue of the adequacy of the UK National Curriculum in relation to future needs. He reflects that a curriculum is as near as we can get to the future because it carries a generation of students into the future. At a time of increasing change Ganderton argues that the curriculum should reflect the needs to change rapidly, i.e. it should be flexible. It is the view of Ganderton that now that it has been in place some years, it is reasonable to ask if the UK National curriculum is such a flexible vehicle for the future. By using textual analysis mediated through a predefined set of parameters, Ganderton argues that the National Curriculum is not 'fit for purpose' and is, essentially, a de-skilling force. Ganderton discusses the implications of this and posits a model for the future. The provision of separate schools for distinct groups of pupils is examined in Part Five. Geoffrey Walford draws attention to the fact that since April 1994 it has been possible for groups of parents or independent sponsors to apply to the Secretary of State for Education and Employment to establish various types of faith-based grantmaintained schools. He considers some of the consequences of this change and the extent to which some of these consequences are desirable within a pluralist democracy. In particular, he considers a number of social and equity issues associated with the balances that need to be established between the rights and responsibilities of the state, of parents and of children. Ruth Deakin focuses on the 'opting in' opportunities created in the 1993 Education Act which further the government's grant-maintained status policy, but also represent an unintended outcome, in that it offers unprecedented opportunities for communities to be empowered to engage in the

provision of education. Deakin speculates that it will increase the range of schools available for families to choose between and offset the worst social inequities of choice within a uniform model of schooling. She comments that the statutory common framework is extensive, and the route towards opting in is formidable. Both of these factors are considered by Deakin to be strong safeguards which will ensure that only those schools which serve the common good can take advantage of this legislation. Attention is drawn by Ian Lambert to an increasing number of independent primary and secondary schools in Australia which have been designed, constituted and operated by Christian parents from a range of denominational backgrounds. The emergence of these alternative Christian schools appears to suggest that, for a variety of reasons, government-sponsored schools and the older wave of church-sponsored schools are not meeting the needs of a number of Christian parents. Lambert seeks to identify and clarify the theoretical and religious motivations, convictions and commitments that have helped to shape these alternative Christian schools in Australia. He further explores some of the major issues concerning such separate religious schools, particularly the more intractable problems where the religious and educational principles that these schools may hold appear to be at odds with those of the liberal tradition. Brian Hill continues Lambert's theme by tracing the antecedents of today's alternative Christian schools in Australia, which go back to the initial settlement in Sydney. As a category of school differing from what have become Catholic parochial, and Catholic and Protestant elite independent schools, the sector has emerged since the Second World War. They constitute, Hill comments, one contemporary Christian answer to the parental question, 'how may I obtain for my child the general educational experiences I am not equipped to provide?'; but neither an appeal to the Bible, nor an assumption that because a school calls itself 'Christian' it will necessarily be educationally superior, is a sufficient answer. Hill considers that such schools vary greatly as to whether they educate or indoctrinate; whether they equip

The Control of Education: Where Does Power Lie? xxv

children to become viable, contributing members in the pluralistic society; whether they cater adequately for individual differences and the child's right to decide how it will live; and whether they are sufficiently accountable, especially to the students. It is also arguable, states Hill, that their proliferation is weakening the Christian witness in the public sector of education. In Part Six, directed to School Leadership, Wolfgang Mitter focuses on school autonomy within Europe. He notes that the monopoly of the modern state, as the power having initiated and controlled the national education systems in most countries of the European continent for three centuries, has been increasingly contested by postulates focused on the concept of 'autonomy'. In this context, 'exceptional cases', in particular Denmark, the Netherlands and the United Kingdom, have gained special interest, which is true of their historical 'antecedents' as well. He considers that when investigating innovative approaches one has to look at the wide range of their socio-political and organizational frameworks. Moreover, 'autonomy' must be discussed in view of its pedagogical and curricular components. Mitter lays emphasis on the essential qualities of the challenge in regard to its contribution to humanizing and democratizing education. However, Mitter is not unaware of its internal contradictions and conflicts which makes him emphasize the relativity of the autonomy concept between local autonomy and regional (national, supranational) responsibility. Lynn Davies' paper uses the vision of a school run without a unitary, permanent headteacher, in order to probe the absolute necessities for leadership. She looks at the research on how headteachers actually spend their day at present, and finds little common ground. Current shifts to stronger leadership/headship are in fact removing ownership of management from the mass of teachers. Feminist critiques of leadership also challenge the contemporary competitive models of captainship and teamwork. Davies proposes alternative models based on collective, rotational styles of management and then examines four dimensions of 'good governance'. For a deliberately headless school Davies concludes that there would be is-

sues to be resolved in terms of legitimacy and accountability, but gains to be made in terms of human rights and administrative competence. In contrast to the previous chapter, Brian Fidler argues the case for recognizing the importance of the leadership of the headteacher. Alternative forms of running schools are judged to be ineffective. He stresses the importance of both good leadership and good management. The difficulty of judging leadership is acknowledged and, he argues, the style of leadership needs to be contingent on the leader, the followers and the context. Leaders need to study and develop their leadership activities for them to be fully effective. Fidler introduces four current frameworks for leadership - structural, human relations, political and symbolic. The complexity of leading a professionally staffed organization such as a school is considered by Fidler, who in particular diagnoses the need for a framework for curricular leadership.

References Bray, M. and Lillis, K. (eds) (1988) Community Financing of Education: Issues and Policy Implications in Less Developed Countries. Oxford: Pergamon Press. Buchert, L. and King, K. (eds) (1995) Learning from Experience: Policy and Practice in and to Higher Education. The Hague: CESO. Paperback No. 24. Chitty, C. (1989) Towards a New Education System: The Victory of the New Right? London: Palmer Press. Dore, R. (1976) The Diploma Disease. London: Allen and Unwin. Flude, M. and Hammer, M. (eds) (1990) The Education Reform Act 1988; Its Origins and Implications. London: Palmer Press. Hinchcliffe, K. (1985) Higher Education in Sub-Saharan Africa. Washington, DC: World Bank. lion, L. (1994) Structural adjustment and education: adapting to a growing global market. International Journal of Educational Development, 14(2), 95-108. Kennedy, R. (1993) Preparing for the Twenty-First Century. New York: HarperCollins. Lockheed, M. and Verspoor, A. (1990) Improving the Quality of Primary Education in Developing Countries. Washington, DC: World Bank.

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McGinn, N. (1994) The impact of supranational organisations on public education. International Journal of EduationalDevelopment, 14(3), 289-98. Oxenham, J. (1984) Education v. Qualifications. London: Allen and Unwin. Psacharopoulos, G. (1990) Priorities in the financing of education. International Journal of Educational Development, 10(2), 157-62. Turner, J. (ed.) (1993) The Reform of Education to Meet Local and National Needs. University of Manchester. 347-68. UNESCO (1993) World Education Report 1993. Paris: UNESCO. UNESCO (1994) Thinkers on Education. 4 vols edited by Zaghoul Morsy. Prospects, XXIV, 85/86, 87/88,

89/90, 91/92. Watson, K. (1991) Alternative funding of education systems: some lessons from Third World experiments. Oxfordd Studies in Comparative Education, 1, 13-146. Watson, K. (1995) Educational provision for the 21st century: who or what is shaping the agenda and influencing developments? Southern African Review of Education, 1(1), 1-16. World Bank (1988) Education in Sub-Saharan Africa. Washington, DC: World Bank. World Bank (1994) Higher Education: The Lessons of Experience. Washington, DC: World Bank. World Bank (1995) Priorities and Strategies for Education. Washington, DC: World Bank.

Part One Administrative Control The Centralization/ Decentralization Debate

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1

Assessing the Present Importance of Different Forms of Decentralization in Education

JONLAUGLO Decentralization in education means a shift in the authority distribution away from the central 'top' agency in the hierarchy of authority. It can also refer to the state of being decentralized - though 'decentralism' would be a more appropriate term for that condition. Different forms of decentralization are diverse in their justifications and in what they imply for the distribution of authority. Some forms of decentralization, more clearly than others, have rationales which are connected with the answer that a political ideology gives to the question: Who has a legitimate right (and duty) to make decisions? Examples are the forms of populist localism and participatory democracy. Federalism can also be ideologically justified, but need not be. Another form (pedagogic professionalism) is in its rationale mainly concerned with the quality of services rendered. Other forms have rationales which emphasize wider arguments related to efficiency, stressing not only a certain approach to quality but also the optimal use of scarce resources (management by objectives, the market mechanism and deconcentration). The typology also includes liberalism which serves as a parent ideology of some of the other types (see the discussion below in the section on The backdrop for decentralization'). The decentralization forms differ in the primacy that they give to such different actors as: intermediate and local political authorities; state officials at regional or local levels; institutional managers; the teaching profession; other 'inside' members of educational organizations; parents; and non-government providers of education whether proprietary provisions or provisions by

voluntary associations, foundations or religious bodies. Table 1.1 summarizes some of the implications which these different forms are posited to have for (a) the emphasis in the distribution of authority and for (b) evaluating and monitoring educational institutions and practice.1 This typology is discussed in greater depth in a recent article (Lauglo, 1995a). The present chapter briefly describes some of these forms as rough and ready ideal types and assesses their present influence in educational policy debate. It also points to alternative hypotheses about reasons for the present vogue of decentralization policies: (a) a shift in ideological emphasis in favour of liberalism; (b) the rise of post-modernist perspectives; (c) political expedience related to a claimed 'crisis of legitimacy' of the state; and (d) shortage of resources for education.

The shared antithesis: bureaucratic centralism The one thing that all these forms have in common is that they are alternatives to bureaucratic centralism. Bureaucratic centralism implies concentrating in a central ('top') authority decision-making on a wide range of matters, leaving only tightly programmed routine implementation to lower levels in the organization. Thus, with regard to education, a ministry could make decisions in considerable detail as to aims and objectives, the structure and localization of provisions, curricula and

4 Jon Lauglo

Table 1.1 Implications of different forms of decentralization Alternatives to bureaucratic centralism

Emphasis in the distribution of decision-making authority

Means of evaluating and monitoring institutions and educational practice

Wide Spread, e.g.:

P 0 L

• Strong local

I Liberalism T I T *l_

1*

C A

L

Federalism

government • Private provision • Market mechanism • Professional autonomy • Federal

• Market forces, or

• Professional self-regulation • Weak state control

• No implications

authorities are weak • No further prescription • Local Populist Localism • Distinctly 'local' political transparency government • Parental control Participatory Democracy

• Weak 'outside' • Only 'inside'

control • Collective

'inside' decisions • Flat internal structure

Q u Pedagogic A Professionalism L

I T

• Individual

teacher autonomy • Weak 'nonprofessional' authority

participation • Collective process • Control from 'below'. • Professional self-regulation • 'Peer review'

Y & Management by

E F F

I C

Objectives

• Strong school

management • Outside scrutiny of results and expenditures

• Competition Market • Strong school Mechanism E management N C Y Deconcentration • Strong state agents at regional level • Regionally unified sector planning I

• Performance indicators compared with objectives and budgets • Customer demand • Accreditation of schools • Management information systems

teaching materials to be used, prescribed methods, appointments of staff and their job descriptions, admission of students, assessment and certification, finance and budgets, and inspection/ evaluations to monitor performance. In practice, consistently 'strong' central control may be rare, because even when a central authority is keen to exercise strong and forceful direction and has the power to do so, different means of control may serve as substitutes for each other - e.g. control of goals and objectives, of rules and regulations, of resources, training of staff, control of appointments and using information as a means of persuasion.2 As an ideal type, bureaucratic centralism, which traditionally characterized much of the French public services, is reasonably unambiguous. In that pattern, public services are organized as separate 6tats, e.g. separate 6tats for primary and secondary school teaching. The bulk of employees are officials belonging to the civil service of the state. Once officials are recruited, trained and posted, mobility occurs by direct appointments which transfer or promote them - though account may be taken of their expressed preferences. Within each &tat, co-ordination is achieved by centrally issued rules and regulations and by a clear hierarchy so that the chains of authority for each service radiate downwards from its ministerial headquarters in the capital. Military organizations typify most clearly this kind of centralism. Its degree of extension to civilian public services has historically been part of efforts to build a strong modern state whether by a monarchy (e.g. Prussia, tsarist Russia, France under Napoleon), by modern forms of absolutism (Nazism, Stalinism) or by a democratically constituted national government with strong goals of centrally directed social improvement guided by technocratic and scientific expertise. Bureaucratic centralism is pervasive in many developing countries. There is the legacy of colonial rule with its needs both to control and to develop in order to meet the needs of colonial rule itself; there is the statism implied by nationbuilding imperatives after independence. Many developing countries have after independence had policies for social and economic development A

Different Forms of Decentralization 5

(certainly in education) which have placed strong emphasis on central planning. Apart from such rationales, bureaucratic centralism is a pattern which tends to emerge when independently constituted local and regional government were weak at the time of state formation - a condition common to many developing countries.

The shaping of national authority distributions The history of the modern state and that of mass education are intimately linked. Boli, Ramirez and Meyer (1985) assert that there is a close connection between the growth of mass education and 'the expanded linkage between the individual and newly emerging, more inclusive social units - the rationalized society and the rationalized state.' But while this means that mass schooling has evolved as an active concern of public authorities, it does not mean that it has developed everywhere under strong direction by a central state. Further, the distribution of authority over education is not an isolated phenomenon; it will also to some extent reflect wider patterns as to the strength and distribution of public authority in a given society. How far a given national system is characterized by bureaucratic centralism, or how far it conforms to one or several forms of decentralization will vary from case to case. As ideal types, the forms are constructs which have analytic utility in summarizing influences which in a given case were actively at work during certain periods and which modify earlier structures. Thus, the traits which today characterize the authority distribution in education will be a mix of traits sedimented upon the system at different times and eroded to varying degrees. Political expedience and practical considerations (e.g. the scale of the national system) will also shape the evolution of authority distributions. The education systems of Malta and China differ so vastly in scale and in the degree to which local conditions vary within each country, that the role of a central authority in decision-making will perforce be different. In any event, the distribution

of authority in any system of governance will be fraught with much inertia. Officials and stakeholders are socialized to follow in the footsteps of their predecessors. Sharp shifts in authority distributions will upset the balance which those groups that stand to lose influence see as 'legitimate' - as part of the accepted rules by which power should be exercised; and groups will rally in defence of their interests with that special righteousness which is aroused when change is perceived as an affront to their legitimate rights. Education will therefore tend to show strong imprints of authority structures laid down when institutions were first established as a national system. There may be enduring effects of those political and cultural conditions which exerted an early formative influence (Scotford Archer, 1979). A much quoted comment on such institutional inertia is Sir Michael Sadler's assertion in 1900 that a national system of education can be understood as the 'outcome of forgotten struggles and difficulties and of battles long ago'.3 None the less, some change occurs in spite of such inertia. And much more clearly than any fundamental redistribution of authority, there is change over time in the type of redistribution which political and intellectual influence will be exerted most forcefully in favour of the proposals and issues which dominate the agenda of policymaking and policy debate - even if the extent to which these ideas are implemented is modest and uneven in most cases. It is likely that increased international communication - mediated both by international networks among intellectuals, and by the role of international agencies such as UNESCO, the World Bank and the OECD - has served to reinforce the international character of trends in educational policy debate.

Assessing the present importance of different forms There seems to be an international trend at present: bureaucratic centralist traits are being challenged in those systems where this form has been strong. But not all forms of decentralization are

6 Jon Lauglo

equally salient, and some decentralization forms are themselves losing ground. There are also differences among countries which reflect the kind of established authority distribution which is now being challenged, and the kind of forces which exert influence on policy.

Decon cen tra tion Deconcentration is today internationally important as a reform of national systems which are characterized by high degree of bureaucratic centralism. It involves no shift of authority to bodies outside the state civil service. Rather, it redistributes authority within that service, giving more scope for decision-making to officers based outside the national headquarters - in regions or districts (Conyers, 1982). Often, deconcentration means that responsibility for different subsectors are combined at regional or district levels, in order to facilitate intersectoral planning at those levels, e.g. integrated regional development projects. It is thus an attempt to improve the efficiency of services operated by the state by redistributing routine decisions as well as certain planning functions towards offices which are geographically closer to local conditions. The growth in scale and complexity of the education system makes it increasingly difficult to manage it by concentrating decision-making in ministerial headquarters. Shifts to deconcentration are today often connected with a parallel shift of emphasis from administration by rules to management by objectives (see section below), when there is emphasis on stronger planning functions at regional and local levels. More responsibility requires higher skills among those who have their authority increased. Deconcentration may also require a relatively stable polity, and that political masters have a trust in the integrity and good professional judgement of key officials in the regions. Even under bureaucratic centralism, such officials have a degree of autonomy simply because they are protected from

direct supervision by buffers of physical distance. Though it is a form of decentralization, deconcentration does not weaken the role of the state. Rather, it seeks to make the state more efficient. But it may not be an expedient means to cope with shrinking public resources for education. Salary budgets are increased by greater numbers and more qualified officials being posted to the regions. If regional planning is to become more important, this presupposes that finance is available for new activity. It is hard to boost professionalism in regional planning and management functions if officials end up with the onerous chore of administering shrinking funds from central coffers. It would seem that deconcentration is an efficiency measure that is more suited for expanding the state services than for slimming down those that exist.

Federalism Historically, Federalism has sometimes been rooted in a liberal ideology - that it is desirable to disperse power widely in order to check the risks of abuse which inhere in its concentration. In these cases (e.g. the United States), federalism tends to be associated with further delegation of authority over education, to municipal government and to non-government providers. But a federal form of government can also be a concession that seeks to pacify separatism - a compromise which serves to keep regions with a politically strong identity of cultural separateness (e.g. language, religion), more or less uneasily within the fold of a loose state formation (e.g. India, Canada or Belgium). In this latter case, education can, within each member state, become organized along strongly centralist principles, for it becomes a tool whereby member states or regions seek to defend their cultural integrity and relative separateness. This becomes politically important especially in those regions which previously have been dominated by others under a centralist regime. Thus, in Spain, now freed from the authoritarian Franco regime, the politically salient decentraliza-

Different Forms of Decentralization 7

tion issue in education is that of regional autonomy - not municipal or institutional autonomy. Federalism is no clear international trend today, nor has it been so in the past, for the conditions which give rise to federalism only apply to some state formations and not to others. But there are many countries where regionally based cultural pluralism is strong. And authoritarian regimes, which in the past have used force to keep the lid on such regionalism, have in some notable cases crumbled in recent years. Federalism then becomes an alternative to regions going their separate ways as independent states, and education is invariably part of such devolution of authority to regions or member states in a federation. Similarly, in those cases where independent states voluntarily combine into a larger political entity (e.g. the European Union today), education will be one of those sectors over which member states will be most protective of their autonomy.

Populist localism Strong community and parental control of schools is a hallmark of the populist localist pattern of distributing authority — for populists perceive schools to be neither extensions of state bureaucratic authority, nor the property of the professional establishment; they are supposed to be governed as directly and locally as possible by 'the people' whose good sense of judgement and rights of direct self-government populism upholds. In those few Western countries (the United States, Norway, Denmark) where populism historically has been important in shaping education policy, it is now more a tradition than an active force which generates strong claims 'from below' to redistribute authority (Lauglo, 1995b). This is so because the underlying assumption of populism no longer applies: that of a broadly defined and culturally unified 'common people' rallied in opposition to a narrowly defined 'upper class' that is not 'of the people'. That assumption has been undermined by the increasingly differentiated division of labour, by the influence of mass media

and by social and geographic mobility which weakens the strength of community bonds. In such societies populism lacks the unifying social and cultural base which relatively undifferentiated rural communities in the past sometimes could provide. Thus, the basis of populism has been eroded by the very development which it commonly has reacted against and sought to contain or modify in the past: modernization. Populism exists in contemporary Western societies, but it tends to be fragmented and temporary: the politics of single issues which are important only to sections of ordinary people. A recent example from the United States is the issue of allowing school prayers. In many developing countries, the populist social theory of a small elite which, by culture, power and wealth is set sharply apart from a large and relatively undifferentiated common people still applies. Populist movements can be based on institutions which already have a strong base in the community but which are hostile to the ruling elite, e.g. Islamic fundamentalism. Mosque schools are examples of traditional forms of community-based education that can be the educational expression of such cultural populism, set apart from the 'modern' education system of the state. In Latin America, non-formal education run by radical priests inspired by liberation theology is another example of populist concepts of education, which sometimes is based on a traditional community institution (the Church) and is parallel to the state schools. In developing countries, there are also examples of 'sponsored' populism in education: of nongovernment organizations coming in from outside the community in order to mobilize the poor for self-reliant, collective and local betterment, and with non-formal education being part of such efforts. Bangladesh is replete with non-government organizations which provide non-formal education as part of community betterment projects. Notwithstanding the declared emphasis on local self-help, such projects often depend heavily on external finance. When substantial external finance is involved, a recurring question is how far sponsored populism succeeds in nurturing genuine local 'self-reliance' rather than merely creating benign patron-client relationships in lieu of the

8 Jon Lauglo

oppressive ones which the intent is to provide escape from. When populist non-formal education actually succeeds in conscientizing or empowering the poor so that they become assertive in their dealings with the elite (e.g claims for redistribution of land), such activity can be met with repression and be driven underground - unless powerful sponsors that are independent from the ruling elite are able to offer protection.

professional socialization during the 1970s on school-based and collective governance, curriculum development and institutional evaluation with the collectivity of teachers as the main 'participants' within the school. At present, it seems that participatory democracy is a spent force which at most is able to mobilize some defence of gains made earlier - not to press for new advances.

Pedagogic professionalism Participatory democracy The hallmark of this form is strong autonomy for each school combined with a highly egalitarian distribution of authority among all the members of the institution, regardless of their status and function (e.g. managers, teachers, support staff, students). There is also a strong emphasis on collective decision-making. In its purest ideal type form participatory democracy is derived from a combination of anarchist and syndicalist thought. That tradition sees the state and its bureaucratic institutions as a massive control apparatus that inevitably is repressive, and it attaches special importance to the work collectivity as a building block for social organization (Woodcock, 1962). Participatory democracy was in the 1970s an active force in policy debate on education in many Western countries. It gained momentum from the student movement and reflected that movement's general rejection of hierarchy, formalism and impersonal bureaucratic relations. The movement reacted both against bureaucratic controls from above and against control by professional establishments from within educational institutions. In education, the 'deschooling movement' was its progeny. But the ideas of participatory democracy also exerted some influence on established institutions in some countries, e.g. participatory councils and codetermination measures in schools and universities. A major legacy in countries where it gained influence (e.g. Denmark, Norway) is an emphasis among teachers who received their political and

In the name of professionalism teachers have pursued greater autonomy from both political and bureaucratic masters. The claim for professional autonomy rests upon the assertion that professionals themselves know best what is good quality in the services they render. It implies that individual professionals should be given much latitude from outside interference, that if there is to be external evaluation, it should be only occasional and in the form of peer review and that norms of professional conduct should be policed by a professional body, not by lay persons. The claim to professional autonomy among educators rests on their esoteric expertise in subject matter and in how to teach. But autonomy based on superior subject matter expertise is a shaky foundation for ordinary school teachers, for they will have to contend with still more superior expertise in institutions at higher levels in the education system. An emphasis on a discipline-based curriculum can for school teachers merely spell dependence on the professors, and on subject matter experts in national curriculum centres. Thus, it is on the basis of their expertise in teaching, in organizing settings for learning, that teachers can best gain external acceptance of their esoteric expertise. The pedagogic professional form of decentralized authority is enhanced by teachers receiving longer and more comprehensive training in pedagogy, by advances in the scientific character of that body of knowledge and by networks among teachers which are focused on exchange and innovation

Different Forms of Decentralization 9

relating to pedagogy. In many economically advanced countries such supportive conditions have grown stronger with time, but there are many developing countries in which this foundation for professionalism is lacking and where adequate expertise in subject matter for teaching purposes is quite shaky as well. But, even when professionals are better trained than in the past, deference to professional autonomy is weakened by the greater confidence which citizens have in their own judgement about the quality of professional services which they receive. The public is more educated, perhaps less generally deferential to authority, and more citizens are themselves professionals of some kind. A rationalist model of schools as 'beacons of enlightenment' that drive back the darkness of ignorance, with teachers being the high priests of such enlightenment, no longer finds acceptance in modern society - a fact which weakens bureaucratic centralist concepts of education as well as the case for professional autonomy in education. The present widespread political concerns to improve efficiency in labour-intensive and largescale public services is a force that reduces professional autonomy. Education has never been a 'secret garden', privy to professional insiders alone. But incursions are now being made onto the traditional turf of education professionals by 'efficiency' professions which have had private business as their main domain (Perkin, 1989) — the economists, the accountants, the management specialists. A condition where a wide range of influential outside groups attach great importance to education and look in on it, assessing its quality and efficiency with greater confidence than in the past, does not reduce the importance of special expertise in teaching. But such expertise is not taken for granted, it needs to be externally demonstrated in exchange with clients and other groups who are external stakeholders in education. New forms of expertise and sensitivity are required if that exchange is to be a genuine dialogue. The task of teaching children and youth in a generally less deferential and more information affluent society is already difficult. Reconstructing professionalism, on top of that task, so that educators can act with strength and sensitivity in deal-

ings with more assertive outside stakeholders in education, when buffers of autonomy are weakened, is a formidable additional requirement. New skills are needed in communicating professional judgements to outsiders. Greater sensitivity to the concerns and judgements of outsiders is called for. More skills are needed in planning activity so as to make optimal use of scarce resources. Skills in resolving conflicts with outsiders are also required, for strength under conditions of openness is a tricky balancing act - given the diverse views which assertive outside groups have about education. Developing such skills is urgently needed, for if one fails to do so, there are risks that teachers will be reduced to demoralized operatives controlled by strong managers.

Management by objectives To manage by objectives rather than by rules and regulations is a form of decentralization in the sense that it gives lower levels in an organization more power to define their own actions. But it also entails greater specification of goals so that goal realization can be more tangibly assessed than before. In setting objectives, there is much emphasis on micro-level planning as a group process; but these objectives must fit within the frame of more general objectives which are laid down by higher levels in the organization. Thus, whether management by objectives will be experienced as a form of decentralization or not, will depend on how far the greater freedom to choose actions outweighs the loss of freedom which inheres in stronger framing by the top authority about results to be achieved. In the worst scenario, management by objectives means that groups at lower levels in an organization are given more freedom to work harder for goals that become more demanding and which they are made more personally accountable for - though they have had only a token role in defining these goals. Educators who are steeped in norms of professionalism may find that the emphasis on group

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planning infringes on their individual professional autonomy. Further, when more diffuse aims are replaced by tangible targets and objectives, they will fear that those educational goals which cannot be easily operationalized in concretely measurable terms may become squeezed out by that which can be more directly measured by performance indicators. In terms of distribution of authority, management by objectives augments at all levels in an organization the role of those whose special responsibility it is to plan, to organize and to assess progress made - the management and evaluation functions. This seems to be a rising trend today for management in all branches of public services in many industrially advanced countries. It is driven by political impatience with the level of efficiency in public services which in the past have been run along bureaucratic or professional management models, and by economic imperatives to curtail the growth in the cost of public services.

The market mechanism Another advancing decentralization type, which also is driven by efficiency concerns and by shortage of public finance, is use of the market mechanism in education. This means that competition for customers replaces governance by authority as a means of allocating resources. It is based on the assumption that customers - parents, students and public or private agencies that act as 'buyers' - are the best judges of the value of services offered as compared to the cost they incur in buying these services. It further assumes that educational institutions will become more efficient when they are forced to compete: that efficient producers will thrive and expand, that others will pull themselves together and survive by becoming more efficient, else they will be driven out of business. By this form of decentralization, the role of government is to lay down certain standards for the provision of education and to accredit and monitor institutions so as to safeguard customers against 'products' of inadequate quality. Govern-

ment also offers finance but in such a way that it works within the market framework, e.g. it can offer each family or student a grant with which to buy services in the education market. These direct customers may or may not then be free to top this grant up from their own resources in order to buy products of higher utility to them. Or, central or local government may itself act as a buyer on behalf of the ultimate beneficiaries of education services, e.g. by contracting for services through competitive bidding - or simply byfinancinginstitutions according to a capitation grant with special bonuses for valued outcomes (e.g. students completing on time, good examination results or tested knowledge gains). A characteristic of this form of decentralization is that it tends to blur the line between public and private institutions. Private providers may also compete for public subsidies in the form of capitation grants or for 'contracts' with a public source of finance, and public providers are forced to act more like private ones, because they are subjected to market forces and no longer have their survival (or scale of operation) guaranteed by public funding. Reliance on the market has implications for the authority distribution within institutions. Like management by objectives it adds importance to managerial functions, to those roles whose task it is to ensure cost-effectiveness. Additionally, it lays stress on entrepreneurial activity in the market: identifying new niches, marketing courses, knowing the ins and outs of securing contracts with institutional buyers of services, boosting the image and awareness of their institution among customers. Internal incentive structures will tend to reward those who mount courses which bring in the business. Some governments have made strong moves to reorganize the finance of education through the use of the market mechanism (e.g. Chile), and others have experimented with it to some modest degree (the United Kingdom, certain states in the United States). It is not confined internationally to states dominated by rightist or libertarian parties which are hostile to the welfare state. Some countries which have a strong tradition of public responsibility for education, and of pursuing equal-

Different Forms of Decentralization 11

ity of educational opportunity, have in their policies since the mid-1980s made certain moves in this direction: allowing upper secondary students a freer choice of schools and tying public finance to a capitation grant, encouraging schools additionally to 'sell services' to firms and to public agencies (Denmark, Sweden). A Norwegian example is that university departments get extra resources for students completing advanced degree courses on time. Like management by objectives, with which it may be combined as a management style within an institution, use of the market mechanism tends to conflict both with pedagogic professionalism and with participatory democracy. It therefore typically meets with strong opposition from educators steeped in the ideas of these other decentralization types.

The backdrop for decentralization political, cultural and economic trends The dominance of liberalism Central to the liberal tradition is belief in the value of freedom from restraint, of individualist liberties - values which historically were secured by struggle against state absolutism, against traditional social ascription and against the hold of established religious orthodoxy. Thus, liberalism favours much individual freedom, and the main current of liberalism favours a generally wide dispersal of authority. Liberalism is the main ideology which has been associated with modernization of the non-socialist, Western variety: faith in progress as gradualist change within a pluralist political framework, confidence in human adaptability to a more urbanized, more fluid society with its inevitable weakening of ascriptively-based identities and faith in the value which systematic generation and dissemination of secular knowledge (research and education) have for social betterment.

In contrast to socialist and populist views of education, which tend to prescribe for it the importance of not educating pupils away from respectively their working-class or folk-community roots, liberalism values education as a means to social mobility of individuals in a social structure which thereby is rendered more fluid and less culturally segmented. Individual mobility rather than the collective advancement of groups is the ideal. In terms of providing support for decentralization, liberalism is a broad creed. Thus it may legitimate federalism (though, as noted, federalism can also be based on other rationales). It can justify strong control by local government. But the localist Gemeinschaft ideal of distinctly small community-like units of such government will in a liberal perspective be suspect as parochialism, and unduly confining. Faith in the invisible hand of the market is a core ingredient of classical (and neo-classical) liberalism, not only as a means of efficient production for material progress but also because the market was assumed to promote individual freedom.4 But liberalism's emphasis on cognitive knowledge as a progressive force in society can also serve to legitimate institutional autonomy focused on strong professions. Further, liberalism is the one political rationale that most consistently supports private provisions in education in that it implies tolerance for diversity of orientation among such provisions, not only acceptance of those provisions whose values one most would endorse. Compared to the anti-authoritarian socialist ideas which most clearly support participatory democracy, liberalism is less collectivistegalitarian and would attach no particular exclusiveness to institutional participants in its view of who should locally share in decision-making. During the last ten years, socialist regimes have collapsed. And, when they have not collapsed politically (China, Vietnam), they have moved from a command economy towards a competitive market. Liberalism, broadly defined, is now the dominant world system ideology. Even critics of liberalism now typically concede value to its emphasis on free and public debate as a precondition for corrective feedbacks, for a society being able to

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learn from experience. Its boldest protagonists even assert that it now stands triumphant as 'the end of history' (Fukuyama, 1992): that the type of society which is characterized by a combination of pluralist competitive politics and a market economy is a condition towards which progress tends to be made and that, when this state is reached, it becomes a settled condition without built-in forces which work to bring about its undoing. Thus, one interpretation of current decentralization trends is that they reflect the greater dominance of liberalism as a world ideology and the greater dominance of market economics as a model for economic development. The relatively weak current position of certain decentralization types which do not have liberalism as a parent ideology - participatory democracy focused on each institution and populist localism focused on distinctly small communities - also fits that interpretation.

The post-modernist argument The common denominator of post-modernism in contemporary Western avant-garde intellectualism is denial of the possibility of authoritative knowledge, and by implication, of any authoritative vision of a 'best society' to be developed in the future by the application of such knowledge. The implications of post-modernism for comparative education has been summarized by Rust (1991). Post-modernist ideas would seem to agree with much tolerance of pluralism in education — of the equal validity of different ways of understanding, of each person being free to explore his or her own preferences. In a broad sense, it would seem to provide - like liberalism, a philosophical justification for 'voluntarism' and choice in education, but without liberal assumptions about gradualist progress as a process and without the faith in the benefits of modernization which liberalism implies. It remains to be seen if post-modernist ideas will prove to be more than an intellectual fad - a passing collapse of faith in progress analogous to the fin de sidcle mood which characterized the last

occasion when the Western calendar approached the end of a century. At present, it is even the end of a whole millennium which is imminent.

Managing a crisis of legitimacy This argument derives from theories which see shifts in authority distributions as driven neither by overt ideological shifts, nor by the overt needs to compromise among groups that contend for influence, nor by efficiency motives, but by latent designs of political conflict management, e.g. to escape blame for intractable social problems or to hang on to legitimacy that is being eroded by other underlying social forces. It is not accidental that theorizing about a crisis of legitimacy has been important among German neo-Marxist social theorists. Unease about legitimacy has probably been politically more important in the German Federal Republic than in democratic countries with a less turbulent past. A neo-Marxist perspective also tends to imply a hopeful search for signs of erosion in the legitimacy of a state formation that is posited to be an instrument of oppressive social control - hence the concept 'late capitalism' which was associated with Habermas's (1973) thesis of a 'legitimation crisis'. Weiler (1990) argues that governments are driven by latent 'conflict management' motives when they adopt decentralization policies, and that recent decentralization trends reflect the ubiquity of conflict in modern society. Such conflict is claimed to become more pervasive than in the past, in keeping with Habermas's thesis of a growing legitimation crisis. The assumption of a mounting legitimation crisis is also a main theme in Lundgren's (1990) theorizing about decentralization. But what is the empirical basis for concluding that the legitimacy of political authority is more weakly founded now than previously? Conflicts may indeed be ubiquitous in modern society but what is the evidence which shows they are more so than in the past? Contemporary modern society may indeed be less deferential, less uncondition-

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ally accepting of authority than in the past. Groups which in the past have been dominated by others, without a stake in the aggregation and articulation of their interest through the political process, may also have become more politically assertive - not least because they have become more educated. Thus, conflicts which in the past have been suppressed may now more easily be brought out into the open. But that is not tantamount to a legitimation crisis. Escalating conflicts will only arise to the extent that the political system is incapable of accommodating the interests which have become more forcefully expressed. There is much variation among contemporary societies in this regard, and in fact no clear trend. For example, in Western societies with competitive politics and a market economy, are present political tensions, and challenges to the legitimacy of democratic government, any match for those of the great depression in the 1930s? Some states have long remained tranquil without civil disturbances. There are states that have disintegrated since the mid-1980s. None of these, however, has had a legitimation crisis associated with late capitalism. Many have been state socialist regimes. The thesis of an impending legitimation crisis is doubtful as a general framework for explaining decentralization policies, partly because the evidence as to any impending crisis is weak in the countries which the thesis has referred to. In any event, decentralization is no obvious response by government to such a crisis, when it occurs. When governments do face a crisis of legitimacy, they may respond by redistributing authority. But there is no clear evidence that they necessarily respond by loosening the reins, hoping thereby to defuse dissent. Conflicts are not always successfully managed or contained by decentralization measures — concessions can be 'too little, too late'. And oppressive regimes often fear the encouragement that concessions will give to their opponents. In fact, governments often hope to remain in the saddle by tightening the reins and sitting tight. Centralist control is a common response to serious conflicts, e.g. the tight centralist control over education for Blacks in South Africa under apartheid, or the historical use of bureaucratic centralism in French education under the

Third Republic to contain conservative clericalism - using state rationalist education to drive back the forces of traditionalism. Shifts in authority distributions are not always driven by conflicts between the different authorities concerned. For example, it is 'safe' for the state to devolve more authority to local government when central policy-makers have a high degree of trust in the administrative competence of the agencies which have their powers augmented and when there is quite strong consensus on goals. It is just possible that the transfer of more power to local government in Norway in the mid-1980s was simply driven by growing support in the central government for the view that it was both legitimate (democratic) and in the interest of efficiency that local government should have more freedom to allocate resources to its different services. However, no doubt those intent on finding latent motives might see this, too, as a means by which central government used its foresight to escape blame for painful allocation decisions which had to be made when local revenue dried up in the recession which also hit Norway from 1989. In general, motives relating to political expediency (including conflict management) will have varying force and expressions in different countries as the real intentions behind redistribution of authority. Sometimes they are publicly visible as a stated intent — e.g. as in necessary compromises between groups that conflict and bargain. But when it is asserted that latent motives are at work, imputed from the interests which governments are said to have but do not themselves acknowledge, the empirical substantiation behind such assertions is often weak and disputable. Even if consequences of policy can be reliably assessed and would match what is ascribed as a latent motive, they may not be the intended ones.

Scarcer resources for expanding education The theoretical perspectives commented upon above would attach no particular importance to the problem of mobilizing scarce resources for

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ever more costly national education systems. In both rich and poor countries, there is at present a tight squeeze on public finance. In many countries, the squeeze is so tight that it raises serious questions about the state's continued capacity to finance and provide education to the level which it has done in the past. Education is labourintensive, with only minor productivity gains in prospect from more investment in training and hardware and infrastructure. Yet, the operating costs of education increase both with the scale of provision and with such salary increases as can be wrung from government to keep up with pay levels elsewhere. Giving more responsibility to local government, deconcentrating the operations of the state bureaucracy, managing by objectives rather than by rules and regulations, leaving more scope for private provision and exploring ways of making public institutions more efficient by subjecting them to competition, can all be seen as a search for improved cost-effectiveness in education - the search for frills to cut, for new resources, for managing existing resources in a more cost-conscious manner and for being more single-mindedly locked on to the pursuit of tangible outcomes. It could be that a main clue to the present disenchantment with bureaucratic centralism lies in this mundane condition - stronger imperatives for enhanced efficiency in education in a period when highly trained manpower is perceived to be of great importance for international economic competitiveness, but when the public resources for a growing education system are subject to a tighter squeeze than in the past.

A final comment The discussion above has shown that there are many faces of decentralization - many quite different alternatives to education systems being run along the lines of bureaucratic centralism. Not all alternatives are equally salient in international policy debate today, and some of them matter more in policy debate in some countries than in others. There are contending perspectives that

seek to explain the search for alternatives to bureaucratic centralism: the thesis of ascendant liberalism following the collapse of socialist state planning; the contrary argument that modern societies founded upon competitive politics and a market economy contain forces which undermine their political legitimacy so that decentralization is a means of staving off impending crisis; the postmodernist claim that the faith in progress is dead and that strong central direction of education therefore lacks the kind of rationalist justification which it has had in the past - and finally, that current decentralization policies are simply driven by a tighter squeeze than in the past on public resources being available for a growing education system. Though they differ in their diagnosis, these perspectives converge in presaging the continued decline of bureaucratic centralism as a principle for organizing national education systems. It is likely that decentralization will remain for some time as an issue on the agenda for policy and policy debate on education in many countries. Certain tensions are likely to persist in that debate. For example, one can expect continued tension between those arguments in favour of decentralization forms which stress the importance of local external accountability or user choice, and defence of those forms which emphasize individual or shared decision-making by staff inside the institution. Most clearly, the forces of the market and of management by objectives are pitted against those of pedagogic professionalism and participatory democracy. Policies on the organizational development of educational institutions will be a contested ground between such competing concerns and claims. If decentralization is with us to stay, so are long established universalistic values which serve to legitimate the main goals of educational policy. Rights and values applicable to all, rather than based on ascription, cannot in modern world culture be avoided when the aims of education are enshrined in official declarations for a given society. Even the most repressive dictatorships typically pay lip-service to universalistic and fundamentally egalitarian values, e.g. that the aim of basic education is to 'enable each child to develop its potential to the fullest possible extent'.

Different Forms of Decentralization 15

These higher valuations are part of modern 'world educational culture' and it is hard to see that postmodernism, for all its preoccupation with loss of direction, constitutes or predicts any challenge to universalistic egalitarianism. Though arguments for decentralization sometimes may seem to be a concession to particularism - the rights of a group to pursue their distinctive culture, or parents' rights to choose what education they wish for their children, the values invoked are fundamentally universalistic and egalitarian - that all groups or persons have certain rights or entitlement to benefits. One can expect tensions in many countries between certain decentralization policies and interpretations of such values. True, bureaucratic centralism has not always been combined with egalitarian goals, but has sometimes been used to buttress privilege and to deny oppressed groups such benefits as may be derived from education. But, one of the main arguments which in the past have supported strong central direction is that central planning and central control are needed in order to promote equality of educational opportunity, e.g. extra resources for poor localities, reforms in school structure so as to make secondary education more socially and geographically accessible, regulations that discourage the growth of elitist institutions available only to those who can pay high fees, the need to counter a tendency for local elites to use control of education to their own advantage. Egalitarian goals can be pursued by central government through certain forms of decentralization which have been discussed above - deconcentration and management by objectives. But when decentralization clearly means that central controls are relaxed, not merely finding new and less direct forms and being backed up by more intensive monitoring of performance, it increases the scope for some localities and some families to race ahead of others in the competition to secure scarce benefits of education. Within localities, decentralization can increase the scope which locally influential persons have to pursue policies which ill accord with the interests of the poor and the powerless. While decentralization tends to create and legitimate variation, universalistic and egalitarian values tend towards uniformity - if not

uniformity in provision, then in the goals that provisions should serve and in the criteria by which they should be governed. Decentralization policies are likely to create ongoing tensions in this respect as to what balance to strike in more concrete terms between unity and diversity.

Notes 1 Unni Hagen, a doctoral student at the University of London Institute of Education, has assisted in condensing this typology into the tabular form. 2 That governments can relax some reins of control (e.g. rules and regulations) while tightening others (e.g. objectives, performance indicators), and that less central direction of individual schools can be replaced by tighter controls by local government, is one of the theses in Gustav Karlsen's study of recent parallel processes of centralization and decentralization in Norwegian education (Karlsen, 1991). 3 Sir Michael Sadler, How Far Can We Learn Anything of Practical Value from the Study of Foreign Systems of Education (1900), quoted on p. 3 in Hans (1949). 4 Liberalism has become divided on faith in the market forces versus the need to regulate them - especially in those countries which historically have given market forces the freest reins - the liberal heartland countries of Britain and the United States. Social liberals have sought to regulate the market and given much support to welfare state provisions in order to protect individual freedom from concentrated corporate power, to promote a greater degree of equality than that which unchecked market forces would produce and to counter the vagaries of business cycles.

References Boli, ]., Ramirez, F. and Meyer, J. (1985) Explaining the origins and expansion of mass education. Comparative Education Review, 29, 145-70. Conyers, D. (1982) Introduction to Social Planning in the Third World. New York: Wiley. Fukuyama, F. (1992) The End of History and the Last Man. London: Hamish Hamilton. Habermas, J. (1973) Legitimationsprobleme in Spdtkapitalismus. Frankfurt: Suhrkampf. Hans, N. (1949) Comparative Education. London: Routledge. Karlsen, G. E. (1991) Desentralisert skoleutvikling. En utdanningspolitisk studie av norsk grunnskole med

16 Jon Lauglo

vekt pa 70- og 80-tallet (Decentralized development of education. A policy study of the Norwegian basic school with special reference to 1970-90). PhD thesis, Department of Education, University of Trondheim. Lauglo, J. (1995a) Forms of decentralisation and their implications for education. Comparative Education, 31(1). Lauglo, J. (1995b) Populism and education in Norway. Comparative Education Review 39(3), 255-79. Lundgren, U. P. (1990) Educational policymaking, decentralisation and evaluation. In M. Granheim, M. Kogan and U. P. Lundgren (eds), Evaluation as Policymaking: Introducing Evaluation into a National Decentralised Educational System. London: Jessica Kingsley.

Perkin, H. (1989) The Rise of Professional Society. England since 1880. London: Routledge. Rust, V. D. (1991) Postmodernism and its comparative education implications. Comparative Education Review, 35(4). Scotford Archer, M. (1979) The Social Origins of Educational Systems. London: Sage. Weiler, H. N. (1990) Decentralisation in educational governance: an exercise in contradiction. In M. Granheim, M. Kogan and U. P. Lundgren (eds), Evaluation as Policymaking: Introducing Evaluation into a National Decentralized Educational System. London: Jessica Kingsley. Woodcock, G. (1962) Anarchism. London: World Publishing Company.

2

Not Decentralization but Integrationn

NOEL F. MCGINN The central thesis of this paper is that what is called decentralization in fact seldom achieves the outcomes promised for it, and that the gap between promise and achievement is not a result of faulty implementation. The promises of decentralization sound appealing but its direct and opportunity costs are too high. Instead of decentralization we should be designing a strategy of integration. As unsatisfactory as our social institutions may be, as human organizations they are treasure troves of experiential knowledge constructed over centuries from success and failure alike. Rather than be dismembered, they should be re-engineered. Reorganization at a higher level of abstraction can generate the energy to respond to a more complex environment. A strategy of integration calls for attention to all levels of the system. Reorganization will shift the locus of some decisions to smaller units in the system, but other decisions will be moved to larger units. Increased attention will be given to the purpose and logic of the system, as well as to rights of individual members. The primary task will be to fit all the pieces together, maintaining important distinctions, avoiding homogenization.

Problems of definition The term 'decentralization' is imprecise and applied to education systems and organizations with very different patterns of governance. Some of the range of variation is reported in studies by

Broadfoot (1985), Hanson (1990), McGinn and Street (1986) and Carl (1994). Countries have been categorized according to their degree of centralization (Ramirez and Rubinson, 1979), but all forms of centralization/decentralization co-exist (Cummings, Gunardwardena and Williams, 1992). It is easy to confuse 'vertical' and 'horizontal' centralization/decentralization, the former moving authority along the line of hierarchy, the other concentrating or deconcentrating authority at a given level (Mintzberg, 1979). Whether you see change as centralizing or decentralizing authority depends on where you are located in the system. As there are stakeholders at all levels in the system, there is cacophony about where change is heading. Labelling of systems as centralized or decentralized is often formalistic. Centralized systems of education are not a new invention although national education systems are (Archer, 1979; Boli, Ramirez and Meyer, 1985; Ramirez and Boli, 1987). An on-the-ground examination of actual practice in many so-called centralized systems reveals little or no control by the centre over what actually takes place. Even in the Soviet Union teachers appeared to enjoy considerable autonomy in the classroom (Poppleton, Gershunsky and Pullin, 1994). Many countries find it impossible to carry out regular supervisory visits and there are large proportions of teachers unfamiliar with the official curriculum. Local schools operate in a partial vacuum with only minimal direction from the centre. Official reports may define these systems as centralized (Ramirez and Rubinson, 1979) but

18 Noel F. McGinn

anyone who has visited schools knows the extent of disorder.

What decentralization does achieve The impact of decentralization on efficiencycy

What is claimed for decentralization Proponents recommend decentralization of education governance for four major reasons: 1

2

3

4

To increase access to and utilization of information about problems, resources and alternative solutions which results in improved efficiency. I will argue that decentralization of education reduces access to vital information necessary for achievement of full efficiency. To generate greater understanding of how education works and therefore produce more effective solutions. I will argue that there is little empirical evidence that decentralized education systems are more effective than centralized ones. To increase the connection between education and the rest of society leading to more relevant education programmes. The issue here is 'whose relevance?' I will show that decentralization may increase relevance for some but reduces it for others. To improve participation in decision-making, thereby contributing to democracy and more equitable distribution of resources. I will argue that proposals for decentralization of education act against democracy.

These objectives can at best be achieved only partially through 'decentralization' policies. In some cases the policies reduce the overall integration of society and are therefore counter-productive. Arguments for decentralization are almost always based on logic rather than on (extensive) experience. This should give us pause, as in fact during the past 30 years we have had a great deal of experience with decentralized education in a variety of guises. But despite the long history, reviews of recent experiments with decentralization (Winkler, 1988; Brown, 1990; Prawda, 1992) report no startling differences along any dimension.

Decisions are more likely to hit the mark when they are made close to the target. This proximity increases the likelihood of obtaining information about problems and possibilities for their resolution. Proponents of decentralization argue that by moving the locus of decision closer to schools and classrooms both quantity and quality of information will improve. The argument makes two key assumptions: about where problems are generated, and about the ability of local units to gather and process data. Violation of either one invalidates the decentralization thesis. For example, if problems are generated at several levels in the system, then localization of decision-making might improve local decisions but reduce efficiency at other levels. This would be an example of sub-optimization, an instance in which the most effective solution for one unit or set of units reduces the effectiveness of others. A technical school preparing students for employment in the local factory might train them in the use of specific technology that has little transferability to other industries in the society. The local school board might prefer the local language as an exclusive language of instruction, increasing problems of communication in the larger society. Closeness to problems does not ensure capacity to capture the information necessary to solve them. Especially in poor countries, localities are not likely to have the infrastructure necessary to collect data and to analyse it (Windham, 1993). Poor communities lack persons who can dedicate time to the task, as well as the basic physical requirements for storage and processing (Chapman, 1990). Communities lack experience in carrying out essential tasks, such as school construction or hiring of teachers (Bray and Lillis, 1987; OECD, 1992) Localization of decision-making makes most sense when each unit is effectively isolated from each other. Then there are no economies of scale,

Not Decentralization but Integration

and no interdependence of localities. But schools operate in a larger society, and to some extent the school must prepare its students to face the problems of that society. Decentralization of authority for decisions reduces the access of local community members to all the information they require. The argument here is not that no decisions should be made locally, but rather that variety in the set of decisions to be made has to be matched with variety in the information applied, and that this in turn requires variety in the loci of decisionmaking. What is missing in many education systems is the capacity and information for decisionmaking at all levels in the system and especially at the centre (Lockheed and Verspoor, 1990). Moves to increase participation of local communities in decision-making often fail because the central ministry does not have the capacity to provide information about the system to all. Decentralization policies distract our attention from the requirement to develop an integrated capacity to supply and analyse information (Welsh, 1993).

Decentralization and

effectiveness

Effectiveness, understood as the production of learning, and often measured through scores and gains in scores on achievement tests, is the product of teachers, curriculum, materials, administration and facilities. Learning is produced (for the most part) in classrooms, hence the argument that control over the inputs to the learning process should be located in the classroom, or at least in the school. Proponents of this perspective favour giving more control to teachers and principals. School-based management is the term usually applied to this approach (Brown, 1990; Hanson, 1989; Hanson 1990; Hanson and Ulrich, 1994). An alternative view argues that the average effectiveness of a production system can be increased by the elimination of the least effective producers. In a market situation in which schools or teachers compete for scarce resources, those resources will flow to the better schools. Those that are inferior will either improve or disappear.

19

This is the logic of proposals for parental choice (Ball, 1993; Chubb and Moe, 1990; Edwards and Whitty, 1992). The empirical basis for this second assertion is thin. Either poor quality schools continue, taking the money of the poor who do not have ready access to better schools, or they die, leaving the poor with no schools at all. Schemes that provide economic incentives to more effective teachers proved unsuccessful in the United States largely because teachers refused to compete with each other. Many teachers saw teaching as a collective and co-operative enterprise (Murnane and Cohen, 1986). Pay differentials made no difference in teaching practices, but reduced teacher morale. In those instances in which there are gains in achievement scores following decentralization, these cannot be attributed to improved quality of instruction. After six years of municipalization of basic education in Chile, average achievement scores remained the same or declined (Prawda, 1992). But scores in schools run by private groups (mainly religious communities) in working-class communities were slightly higher than scores in the public schools in the same communities. An on-the-ground examination revealed that the private schools required students to wear uniforms, organized drum and bugle bands, assigned more homework and spent more time in fund-raising activities such as school fairs and bake sales. Researchers reported no differences in the teaching practices of private and public school teachers. A US review of the argument for parental choice (Chubb and Moe, 1990) strains through massive amounts of research to show that private schools are more effective. The smoking gun of competition is never found. Instead the feature that distinguishes (effective) private schools from public schools is the homogeneity of their student bodies. Selectivity, not competition, makes it possible for (some) private schools to reduce the complexity of the teaching task, which increases the amount of time that can be spent teaching what is measured by achievement tests. Where gains in learning do occur, they cannot be attributed to the effects of the market mechanism. The few studies that report higher learning outcomes through decentralization are character-

20 Noel F. McGinn

ized by very high levels of parent and teacher involvement. Learning gains in these schools are the result of school-based management reforms that do not depend on competition between schools for their realization. Instead, what is required is that teachers and parents spend more time helping children to learn. Decentralization per se is neither a necessary nor a sufficient condition for the mobilization of teacher and community support. Some of the most effective 'decentralization' reforms have achieved their objectives through 'centralization'. For example, significant gains in learning outcomes have been generated by programmes designed to increase local initiatives by teachers and principals in Thailand and Sri Lanka (Cummings, Gunardwardena and Williams, 1992; Wheeler, Raudenbush and Pasigna, 1989). In both cases encouragement by central authorities of local innovation was accompanied by the installation of centrally controlled mechanisms to monitor performance. The impetus to the reforms had been the discovery of considerable variation in the extent to which the official curriculum was being taught. At the same time that the reforms encouraged innovation, their fundamental objective was to increase compliance with the curriculum, yielding higher achievement test scores. These two reforms worked well because of the integration between local and central actions. We know what is necessary to raise levels of student achievement. There is no need to rely on the hiding hand of the market mechanism. Policies that emphasize decentralization but ignore how education systems are designed and operate may be politically attractive (Carl, 1994), but offer little to education and society.

Decentralization and relevance Proponents of decentralization argue that moving the locus of decision-making closer to the community increases the likelihood that what is taught in schools will be more meaningful to parents and students, because those deciding have a better

knowledge of local interests than do persons located in a central capital. This argument assumes that local communities are homogeneous, and that central governments are incapable of knowing local interests. In fact, local communities are increasingly diverse, and characterized by even sharper divisions between landowners and tenant farmers, capitalists and workers, members of different ethnic and language groups, all of whom may share a territorial boundary but divide on what, and who, should be taught in schools. Decentralization experiments that ignore the reality of social division result in increased power for local chieftains or power groups, who then shape education to their own benefit. A classic case was the decentralization of the New York City public school system by the creation of 29 districts with locally chosen community superintendents. Various ethnic communities hoped this would lead to more relevant programmes in their schools. Over time, however, low participation rates in community school board elections allowed the teachers' union to choose the superintendents in almost all districts. Members of the ethnic communities had little representation in the union (Zimet, 1973). Definitions of relevance can differ even within an ethnic community. The Tarahumara Indians in Mexico found that the more effective the public school, the more their children learned and the more frequently they abandoned the community. The Tarahumara divided on whether they should teach their children the knowledge and values necessary to bind them into the traditional way, or allow them to acquire outside knowledge and values, hoping to use other means to keep them as integral members of the community (Schmelkes, 1972). It is, of course, possible for central governments to be aware of local interests. Prior to the Great Collapse the Communist Party had local cadres who reported regularly to the centre on what the community was doing. A similar structure has operated in reactionary governments as well. Experiments in decentralization began in Hungary before the collapse and now Hungary is held up as an example of a decentralized education system.

Not Decentralization but Integration 21

On the other hand, the curriculum in Hungary is traditional and highly centralized. This excessive concern (by local school boards) for high academic performance to the exclusion of learning of other life skills and values, has been criticized as technocratism. Thinking and problem-solving need divergence; laying a global consensus, however, demands moral convergence. (Horvath and Mih£ly, 1990, p. 149)

Education has to be relevant on a number of dimensions and levels. This requires dialogue and participation by a broad spectrum of society.

Decentralization and democracy On the surface it seems eminently reasonable to assume that decentralization of education should lead to greater democracy, understood as greater participation of citizenry in the making of decisions about the education that affects them or their children. There are three major reasons, however, why decentralization in itself does not guarantee an increase in democratic behaviour: 1

The logic of education as a societal enterprise requires that some decisions be made at a higher level of aggregation than others. Transferring authority to local communities or individuals acts to reduce the achievement of educational outcomes that favour the whole society. The obvious case is the teaching of knowledge, skills and values essential to and predominant in the society. The technology of formal schooling requires a curriculum, a prescribed set of contents and procedures that ensure a communality of learning. Curriculum is designed to contribute to a national identity that would be weakened by extensive local diversity. The curriculum specifies not only a specific (e.g. American) history, but also monitors to ensure that the proper version of that history is used. The curriculum also specifies what will be taught as science (excluding, for exam-

2

ple: theories of the origins of the species contrary to evolution; astrology; parapsychology), in the process of defining what is important and not important to know. Students in technical schools in the United States are taught the foot-pound system to facilitate their use of American tools and machinery. Technical students in most of the rest of the world learn the metric system. And of course there are national languages of instruction to ensure that it is possible to communicate to and with all citizens. The strength of a nation depends in large measure on the cohesiveness of its population. A single curriculum helps to ensure that cohesiveness. Not surprisingly, then, few of the proponents of decentralization include curriculum in the list of what should be decided at lower levels of aggregation in the society. Even those who promote privatization leave unquestioned the existence of mechanisms to ensure uniformity in important curriculum areas. All the other aspects of education - teachers, materials, facilities, administration, finance exist to ensure that students learn a specific and uniform curriculum. Decentralization of decisions about certain aspects of the curriculum would lead to social disorganization, to a debilitation of democracy. The exercise of democracy requires the existence of both individual and social capacity for social decision-making. For democracy to work, local groups and persons must be willing to 'play by the rules' of democracy and must have the organizational skills to join together in decision-making. There must in fact be a local community. Merely providing the legal authority for persons to exercise responsibility does not guarantee that they will. Hanson and Ulrich (1994) show that seven years after the decentralization of education in Spain, local councils were exercising only a small fraction of the powers they had been given. The number of teachers willing to run for the elected office of school principal declined sharply, requiring central intervention to appoint principals. Hanson and Ulrich note that decentralization, in the

22

3

Noel F. McGinn

form of school-based management, primarily has had a symbolic value. Locals have the right to decide for themselves but they choose not to do so. Surely there is more to democracy than this. Not only may local communities lack training in participation in a democratic society, they may also lack resources to fund their own school system as well as the capacity to extract resources from local citizens. In poor communities people may be hungry, poorly sheltered and poorly clothed because they do not have access to resources. Many municipalities are unable to provide even basic education to their children. 'Cost sharing' by families in such a context is a cruel satire of democracy. 'Cost sharing' in higher education in Chile reduced the financial burden on the military government, but also reduced proportionately the university enrolment of sons and daughters of working-class families, who could not afford tuition fees (Magendzo, Egana and Latorre, 1988). Municipalities in Brazil enjoy the democratic right to fund their own primary schools: many, unfortunately, are unable to do so (Plank, 1993). The logic of democracy requires both shared goals and tolerance for diversity and disagreement. Decentralization can promote diversity and allow for disagreement, but do nothing to promote the community, that is, to build up consensus about what it is important to pursue and what means are legitimate for that pursuit. Democracy suffers when education policies pursue the 'achievement of excellence' (defined as the learning of certain aspects of the curriculum, typically cognitive knowledge and skills). Decentralization policies to promote excellence, to improve the quality of education, can take the form of localization of school management in public systems or privatization, e.g. 'choice' policies. The same objective, the improvement of quality of education, is also pursued by policies that centralize by the clarification and imposition of standards and means to measure their achievement.

Excellence is most likely to be achieved when goals are narrow and well defined, when there is agreement about the goals and when efforts are highly focused on their achievement. Schools with 'tradition', with principals that provide 'leadership' by setting high standards of achievement and especially schools with a homogeneous student body (Chubb and Moe, 1990) are those most likely to achieve excellence, that is, high levels of performance on examinations. This can be accomplished in public schools, especially if they are, by virtue or location or admission policies, selective. It is easier to accomplish in private schools. Unfortunately, in private and selective public schools excellence comes at the cost of reduced learning of tolerance for diversity. In part this is because tolerance for diversity is harder to learn in homogeneous schools. But there is also evidence that excellence is achieved in part by teaching students to distinguish themselves from others. The production of excellence through emphasis on competition produces winners and losers, and no one wants to be, or be around, a 'loser'. Schools for 'excellence' often teach their students to 'secede' from the larger community, to shed the values that are attributed to lower levels of achievement among the majority population (Reich, 1991).

The argument for integration All the experiments in decentralization (that I know) intended to foster democracy suffer a fundamental flaw. All these experiments were designed at the centre and each had, I believe, an implicit objective of maintaining or improving the position of the central government. Where power was given away, it was to reduce further loss. In each case, the power given away was not vital to the central government. In effect, local people were given (some) control over the local aspects of their lives, but gained no control over central as-

Not Decentralization but Integration 23

pects of their lives. The participation of local people in decisions at the central level was affected not one bit. Decentralization left intact a system of domination by central elites, and therefore failed a critical test for democratization, 'the loss of homogeneity of governing elites' (Mannheim, 1950, p. 172). The increased control of local people over local aspects of their lives is not a bad thing, but it does not add up to a major improvement in democracy. In some and certainly too many countries, too much power is held by too few people. In most cases, these people are located at the 'centre', in the capital city, in the central government. In some cases powerful figures exercise enormous control even when living in a small village. In many cases, especially in so-called democracies, this control is exercised despite laws designed to ensure a more equitable distribution of power. Power is exercised without authority, and authority has little power or has been corrupted by those with power. The mechanisms of 'democracy' have been perverted to serve the interests of the few. In education this is seen in privileged access of elites to publicly subsidized higher education, an underfinanced public primary education and a parallel well-heeled private system. Such systems exist in all countries that I know, and are most scandalous in poor countries. It is tempting to think that these inequities could be resolved by decentralizing the locus of governance. But the maldistribution of education is unrelated to the degree of formal centralization (or decentralization) of governance. The major determinant is not where the mechanisms of governance are located but rather the intensity and extensity of participation (by all social groups) in the process of governance. Some countries with highly centralized systems of governance of education, e.g. France, also have high degrees of political participation and consequently an education system that is (reasonably) relevant, efficient and effective. Local control of education in the USA prior to the 1960s ensured that Whites prevented Blacks from having equal access to resources. The issue, then, is not which mechanism of governance is to be preferred, but instead the nature of the society we want to build. Some see in

privatization a means to overcome abuses of public authority and power. For example, some African-American groups in the United States are ready to abandon public education in favour of an opportunity to run their own schools. Their assumption is that public funding of education will continue at present levels. More privileged groups in society, however, connect privatization with a reduction in the public funding of education. For example, at the same time that business groups have been blaming the economic misfortunes of the United States on the poor quality of public education, they have also supported campaigns to reduce public expenditures on education (Reich, 1991). Perhaps our first task is the integration of these groups into the mainstream of civilized society.

References Archer, M. S. (1979) Social Origins of Educational Systems. London: Sage. Ball, S. J. (1993) Education markets, choice and social class: the market as a class strategy in the UK and the USA. British Journal of Sociology of Education, 14(1), 3-19. Boli, J., Ramirez, F. and Meyer, J. W. (1985) Explaining the origins and expansion of mass education. Comparative Education Review, 29, 145-70. Bray, M. and Lillis, K. (eds) (1987) Community Financing of Education: Issues and Policy Implications in Less Developed Countries. London: Pergamon. Broadfoot, P. (1985) Towards conformity: educational control and the growth of corporate management in England and France. In J. Lauglo and M. McLean (eds), The Control of Education: International Perspectives on the Centralization-Decentralization Debate. London: Heinemann Educational Books, pp. 105-11. Brown, D. J. (1990) Decentralization and School-Based Management. London: The Palmer Press. Carl, J. (1994) Parental choices as national policy in England and the United States. Comparative Education Review, 38(3), 294-322. Chapman, D. W. (1990) The role of education management information systems in improving educational quality. In D. W. Chapman and C. A. Carrier (eds), Improving Educational Quality: A Global Perspective. Westport, Connecticut: Greenwood Press.

24 Noel F. McGinn

Chubb, J. E. and Moe, T. (1990) Politics, Markets, and America's Schools. Washington, DC: Brookings Institution. Cummings, W. K., Gunardwardena, G. B. and Williams, J. H. (1992) The Implementation of Management Reforms: The Case of Sri Lanka. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University, Institute for International Development, BRIDGES Research Report Series No. 12. Edwards, T. and Whitty, G. (1992) Parental choice and education reform in Britain and the United States. British Journal of Educational Studies, 40(2), 101-17. Hanson, E. M. (1989) Decentralisation and regionalisation in educational administration: comparisons of Venezuela, Colombia and Spain. Comparative Education, 25(1), 41-55. Hanson, E. M. (1990) School-based management and educational reform in the United States and Spain. Comparative Education Review, 34(4), 523-37. Hanson, E. M. and Ulrich, C. (1994) Democracy, decentralization and school-based management in Spain. La Educacidn, XXXVIII(118), 319-36. Horvath, A. and Mihaly, O. (1990) Globalization of education and Eastern Europe. Prospects, XX(2), 145-54. Lockheed, M. and Verspoor, A. (1990) Improving Primary Education in Developing Countries: A Review of Policy Options. Washington, DC: World Bank. McGinn, N. and Street, S. (1986) Educational decentralization: weak state or strong state? Comparative Education Review, 30(4), 471-90. Magendzo, A., Egana, L. and Latorre, C. L. (1988) Privatizacion de la educacion: La educacion ylos esquemas privatizantes en educacion bajo un estado subsidiario (1973-1987). Santiago, Chile: Programa Interdisciplinario de Investigaci6n Educativa. Mannheim, K. (1950) Freedom, Power and Democratic Planning. New York: Oxford University Press. Mintzberg, H. (1979) The Structuring of Organizations: A Synthesis of the Research. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall. Murnane, R. J. and Cohen, D. K. (1986) Merit pay and the evaluation of the problem: why some merit plans fail and few survive. Harvard Educational Review, 56(1), 1-17. Organisation for Economic Cooperation and Development (OECD) (1992) Decentralisation and Educational Building Management: The Impact of Recent Reforms. Paris: Organisation for Economic Cooperation and Development.

Plank, D. N. (1993) Niveis e determinantes do finaciamento local a educacao basica: um estudo de 115 municipios na Bahia. Pesquisa e Planejamento, 23, 461-86. Poppleton, P., Gershunsky, B. S. and Pullin, R. T. (1994) Changes in administrative control and teacher satisfaction in England and the USSR. Comparative Education Review, 38(3), 323-46. Prawda, J. (1992) Educational Decentralization in Latin America: Lessons Learned. Washington, DC: World Bank, A View from LATHR, No. 27. Ramirez, F. O. and Boli, J. (1987) The political construction of mass schooling: European origins and worldwide institutionalization. Sociology of Education, 60 (1), 2-17. Ramirez, F. O. and Rubinson, R. (1979) Creating members: the political incorporation and expansion of public education. In J. W. Meyer and M. Hannan (eds), National Development and the World System. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, pp. 72-82. Reich, R. B. (1991) The Work of Nations. New York: Vintage. Schmelkes, S. (1972) Estudio de evaluacidn aproximativa de las escuelas radiofdnicas de la Tarahumara. Revista del Centra de Estudios Educativos, 2(2), 11-35. Welsh, T. (1993) The politics of valuing in information system construction. In D. W. Chapman and L. O. Mahlck (eds), From Data to Action: Information Systems in Educational Planning. Paris: UNESCO, International Institute for Educational Planning, pp. 92-116. Wheeler, C., Raudenbush, S. and Pasigna, A. (1989) Policy Initiatives to Improve Primary School Quality. Cambridge, MA: Harvard Institute for International Development, BRIDGES Research Report No. 5. Windham, D. M. (1993) Strategies for decentralizing data use. In D. W. Chapman and L. O. Mahlck (eds), From Data to Action: Information Systems in Educational Planning. Paris: UNESCO, International Institute for Educational Planning, pp. 25-47. Winkler, D. (1988) Decentralization in Education: An Economic Perspective. Washington, DC: World Bank, Education and Employment Division. Zimet, M. (1973) Decentralization and School Effectiveness: A case Study of the 1969 Decentralization Law in New York City. New York: Columbia University Press.

3

Power, Participation and Educational Decentralization in South Africa1

YUSUF SAYED Since the unbanning of the African National Congress (ANC) and other extra-parliamentary groups in February 1990, South Africa has undergone a period of rapid change. It was clear, particularly with the advent of negotiations, that the South African political order was to be transformed. In response to the realities of change various political actors began to produce discussion documents which outlined their visions of a post-apartheid education system. Three education policy documents were produced during this period. Firstly, there was the vision of the then ruling Nationalist Party as outlined in their Education Renewal Strategy (ERS) document. The ERS project was announced in May 1990 and was intended to represent 'policy standpoints' and proposed 'short and medium term solutions for the most important problems and questions in education' (ERS, 1992a, iv). The final report was published in November 1992. Secondly, there was the National Education Policy Investigation (NEPI) project which was commissioned by the National Education Coordinating Committee (NECC) and launched in December 1990. It brought together researchers and academics from the anti-apartheid spectrum. NEPI published 12 reports with an overarching framework report. It aimed to produce policy proposals which gave practical form to the values and objectives of extra-parliamentary educational groupings. Thirdly, there appeared the ANC's Policy Framework for Education and Training document published in January 1992. The framework document represented the ANC's educational policy

standpoint in the April elections. The framework document was followed by an Implementation Plan for Education and Training (IPET). IPET attempted to translate the general policy statements contained in the framework document into concrete implementation strategies. The production of the three policy texts has signalled a key alteration in the discourses of education on the part of both the state and the opposition movements in South Africa. Educational contestation now centred on the manner in which various actors intended to shape the future education system. In the arena of educational governance the policy of educational decentralization emerged to be of critical importance. This chapter critically examines this policy by considering the varied ways in which the three documents address this policy. It will consider issues such as the state, decision-making powers and the discourses of decentralization embodied in the three documents.

The state Apartheid education had resulted in a highly centralized state responsible for many of the key educational decisions such as funding. Further, apartheid education had been marked by the racial, ethnic and regional fragmentation of educational provision. This had resulted in, for example, the existence of 19 segregated education departments. Apartheid education was thus a combination of centralized and decentralized modes of govern-

26 YYusufSayedd ance. Given this legacy a critical issue was the role of the state in educational governance. The ERS document, in contrast to the previous policies of the then ruling Nationalist Party, advocates the 'rolling back of the state'. It states that while there is a need to synchronize the education system, there is also a 'need for a strong decentralised system in which original authority for the provision of education is vested in the lower authorities' (ERS, 1992a, p. 23) (cf. Appendix 3.1 for a diagrammatic representation of the ERS education model, from Sayed, 1995, p. 171). The notion of the state envisaged in the ERS document realtors the relationship between the central level, that is, the Ministry of Education, and the 'educational clientele'. It changes it in two directions; first, education is conceived of as a partnership between the state and a 'wide variety of interests' which include 'political/educational authorities at the different levels, parent communities, the organised teaching profession and other stake holders' (ERS, 1992a, pp. 24-5). Second, the ERS document argues that the state should as far as possible provide for the maximum devolution of educational authority. It states that maximum devolution should take the form of transferring decision-making power to school management councils. Maximal devolution permits schools control over day-to-day management matters. However, a careful examination of these functions (ERS, 1992a, p. 81) suggests that individual schools that secure greater institutional control will have to bear more financial costs for educational provision. For example, the ERS (1992a, p. 81) document states that schools will be responsible for, inter alia, the provision and/or financing of services such as electricity. Maximal devolution could thus be interpreted as a strategy to reduce state expenditure on schooling. While the state will divest itself of sole responsibility for educational provision, it will determine policy on 'norms and standards in respect of various crucial matters' (ERS, 1992a, pp. 23-4). The ERS document does not therefore extend the logic of decentralization to its fullest since it still accords to the central level key decision-making powers. It simply realigns the centralization/

decentralization combination in the direction of retaining policy power for the central level while transferring implementation powers to lower levels of the education system. The point of departure for the ANC and NEPI texts is the chaos and inequalities that the centralized yet fragmented apartheid education system had generated. The ANC document argues that apartheid education was characterized by the 'lack of democratic control within the education and training system' (ANC, 1994b, p. 2). NEPI (1993a pp. 6-7) identified unity, redress and democracy as three of the five key principles that guided its research work. Both reports thus attempt to balance two key issues with respect to the state: first, the state as the guarantor of equality, justice and redress; second, the state as being responsive to, and facilitative of, citizens' participation. In order to effect justice and redress the state would have to reserve a high measure of central control by the Ministry of Education. The state will thus have to adopt an interventionist stance. Thus the ANC's text (1994b, p. 3) argues that the 'state has the central responsibility in the provision of education and training'. With reference to educational governance the document argued that education is a state responsibility shared between central government and the provinces. However, provincial educational authority was to take place within a national policy framework (ANC, 1994b, pp. 23-4). Similarly, the NEPI Governance and Administration Report (1992) accords a vital role to the central level. The systems and school governance options in the NEPI (1992, pp. 42, 45-8) report state that the central level is responsible for matters such as the determination of a curriculum policy framework. Where educational authority is to be devolved to the lower levels of the system it is on the basis of a national framework. Both the ANC and NEPI texts are also committed to the democratization of educational governance. This process is to be understood as a broadening of participation in educational decision-making. Two forms of citizen participation can be discerned in the ANC and NEPI documents.

Decentralization in South Africa

tionally guaranteed power and is distinguished from power which a central state delegates. While some of the shortcomings of the ERS notion of decentralization have been pointed out (see Bennell et al., 1992; Collins and Gillepsie, 1993; Sayed et al., 1992, etc.), such as that it could be conceived of as a strategy of the state to perpetuate inequalities and preserve white privileges, it has failed to engage sufficiently with the discursive shift that the recommendations effect. The ERS document is not only arguing that educational decentralization will best meet certain goals such as parental participation. It is also suggesting that the policy of decentralization is both necessary to, and consistent with, the values of freedom and democracy. In other words, to be a citizen with basic human rights is to be an individual with 'decentralised original power'. This conceptual linkage is problematic for a number of interrelated reasons. First, it is only a particular version of democracy, mainly representative democracy, which sees the presence of a right as meeting the necessary conditions for the existence of democracy. Second, the constitutional existence of a right does not guarantee and may in fact contradict other rights. The existence of a right must therefore consider the conditions under which it can be or is exercised. Thus the right to control schools may be meaningless in a context when, as is the case in South Africa, schooling is not compulsory for all. Finally, a 'legalistic' approach to rights traps the notion, as is evident in the American case (see Moon, 1990; Guthrie, 1992, for example), into complicated legal procedures which may marginalize minority groupings and the poor. The ANC's commitment to decentralization is to be found in its discourse of 'democratisation'. The starting-point for the ANC document is the legacy of apartheid education. The apartheid education system was highly undemocratic, non-participatory and fragmented. A restructured system of educational governance had therefore to ensure effective and wider participation and create a unitary education order. Thus, the ANC's (1994b, p. 21) document identified democracy as a key goal in restructuring the system of governance.

29

There are two elements in the ANC's discourse of democratization: first, the idea that the participation of individuals and organizations is vital and necessary to the process of democratizing the system of educational governance (ANC, 1994d, pp. 3-4). Second, the ANC texts (1992, 1994a, 1994b, and 1994d) argue that citizenry participation in a democracy must be conditional upon certain factors. These include: i.

the principle that freedom of choice must be exercised within a social and national context of equality of opportunity and the redress of imbalances (ANC, 1994b, p. 3); and ii. the principle that freedom of choice must accept the primary of the institutions of representative democracy (ANC, 1994b, p. 3). Thus, for the ANC, educational decentralization refers to: i.

the belief that broadening participation in educational governance is necessary to create a democratic system of governance; ii. the idea that increased participation will create a more effective and open administrative system; and iii. the idea that the devolution of powers must take into account various values such as redress. However, there is a conceptual tension in the ANC's discourse of democratization. It is unclear how the tension between the 'right to participate' and the limitations on the 'right to participate' is to be resolved. A close examination of the model of governance suggests that in the event of a conflict between, for example, the national and provincial level with reference to equal opportunities, the central state will decide to what extent provincial autonomy can be compromised in order to ensure equality of opportunities. The ANC's document therefore posits a 'statist* version of democracy. For the NEPI systems and school governance options the crucial question is not the centralization or decentralization question. The critical questions for the two options are: 'Who will participate in making decisions?' 'About what will they make decisions?' and 'At what level will such decisions be made?'. While the two options agreed

30 YYusufSayed that these questions were more meaningful than the unproductive dichotomy between centralization and decentralization, both options answered the questions differently. While Buckland and Hofmeyr, who formulated the NEPI systems option, argue that their approach is an attempt to transcend the sterile centralization versus decentralization debate, their answers nonetheless suggest the centralization of certain functions and the decentralization of others. As they (Buckland and Hofmeyr, 1993, p. 58, my emphasis) put it: In the future we require a mixed system of governance that will accommodate both structural tendencies from our past, recognise both sets of political demands as well as reconcile the needs for centrallydirected reform, ongoing innovation and conflict resolution.

Thus, if the systems option forwards a mixed system of governance which includes both centralizing and decentralizing tendencies, how is the 'mix' decided upon? The mix is to be determined by the seven principles which they suggest should guide the process of restructuring the governance system (Buckland and Hofmeyr, 1993, pp. 63-4; NEPI, 1992, p. 38). In particular, Principle Five (Principle of Differentiated Policy Functions) (Buckland and Hofmeyr, 1993, p. 63) states that: The policy process must provide for ... a wide crosssection of interests to participate in policy formulation, while a more closely accountable group are charged with responsibility for adoption, and a group of accountable officials are responsible for implementation.

Principle Five is a direct outcome of their stated belief in liberal democratic values (Buckland arid Hofmeyr, 1993, pp. 9-10) in that it conceives of the system of governance as one that derives its legitimacy from the process of elections and in which implementation is in the hands of paid officials. In short, it is a system which models itself on representative democracy. As Buckland and Hofmeyr (1993, p. 70, my emphasis) put it: A central aim of the proposed structure is to balance the need for broader participation with the demands for coherence, unity and equality without compromising political or bureaucratic accountability.

The justification for Principle Five is premised on their argument that there is a tendency to misinterpret the demands for participation in the governance process. Citing the work of Holmes (1985) they suggest that the demand to be involved in educational governance does not necessarily mean that those seeking involvement desire decision-making powers. In fact, it is possible, they suggest, that involvement simply means being consulted or being kept informed. Even if this were the case, the non-exercise of a right does not mean that the right can be dispensed with. The systems option's discourse of decentralization is essentially an attempt to combine the idea of individual rights with the right of involvement which does not include decision-making powers. Decentralization could thus be interpreted as a strategy of legitimation rather than a genuine transfer of power. The NEPI school governance option was developed by Sayed (1992) and its conceptual framework is grounded in both a critical review of the decentralization literature and in an examination of the notion of community control in South Africa. Sayed's (1992, pp. 11-13) review of the notions of decentralization and community control states that: i.

decentralization is not, as the literature argues, an attempt by states to transfer power. Instead, decentralization can be interpreted as an attempt to optimize state control; ii. most states opt for a mixed economy of educational governance with both centralized and decentralized forms of control; and iii. th§ notion of community control of education in South Africa conflates the capacity of an organization to act as a vehicle for the representation of its members interests and the ability of an organization to manage education. For example, PTSAs are seen to be structures which should both represent the interests of its membership and manage schools. Given the above conclusions, Sayed (1992) argues that the democratization of educational governance must deal centrally with the issue of power. Moreover, it should involve civil society organizations into its institutional structures. In

Decentralization in South Africa

this respect, the school governance option proposes three principles that should govern the generation of a framework of educational governance. These (NEPI, 1992, p. 44; Sayed, 1992, p. 34) involve: i.

making visible the power relations that underlie school governance; ii. facilitating broader participation in governance through the creation of dual modes of representation and management; and iii. deepening democracy by strengthening the capacity of wider interest groups in civil society for participation in governance. The school governance option states that the model is able to render power transparent by creating structures that are open to public participation as regards their terms of reference, composition and modus operand! (NEPI, 1992, p. 50). Further, the model ensures transparency by allowing civil society organizations at the various levels of the system the right to decide upon the implementation of policies. The second principle is explained as follows (NEPI, 1992, pp. 48-51): participation in school governance can be separated into analytically different, though interrelated, modes: the management mode and the representative mode. The management mode is understood to be primarily the domain of the government, and involves the day-to-day management of schools. The representative mode is largely the domain of key interest groups (parents, teachers, and students) and is concerned with informing the management mode about the concerns and interests of organisations, groupings, and individuals in the community.

The second principle is an attempt to facilitate and strengthen the participation of civil society in structures of educational governance. Organizations of civil society are conceived of as vital participants at the various levels of the system (Sayed, 1992, p. 15). The school governance option also provides for public fora, such as associations of regional education boards which would serve as fora for debating educational policies. They would not be decisionmaking bodies. Such fora would provide an addi-

31

tional space for the participation of organizations located in civil society. Even though the school governance option argues that its three principles transcend the centralization/decentralization debate, it none the less proposes the centralization of certain functions such as financing and the decentralization of others such as school administration (Sayed, 1992, p. 35). The school governance's discourse of decentralization is an attempt to validate other forms and sources of power outside the formal parliamentary sphere. It could thus be interpreted as an attempt to facilitate the participation of organizations located in civil society in the various structures of educational control without making them accountable for adopting particular educational policies. Yet this is its conceptual conundrum; for in giving access, it may end up compromising the characteristic autonomy of organizations located in civil society. On the other hand, access without accountability not only is undemocratic but also abrogates to itself the power of the organized groupings of society. This tension is not resolved in the model.

Concluding comments Three key features can be discerned from an examination of the policies of educational decentralization contained in the three documents, namely: i.

a strong commitment to individual freedom in the form of parents as consumers may actually limit the freedom of others and perhaps contradict the principles of equality and justice which are central to the existence of democracy; ii. strong commitment to state control may not lead to the processes of deepening democracy through extending participation; and iii. commitment to strong central control and strong forms of participation may lead to impractical and unmanageable systems of governance.

32 YYusufSayed Thus, the core issue is not educational centralization or decentralization but the balance between autonomy and control. The balance involves a series of trade-offs, where a gain for one model or a particular aspect of one model may involve a loss for another. For example, emphasizing strong central control may standardize educational provision but it may also inhibit extensive participation. Furthermore, the trade-offs between and within the models may mean that all the goals and values may not be mutually satisfied. For example, redress may meet the goal of equality but may undermine the value of individual freedoms. Thus, if the balance between freedom and control involves a series of trade-offs, on what basis can a choice be made between the different alternatives? The question is not simply a technical one since the choice between the various scenarios of educational governance embody a range of diverse value

and ideological commitments. Furthermore, the trade-offs are intimately connected to complex political dilemmas. For example, parental control as outlined in the ERS model may give richer parents better resourced schools. This may undermine the ANC's commitment to equality and as a consequence alienate its support base. Additionally, the trade-offs cannot simply be settled in the abstract. For example, who should participate in educational governance will be partly shaped by the day-to-day struggles between the various social forces in South Africa. Thus, the trade-offs involve a range of considerations and choices which are beyond the technical. The resolution of the tensions inherent in the trade-offs imply hard choices that the new South African government will be forced to make in creating a new dispensation of educational governance. This chapter has highlighted some of the hard choices that the new government will confront in the coming years.

APPENDIX 3.1 THE ERS MODEL OF EDUCATIONAL GOVERNANCE

Decentralization in South Africaa 33

APPENDIX 3.2 THE ANC MODEL OF EDUCATIONAL GOVERNANCE

Key:

NICD SAQA NOLA NETCC GETC FEC NCTE LIS HEC

National Institute for Curriculum Development South African Qualifications Authority National Association of Licensing Authorities National Education and Training Coordinating Council General Education Training Council Further Education Council National Council for Teacher Education Library and Information System Higher Education Council

34 YYusufSayed APPENDIX 3.3 THE NEPI SYSTEMS OPTION'S MODEL OF EDUCATIONAL GOVERNANCE

FORMULATION ADOPTION IMPLEMENTATION MONITORING

Decentralization in South Africaa 35

APPENDIX 3.4 THE NEPI SCHOOL GOVERNANCE OPTION'S MODEL OF EDUCATIONAL GOVERNANCE

36 YYusufSayed APPENDIX 3.5 DECISION-MAKING POWERS (a) National and Provincial/Regional powers

POLICY DOCUMENTS

NATIONAL

PROVINCIAL/REGIONAL

ERS

Norms Standards Higher education

None specified

ANC

Policy frameworks Qualification structure Curriculum policy Norms and standards Information system Planning and financing Conditions of service of education personnel Industrial relations National quality assurance system Higher education

Powers defined within the national framework

NEPI SYSTEMS OPTION Specific powers to be decided after consultation National policy Examples include: Curriculum Examinations NEPI SCHOOL GOVERNANCE OPTION

Responsible for key governance decisions Examples include: Curriculum Financing

Schedule 6 item in Interim Constitution

Similar to national level functions but must be governed by national policy

Specific powers to be decided after consultation Powers determined within a national framework Examples include: Co-ordinating adult and non-formal education Powers to be determined within a national framework Key powers include: Equalization Redistribution Overcoming apartheid/ geographical/ racial fragmentation

Decentralization in South Africa

37

(b) Local and institutional powers

POLICY DOCUMENTS

LOCAL

INSTITUTIONAL

ERS

No provision made for local level of governance

Maintenance Provision of e.g. water Teacher pay subvention Admissions policy Teacher employers

ANC

Not clear at time of writing

Powers to be defined after a process of consultation with various stakeholders

Possible examples include: Management of all pre-higher education Appointment of educators NEPI SYSTEMS OPTION Powers determined within a national framework Examples include: Inspections

Powers determined within a national framework Examples include: Monitor standards Discuss inspectors' reports

NEPI SCHOOL GOVERNANCE OPTION

Powers determined within a national framework Powers must include: Setting day-to-day school policy which can possibly include matters such as discipline

Powers determined within a national framework Powers must include: Teacher appointment Redistribution Equalization

Note 1 Since April 1994 new educational policy legislation has been introduced which alters some of the ideas contained in the three policy texts analysed. A review of contemporary policy development can be found in Sayed, 1996.

References ANC (1991a) ANC Education Department on the Education Renewal Strategy Discussion Document. Press Release. ANC (1991b) Discussion paper for the ANC on Education Policy. ANC Education Department. ANC (1992) Ready to Govern. ANC policy guidelines for a democratic South Africa. Resolutions of the ANC

policy conference held during 28-31 May. ANC (1993) A Policy Framework for Education and Training Discussion Document. Braamfontein: ANC Education Department. ANC (1994a) ANC Policy Commitments for Education and Training. National Conference on Education and Training of the ANC and allied organizations, 16-17 April. ANC (1994b) A Policy Framework for Education and Training. Braamfontein: ANC Education Department. ANC (1994c) IPETInterim Task Team Report on Governance. Braamfontein: ANC Education Department. ANC (1994d) IPET Task Team Report on Governance. Braamfontein: ANC Education Department. Bennell, P. et al. (1992) The education renewal strategy: an agenda for negotiation. Discussion paper, EPU, University of the Witwatersrand/NECC, Braamfontein. Buckland, P. and Hofmeyr, M. (1992) The governance of

38 YYusufSayed education in South Africa: a working paper. EDUPOL. Johannesburg: Urban Foundation. Buckland, P. and Hofmeyr, M. (1993) Education governance in South Africa. EDUPOL Resource Document Series, 1(1). Johannesburg: Urban Foundation. Carrim, N. and Sayed, Y. (1991) The Model B schools: reform or transformation? Work in Progress, 74. Carrim, N. and Sayed, Y. (1992a) Civil society, the NECC. Perspectives in Education, 14. Carrim, N. and Sayed, Y. (1992b) Pay as you learn. Work in Progress, 74. CHED (1991) A Curriculum Model for Education in South Africa: Discussion Document. Pretoria: DNE. Chetty, D. (1992) Education policy proposals in the interregnum: review and commentary. Paper presented to the Kenton-at-Broederstroom Conference, Broederstroom, Johannesburg, 30 Oct.-2 Nov. Chetty, D. et al. (1993) Competing strategies: the NP and NEPI options. Indicator South Africa, 10(2), 49-54. Collins, C. B. and Gillespie, R. R. (1993) Educational renewal strategy for South Africa in a post-apartheid society. International Journal of Educational Development, 13(1), 33-44. Constitution of the Republic of South Africa Bill, B 212D-93 (GA), 1993. Draft White Paper on Education (1994). Government Gazette, 351 (15974), 23 Sept. 1994. EDUPOL (1991) Some initial comments on the Model C announcements published by CHED on 4 June 1991. Braamfontein: Urban Foundation. EPU (1993) Draft policy for the system and structure of schooling. A report to the CEPD by the EPU, University of the Witwatersrand/NECC, Braamfontein. EPU (1994) EPU Summary of ANC Draft Policy Framework for Education and Training. EPU, University of the Witwatersrand/NECC, Braamfontein. EPU-Natal (1993) Towards a new structure of governance of schooling. EPU-Natal Discussion Paper, EPUNatal, University of Natal/NECC, Natal. ERS (1992a) Education Renewal Strategy: Management Solutions for Education in South Africa. Pretoria: DNE. ERS (1992b) Education Renewal Strategy: Questions and Answers. Pretoria: DNE. Guthrie, J. (1992) Promoting equity: the American experience. Paper delivered at the Organisation, Management, and Financing of Education: Towards De-

centralization and Equity Conference, held by the Kagiso Trust, Johannesburg, 2 June 1992. Holmes, B. (1985) Policy formulation, adoption, and implementation in a democratic society. In J. Lauglo and M. McLean (eds), The Control of Education: International Perspectives on the CentralizationDecentralization Debate. London: Heinemann. Moon, B. (1990) Patterns of control: school reform in Western Europe. In Moon (ed.), New Curriculum: National Curriculum. London: Hodder & Stoughton. NEPI (1991) Towards a framework and a set of guiding principles for NEPI. A working document prepared by the Principles and Frameworks Committee. NEPI/ NECC. NEPI (1992) Governance and Administration: Report of the NEPI Governance and Administration Research Group. Cape Town: Oxford University Press/NECC. NEPI (1993a) The Framework Report and Final Report Summaries. Cape Town: Oxford University Press/ NECC. NEPI (I993b) Education Planning, Systems and Structure: Report of the NEPI Education Planning, Systems and Structure Research Group. Cape Town: Oxford University Press/NECC. Nicholls, G. (1993) Governance and administration. In B. Van Dyk (ed.), Collocation: ERS, CUMSA, NEPI. Durban: Natal Teachers' Society. Sayed, Y. (1992) A critique of the decentralisation of educational administration: reconceptualising the governance of schooling. Paper prepared for the NEPI Governance and Administration Research Group. Sayed, Y. etal. (1992) The Educational Renewal Strategy document: analysis and critique. Paper prepared for the NEPI Governance and Administration Research Group. Sayed, Y. (1995) Educational policy developments in South Africa, 1990-1994: a critical examination of the policy of educational decentralisation with specific reference to the concepts of decentralisation, participation and power. PhD thesis, University of Bristol. Sayed, Y. (1996) Democratizing educational governance in South Africa: policy, problems and perspectives. Paper presented at the World Congress of Comparative Education Societies, Sydney, 1-6 July. (Mimeo).

Part Two Issues in Policy and Planning

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4

The Role of Teachers in Educational Reforms

CLIVE WHITEHEAD Educational change depends on what teachers do and think - it's as simple and as complex as that. It would all be so easy if we could legislate changes in thinking. (Sarason, 1971)

The past 30 years have witnessed unparalleled efforts by governments in most countries to reshape the nature and purpose of public schooling. The changes have centred on restructuring school systems and wholesale curriculum innovations designed to cater more effectively for the needs of all students. In recent years the traditional concept of uniform state schooling has also been challenged, with a greater emphasis being placed on devolving educational administration from the macro or departmental/ministerial level down to that of the micro or school-based level. In many countries the pace of change has been unprecedented. In Australia, for example, the past decade has probably generated more reform agendas across all states than in the rest of the country's educational history put together. In retrospect, in most countries, after three decades of planned reforms, the outcomes have generally been disappointing. Many changes have not worked out as intended but the workloads of teachers have increased with a consequent decline in morale. Teachers also remain deeply divided in their views about the value of the new policies. Why have reform programmes proved so disappointing? It will be argued in this chapter that the root of the problem is to be found in the highly individual and moral nature of most teaching, coupled with the prevalence in many countries of top-down governmental directives which have singularly

failed to make adequate provision for the involvement of practising teachers in the formulation and implementation of changes in schools. In recent years the management of educational change has become a major political issue and the hobby-horse of numerous journalists and academics. As a consequence, a seemingly endless stream of books and journal articles has appeared on the theme of managing change in schools, and a jargon, largely derived from economics, has emerged in the literature. Terms like index of performance, performance indicators, product matrix structures, efficiency, effectiveness, line management, accountability - the list is endless - are all suggestive of a 'planned world' in which it is assumed that people can be programmed and/or manipulated by others to act as directed. To suggest otherwise - to argue that teaching is a highly individual activity which frequently involves imprecise and even unanticipated outcomes because it involves human beings whose individual responses are all unique - is akin to heresy. While there is undoubtedly much in modern management theory that can help to maximize the use of scarce resources and, it is hoped, improve the quality of schooling, and while devolving the management of schooling clearly has its merits, none of these measures alters the essential nature of teaching. It still remains, for most practitioners, a highly idiosyncratic activity in which the outcomes remain both open-ended and often impossible to quantify. In 1950, the renowned educator Dr C. E. Beeby, then New Zealand's Director of Education, addressed the annual conference of the nation's

42 Give Whitehead

primary teachers in Wellington. At the time he was at the forefront of major educational reforms designed to reshape the nature of schooling. He was anxious to persuade primary teachers to adopt a more progressive child-centred philosophy in their work in contrast to the traditional subjectcentred legacy inherited from the nineteenth century. In the course of his speech he said that, after ten years in office, he realized that 'It is what exists in your hearts and your system of values that matters in the progress of education' (National Education, 1950). What he had specifically in mind was the fact that the nation's primary schools would not be transformed because of any directive from him or the Minister of Education but because teachers, young and old, believed that the proposed changes were worthwhile and in the ultimate interests of children. Beeby later articulated this idea for posterity in a memorable address on curriculum reform delivered at the fourth Commonwealth Education Conference held in Lagos, Nigeria, in 1968. There is one thing that distinguishes teaching from all other professions, except perhaps the Church - no change in practice, no change in the curriculum has any meaning unless the teacher understands it and accepts it ... If a young doctor gives an injection under instruction, or if an architect as a member of a team designs a roof truss, the efficiency of the injection or the strength of the roof truss does not depend on his faith in the formula he has used. With the teacher it does. If he doesn't understand the new method, or if he refuses to accept it other than superficially, instructions are of no avail. At best, he will go on doing in effect what he has always done, and at worst he will produce some travesty of modern teaching. (Beeby, 1968)

Beeby has remained a leading expert on educational administration for half a century during which time he has never wavered in his belief that few, if any, educational reforms of any lasting significance succeed unless they are both fully understood and accepted by teachers. This is a standpoint frequently at odds with the widespread contemporary emphasis on external control of the educative process and the prescribed role of teachers. Nowadays it is widely assumed that education policy is determined by politicians who entrust its

implementation to government officials. They, in turn, determine the objectives of schools and the role that teachers are to play in the educative process. This top-down model might work if schools were akin to factories but children are clearly not comparable with inanimate objects like tins of baked beans or rubber tyres. As Beeby highlighted, teaching is essentially a value laden activity, and reflects what a teacher believes to be worthwhile. There is seemingly no escaping this conclusion short of turning teachers into glorified technicians. Politicians and bureaucrats alike may bemoan the fact, but in reality they have only a limited capacity to shape the nature and outcomes of schooling. Moreover, long experience suggests that unless they can persuade the majority of teachers in the schools that their reforms are desirable, that they can work and that they are in the ultimate interests of children, they invariably fail or are subverted. Bureaucrats and/or government advisers may prescribe the curriculum in schools but they have only limited control over the way it is taught. When a teacher shuts the classroom door on the outside world and is left alone with the pupils, what transpires is invariably in one way or another a measure of what that teacher believes to be worthwhile. In New Zealand, Beeby sought to change the philosophy of teachers - to steer them away from their traditional subject-centred approach to the curriculum towards a more holistic, child-centred emphasis. He had no illusions about the difficulty or the length of the task that he was undertaking. As he wrote to the chairman of a secondary school curriculum review committee in 1944, 'you have given me a good ten years' work' (NZDE, 1944). As Director of Education, Beeby had the power to change the outward trappings of the school system. He could issue regulations to reshape the system of public examinations, establish new types of schools, reorganize the inspection of schools and teachers and determine school catchment areas, but only practising teachers could ultimately change the spirit and purpose of schooling in the nation's classrooms. It is noteworthy that the reform programme initiated by Beeby succeeded in transforming the nation's primary schools but the secondary

Teachers in Educational Reformss 43

schools proved far more resistant to change. The difference in outcomes was clearly linked to the nature of the primary and secondary teachers in the schools. After 1945, New Zealand experienced a rapid increase in population and a consequent spectacular rise in demand for teachers, especially at the primary level. To meet that demand, many hundreds of young female students, in particular, were recruited from secondary schools at the age of 17 or thereabouts, given two years of training and then fed back into the primary schools as young teachers. On average, they taught for between two and three years before leaving to get married and raise a family. As a consequence there was a regular and rapid turnover of young teachers in the primary schools. Recruited at an impressionable age, they readily identified with the progressive child-centred pedagogy which was disseminated in the primary teachers' colleges and were quick to apply it in their teaching. Freed from the Proficiency or school leaving examination in 1936, New Zealand's primary schools were transformed under Beeby's leadership after 1945 (Whitehead, 1974). The austere and formal atmosphere of the interwar years rapidly gave way to a more informal and friendly classroom atmosphere in which colour and a variety of activities became the keynote and children started genuinely to enjoy going to school. Moreover, the vast majority of primary school teachers supported the changes. They derived satisfaction from their work while at the same time believing that it was in the longterm interests of all children that schooling should be an enjoyable as well as a worthwhile experience. Secondary school teachers reacted differently. Most of them were university graduates and therefore subject specialists and acutely aware that the quality of their teaching and the immediate interests of their students were judged almost solely by examination results. Subject matter was uppermost in their minds and many of them looked askance at the profound changes occurring in the primary schools. Until the mid-1950s, many secondary teachers had also received little or no formal training which might have brought them into contact with more progressive ideas about teaching and learning. Consequently, the reform of the

secondary schools took much longer to achieve. Until 1945 most secondary schools had been concerned primarily with the training of an academic elite destined mainly to enter the professions or the civil service. Thereafter, they had to cope with the full range of ability of children and the experience proved daunting even for the most experienced teachers. As Beeby later remarked, 'The whole teaching profession ... had to face, as never before during this century the real purpose and meaning of their craft. Philosophies and practices in education, that had never been fundamentally challenged by classroom teachers since the pattern was laid down in England towards the end of the last century, . . . had to be viewed afresh' (Whitehead, 1974). The main reform of the secondary curriculum involved creating a common core of studies for all children within the lower school. This cut across the traditional subject specialisms of the past and generated much opposition from some teachers. This was especially the case with science teachers and those teaching history and geography, who had to contend with the introduction of hybrid subjects like general science and social studies. The exclusion of foreign languages and Latin from the common core similarly generated adverse reactions from some teachers. When Beeby retired in 1960, after no less than 20 years as Director, he could derive satisfaction from what had been achieved in the primary schools but the secondary schools were still a battleground of conflicting educational philosophies. To some degree the success or failure of school reform depends on an adequate supply of material resources and personnel and New Zealand at the time in question was no exception. Throughout the 1950s there was a persistent shortage of wellqualified and trained teachers in secondary schools, especially in science subjects and mathematics, and the school building programme constantly laboured to keep abreast of burgeoning enrolments, but it was the teachers themselves and their attitudes that constituted the critical factor in determining the success or failure of the educational reform programme in both primary and secondary schools. In retrospect, Beeby readily agrees that insufficient emphasis was placed on the ongoing professional education of teachers to

44 Clive Whiteheadd

counter opposition to the more progressive educational philosophy that he espoused.1 A similar manifestation was evident in Australia in the 1980s when all state governments initiated major educational changes. Those introduced in Western Australia are a classic example of top-down direction based on the assumption that teachers would perform as directed. Until the early 1970s, secondary schooling in Western Australia was geared to the Junior Certificate examination which students generally attempted at the age of 15 plus. The Senior Certificate, sat two years later, provided the means of access to tertiary education. In the 1960s there was a rapid growth in secondary schooling. At the same time, the curriculum, traditionally geared to the needs of an academic minority, became increasingly inappropriate for the majority of students. As a consequence, major changes were made to the lower secondary school curriculum in the early 1970s with the introduction of the Achievement Certificate. Henceforth, students were streamed upon entry to high school into 'Advanced', 'Intermediate' and 'Basic' categories and the curriculum was adjusted accordingly. Within a decade this system was subjected to increasing criticism because less able students were labelled as 'Basic' upon entry to secondary school and suffered from low selfesteem as a consequence. When the state Labor Party became the government in 1983, it immediately established an Education Review Committee, comprising no fewer than 26 members, under the leadership of Mr Kim Beazley, a former Federal Minister of Education. The upshot was the publication of the Beazley Report and the subsequent introduction of the so-called 'Unit Curriculum' (Beazley, 1984). In principle, this was an attempt to allow students to choose their own subjects and to make progress through high school dependent on their own individual efforts. Critics immediately claimed that the Unit Curriculum was based on a smorgasbord approach and predicted trouble ahead. In retrospect, many of their worst fears were realized. The changes were part of a major attempt by the state government to wrest the control of education back from a long entrenched professional bureaucracy. Inadequate financial and ma-

terial resources were provided to implement the revised curriculum and little attention was directed to the experiences of 'trial' schools before the programme was launched state-wide. The main weakness, however, was the almost complete failure to involve practising teachers in planning the changes. The government claimed that it did consult teachers but there was little or no evidence to suggest that more than a relative handful of teachers were involved in shaping the new policy. As Michael Fullan has observed in relation to educational change in general, one of the great mistakes over the past 30 years has been the naive assumption by governments that including some teachers on curriculum committees or involving others in new programme developments would facilitate the implementation of changes because it would increase acceptance by other teachers (Fullan, 1991). Nothing could be further from the truth, as the course of events in Western Australia were to demonstrate (Wallis, 1992). The practical problems generated by the Unit Curriculum were endless and resulted in the morale of many teachers plummeting to an all-time low, but it was equally the widespread lack of genuine commitment by teachers to the underlying philosophy that eventually brought about its downfall. Many teachers were convinced that it was not in the best interests of students to allow them to choose their own subjects, while a subsequent government decision to allow students to progress to a higher level in a subject regardless of their level of achievement meant in effect that no student was deemed to have failed. This seemed to negate one of the main principles underlying the Unit Curriculum. Many teachers were also critical of the way in which their subject matter had to be pre-packaged into self-contained units which left little or no scope for longer-term study and reflection. Pre-packaged units of study also eroded the professional status of teachers because they effectively lost their professional responsibility for curriculum planning and design. Since the introduction of the Unit Curriculum in the early 1980s, there have been many more changes in Western Australian schools, including the devolution of responsibility for daily management to principals and school councils in the wake of a

Teachers in Educational Reforms

corporate management revolution in the civil service. As a consequence, many schools have substantially modified the format of the Unit Curriculum, although it is still the required form of reporting student progress, and the philosophy behind it is no longer enthusiastically espoused by the state government. The educational changes introduced by the Thatcher government into England and Wales in the 1980s provide further evidence to endorse Beeby's contention about the importance of teacher support if educational changes are to succeed. The attempt to apply free market principles to education has generated deeply divisive debates among teachers and the lay public alike. Is it appropriate to apply the principles of free market economic theory to education? What constitutes an effective school? To what extent can teachers and schools be held accountable and by what criteria? Is a national curriculum in the nation's best interests? What should it contain? Is national testing of children, especially at the ages of 7 and 11, of educational benefit to individuals and the nation? Will school-based management enhance the quality of education and promote greater equality of educational opportunity? These are typical of the myriad of questions that have generated intense debate because they strike at the roots of what are for many teachers longestablished educational beliefs and practices. It is hardly surprising, therefore, that government directives are frequently greeted with angry words of criticism. The sustained opposition of many teachers to the national testing of young children in England and Wales has resulted in major modifications to government policy. Much of the criticism from teachers clearly centred on practical issues — the time spent on testing and increased workloads - but for many there is also a deep philosophical issue at stake - is it really in the best interests, especially of young children of primary school age, to subject them to national testing, to grade schools on the basis of the results and then to publish league tables in the national press? An issue of equal importance for teachers involves their future role in the educative process. Are they to be viewed as genuine professionals with the right to make independent judgements in relation

45

to children or is their future status to be determined largely by assessment profiles and/or student outcome statements? Much of the academic literature on education and change acknowledges the important role that teachers must play if there are to be significant and lasting changes in the functioning of schools, but this concern does not appear to have had much impact on the shaping of government policy. In Australia, and probably elsewhere, the framing of education policy has always seemingly been premised on the implicit assumption that teachers would comply with whatever the politicians or the senior bureaucrats dictated. In the past this was a matter which rarely gave cause for widespread concern because education policy was generally shaped by educators - in the case of Australia by Directors-General and their senior staff- who had all formerly been teachers themselves and then risen through the ranks of school inspectors and senior administrators. In most cases they kept in close touch with the grass roots of their profession and most teachers accepted their professional leadership. Since the early 1980s, however, politicians have reasserted their control over education and Directors-General and their senior advisers have been replaced by corporate managers. It is little wonder, therefore, that teachers now express grave concerns - often open cynicism - about education policy when it is seemingly reduced to the status of a political football. In a recent study on the restructuring of schools in America, Richard Elmore (1990) highlighted the powerlessness which is often felt by teachers in the wake of current reforms. This applies equally to teachers in Western Australia. Many felt that the Unit Curriculum was imposed upon the schools as much for political as for economic reasons and this served to heighten their lack of genuine commitment to its successful implementation (Wallis, 1992). Elmore went on to argue that it was critically important for teachers to be closely involved in determining how schools should function if the benefits of devolving responsibility for school management were to be achieved. He postulated three possible models for reforming the nature and purpose of schooling. The first the technological approach - is to base reform on

46

Clive Whitehead

the best knowledge available about teaching and learning. Unfortunately, research findings about teaching and learning are frequently ambivalent and/or inconsistent and many, perhaps most, teachers would still subscribe to the belief that teaching is as much an art as a science. Consequently current research cannot provide a clear path to follow. The second model is based on the belief that educational practice should be determined primarily by what the clients want. This approach may work for the sale of washing powder but it is doubtful whether most teachers or the lay public in general would find the idea acceptable as the sole basis for a nation's education system. The third model, which Elmore endorses, is teacher-centred, and puts the knowledge, values and judgements of teachers at the forefront of restructuring schools. Elmore's third model highlights the allimportant fact that teaching is essentially a moral process. This is a theme explored at length by Maurice Holt (1987). He claims that many, if not most of the daily decisions made in schools imply assumptions about what is deemed to be good for teachers as professionals and good for pupils. This raises the critical question of whether teachers are free agents or bound by government direction. Beeby saw teachers as akin to free moral agents. His role as Director of Education was to try to convince them that change was desirable. He had no illusions about the need to reform the schools along progressive lines but he recognized that all teachers would not necessarily share his beliefs. Indeed, he was for many years the focus of strident opposition from the Auckland Herald, one of New Zealand's leading newspapers, and the term Beebism was even coined by his critics in Parliament to denote all that they thought was bad about New Zealand education. Today there is a widespread tendency to expect teachers to conform to whatever general principles are determined by management. Many educational planners, so-called, grudgingly accept that teachers have ideas of their own but they are generally considered to be of a short-term nature. Will the new idea work? How will it affect me? This view reduces teachers to a reactive role. What governments are reluctant to acknowledge is that teachers can also be proactive

and question whether a new initiative is really in the best interests of children? Nowadays, governments in most countries are intent on strategically directing change in education to bring it into line with broad socioeconomic objectives and on controlling the process of education inside schools. The priority accorded to control and accountability is for many people the antithesis of a liberal approach to life and education and constitutes a major philosophical challenge to many teachers. Improving the quality of schooling is not simply a matter of voting more money, providing more staff or introducing performance testing. As Holt emphasizes, governments need to look more closely at the practical and moral decisions implicit in reform agendas. What do teachers really think of changes often quite literally foisted on them by politicians and so-called experts alike? Fullan (1991) has highlighted the current absence of any theoretical basis for change in education - 'the theory of educational change is a theory of unanswerable questions' — and there are serious misgivings about current strategies for planned change, including the assumption that teachers are willing and competent agents. These conclusions do not necessarily imply that an impasse has been reached. Years of accumulated experience suggest that the most lasting reforms in schooling are those which have the support of teachers and which they have helped to formulate. Numerous writers testify to this basic truth. As Holt suggests, our search for understanding in education is generally achieved not via luminous insights but through reflection, as in a narrative, on what we have already gleaned. Teachers accumulate a vast amount of practical experience in the course of their working life. They know what works in schools and what is likely to work, and they also have a strong sense of what is worthwhile and morally acceptable. In a recent article in The Bulletin (1995), a leading Australian current affairs journal, entitled 'Crisis in the classroom', reference was made to the volatile and relentless pace of reform and change in Australian schools which many teachers thought showed scant regard for their role and contribution as professionals. At the same time,

Teachers in Educational Reforms

however, one education consultant stated that schools with the highest teacher morale were those that had changed the most but in every instance they were schools in which teachers felt that they had driven the change themselves. Elsewhere (Whitehead, 1991), it has been argued that perhaps the greatest challenge now facing most governments and their educational bureaucrats is how best to engage an articulate and well-informed but increasingly cynical teaching profession in the wake of repeatedly unsuccessful attempts to redirect the nature and purpose of schooling. Many teachers have now experienced a decade or more of questionable top-down directives from politicians and administrators alike, most of whom have now left the scene. In the immediate future there is an urgent need in many countries to restore the confidence of teachers in the work that they do. Time and effort put into genuine and enlightened programmes of ongoing professional development and a genuine involvement of teachers in shaping future education policy would do much to redress the harm inflicted on schools and teachers during the past decade. A greater emphasis on getting teachers to discuss and plan their work collectively rather than as individuals would also do much to facilitate a greater sharing of ideas and help to counter longstanding prejudices, although it would not - indeed should not - necessarily eliminate the stubborn fact that some highly effective teachers may never identify with the latest 'bandwagon' emanating from ministerial sources. Michael Fullan (1991) claims that teachers resist change, not because of some intrinsic dislike of it, but because they do not know how to cope with it. At the same time he argues that demands for change will always be with us because of the complex nature of modern society. The challenge for teachers, he believes, is to understand the change process and to get better at coping with it. Significant educational change, he argues, consists of changes in beliefs, teaching style and materials, which can come about only through a process of personal development in a social context. Much of Fullan's work conveys a deep sympathy for teachers and an understanding of their current problems, but his reference to a process of perso-

47

nal development in a social context sounds suspiciously like support for officialdom in the final analysis. Professional maturity derived from years of classroom experience and reflection can and often does predispose teachers to reject contemporary educational theories, including those currently based on the principles of the free market economy, or to treat them with the utmost circumspection. This is not a case of sheer bloodymindedness but more often than not a reflection of the fact that teachers are the only professional body traditionally held responsible for safeguarding what they interpret as the educational interests of children. Reporting on an international curriculum conference held in 1967, J. S. Maclure (OECD, 1973) referred to the strong English emphasis on the professional role of the teacher; one who must be directly implicated in the business of curriculum renewal rather than as a mere purveyor of other people's bright ideas. It was, he suggested a crucial element in the English educational tradition. Almost 30 years later the professional role of teachers remains a critical factor in the success or failure of educational reform. As Ingemar Fagerlind and L. J. Saha (1983) have stated, it is a relatively straightforward task to change administrative systems, to build schools, to recruit teachers and to make curriculum decisions, but to change what happens in the classroom has proven to be much more difficult.

Note 1 Private comment to the author.

References Bagnall, D. (1986) A Nation Prepared. Teachers for the 21st Century. The Report of the Task Force on Teaching as a Profession. New York: Carnegie Corporation.

48 Give Whitehead Beazley, K. (1984) Education in Western Australia. Report of the Committee of Inquiry into Education in Western Australia under the chairmanship of Kim E. Beazley. Perth, Western Australia. Beeby, C. E. (1990) Curriculum planning. Report of the Fourth Commonwealth Education Conference, 26 Feb-9 March 1968. Lagos, Nigeria: Commonwealth Secretariat. Carnall, C. A. (1990) Managing Change in Organizations. New York: Prentice-Hall. Crisis in the classroom. The Bulletin, 14 February 1995, pp. 38-41. Dalin, P. (1973) Case Studies of Educational Change: Strategies for Innovation in Education. Vol. IV. Paris: CERI, OECD. Dalin, P. (1978) Limits to Educational Change. London: Macmillan. Elmore, R. F. (1990) Restructuring Schools: The Next Generation of Educational Reform. San Francisco: Jossey-Bass. Fagerlind, I. and Saha, L. (1983) Education and National Development: A Comparative Perspective. Sydney: Pergamon. Fullan, M. (1991) The New Meaning of Educational Change. London: Cassell. Fullan, M. (1993) Change Forces Probing the Depths of Educational Reform. London: Falmer Press.

Holt, M. (1987) Judgment, Planning and Educational Change. London: Harper and Row. National Education, June 1950,179. New Zealand Department of Education (NZDE) (1944) Records. Wellington. File No. 34/1/23/119. Nicholls, A. (1983) Managing Educational Innovations. London: Unwin Educational Books. OECD (1973) Case Studies of Educational Innovation, Vol. 1. Paulston, R. G. (1976) Conflicting Theories of Social and Educational Changes: A Typological Review. Pittsburg: University Centre for International Studies, University of Pittsburg. Sarason, S. (1971) The Culture of the School and the Problem of Change. Boston: Allyn & Bacon. Wallis, S. (1992) The dichotomy of power and responsibility: pragmatic solutions in the implementation of a top-down curriculum innovation. MEd dissertation, The University of Western Australia. Whitehead, C. (1974) The Thomas Report - a study in educational reform. New Zealand Journal of Educational Studies, 9(1), 52-64. Whitehead, C. (1991) Review essay. Implementation: the challenge to educational planning in the 1990s. International Journal of Educational Development, 11(4), 315-19.

5

Educational Planning and the Development and Management of Schooling: A Comment

BRIAN GARVEY Modern formal schooling came into existence during that period when the most advanced economies were becoming industrialized and the more powerful communities were forming themselves into nation-states with organized public services and salaried bureaucracies. This was occurring in the richer countries of the globe during the whole of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. In the last half of the twentieth century this process has been speeded up for most other regions of the world as externally organized 'development' has introduced forms of industrialization into societies which had previously depended on an agricultural tradition, and heterogeneous communities have been rapidly amalgamated into nation-states. In all of these processes education has had a symbiotic role. As a catalyst for knowledge, ideas and empowerment it has contributed to these innovations. As a state-organized public service it has benefited from the world-wide transformation. However, the march of industrial progress seems to be have lost its step towards the end of the twentieth century. Industrialization, which has been the economic goal of most communities for two centuries, is being replaced, at least in the richest countries, by 'post-industry' with consequences which cannot be foreseen, while in the poorer third of the world, the benefits of modern industry seem to be as distant as ever. Similarly, the apparently well-established network of nation-states seems to be unravelling. Democratic revival appears to be fuelling old and new tribalisms and the economic capacities of states seem to be more illusory than real, bringing balance of payments problems to richer countries and leav-

ing the artificial creations of the Third World and the experimental systems of the former Second World in apparent collapse. In the developed world, new forms of international association seem to be challenging the traditional nation-state concept. All this too has profound consequences for education. As the state-systems founder, the organization of schools is considerably weakened while the need for knowledge and for the dispersal of skills among the young remains everywhere a communal necessity. In what appears to be a generally accepted philosophy of educational development, these recent phenomena would appear to be a problem for 'educational planning', although such issues call into question the entire concept of planning for an increasingly unreadable future. This might be particularly true of the advanced nations whose systems are on the verge of new technologies and newer demands. However, that is not the concern of this chapter. We are here concerned with education in the poorer nations and with the place that planning has occupied in the development of schooling systems. It is the contention of this chapter that the concept of educational planning in less developed countries has suffered from three drawbacks: from a lack of integration with management (in the industrial sense) which is necessary for the success of any service, from a subordination to a statist philosophy of educational development in which bureaucratic administration has too important a role and from dependence on a mistaken view of communal development which has largely been determined (in metropolitan centres) by international agencies and development banks.

50 Brian Garvey

Education can mean many things. It can mean the individual acts of learning in which a human being may be engaged during his or her life, and not only those which take place during childhood or adolescence. It may be understood as the entire profession and industry of formal teaching-andlearning which may exist in a territory. And it can designate the state systems for organizing the intellectual, cultural and vocational preparation of the young which may be devised in a particular country. Under each of these meanings formal education now exists in every inhabited territory of the globe. In all of them it has emerged after centuries of informal educational practices, giving way to locally devised and structured but nonformal devices which have themselves been absorbed by nation-states into country-wide systems, buttressed by law and funded out of government-collected revenue. As 'education' has become larger and more complex it has required an increasing need for more purposeful organization. This was not always the case. Traditional koranic schools had a fairly simple structure and over the years have spread from one territory to another with little management and no planning. Such schools were replicated from locality to locality, supported by local client groups and covering the same minimal but basic curriculum, but apparently without overall organization of any kind. Modern formal education on the other hand is as complex as the industrialized economies and societies which it is designed to serve. Although it may have begun as a minority activity for a ruling elite, it has grown as industrial processes have grown, either in reality or in hope and expectation, to encompass the aspirations of the entire youthful generation. Koranic schools, moreover, spread and survived without, in all but a very few cases, the active involvement of the state, as did most religious non-formal education of the Buddhist and Christian traditions. Modern secular schooling, however, has been taken over and managed in most cases by state governments. However, in many areas it was developed from a religious or community base, whose schools were used by governments to provide the foundation for what was to be

gradually organized into a mass, even a compulsory, activity. With the growth of industrialization, with larger and more complex units of production and service, has grown the need for and the provision of 'management', by which is meant the organization of work for a particular purpose by those who do not themselves necessarily engage in the work activity: 'getting things done by other people'. Henri Fayol was the first to try to devise a functionalist description of management, which has since been refined into four or five basic functions which all need to be assured if work is to be managed effectively. These are planning, organizing (including staffing), directing and controlling (Koontz and Weirich, 1988). What is interesting is that in industry these are all subdivisions of the same generic category of 'management' and in an industrial enterprise all are commonly answerable to the same 'managing director' or senior management committee. The functions may be separated or shared, but all have a common purpose: the survival of the enterprise as a productive or service unit. Planning therefore is a function of management. In most productive industry it is extremely important but diffuse. Industries are planned through the work of several collections of specialists: industrial designers, market developers and production engineers. All report to and must be co-ordinated by senior management who will determine policy and approve the departmental plans. Modern formal education shares some of the characteristics of other modern industry. It differs principally in its productive technology, which remains stubbornly rooted in the teacher/student relationship which is organized traditionally in schools. Only its curricula have become increasingly, and bewilderingly, complex and specialized as the technical world of industry has developed. But modern formal education is also part of the structure of the state, and state structures predate modern industry and have over the years created survival techniques which in part depend upon economic success but which do not necessarily obey the rules of the market and are subject to interest groups rooted in cultural or other social phenomena. State organizations also tend to be

Development and Management of Schools 51

less concerned with a philosophy of management. Except in the (now abandoned) centrally controlled economies, governments have not been expected to manage the details of their citizens' economic or social life. They are expected, however, to provide all citizens with safety and to establish the accepted rules by which their economic and social behaviour would be ordered. This was a concept of administration, which is a service operation and is not necessarily proactive. Administration waits upon action: prepares for it, provides the grounds for it, assists it when it occurs. It does not make it happen. Schools span both sectors of modern life. They prepare the young for industrial work and they are themselves organized in a para-industrial fashion. But they also serve the cultural and more traditional interests of a population and are part of the political framework of the state. In the poorer countries of the world this framework has been structured (in supposition or in fact) to national 'development' in which education has had a special place. This concept of development (whether national or educational) dates from the period of the Second World War and is associated with the simultaneous movement towards national freedom (from Fascist totalitarianism or from colonial domination) and the invention of multilateral agencies devised to further international security and economic growth: the United Nations Organization and its subsidiaries or associates (UNDP, UNESCO, UNICEF, UNWRO, ILO), the IMF and the World Bank. After the war the rehabilitation of the pre-war education systems was a comparatively easy matter to arrange. Once the economic system was in place, the reorganization of an already advanced education service could follow. In most colonial territories, however, education services were still at that time fairly rudimentary and had in many instances been developed by voluntary expatriate organizations acting in concert with state powers. But modern schooling played an important role in the movements for independence in the majority of colonized territories. Many of the leaders of independence politics had been educated in the colonial schools. They recognized that modern industrial states were dependent both on the existence of sophisticated methods of pro-

duction and on advanced institutions of government and commerce, all of which required a literate workforce and an educated managerial elite. And most of these independence movements operated under, or strove towards, democratic conditions which initially required the winning of support through electoral procedures. Successful democracy demanded a schooled electorate and success in elections required promises of eventual benefit to the electors. Mass schooling systems figured prominently in such promises of the benefits which were to be forthcoming after the election of the favoured 'independence' party. While political leaders were making promises to their supporters they were also engaged, usually in collaboration with the erstwhile colonizing authorities, in preparing the new national governmental system and the initial policies which were to guide its activities. For this they required help which was mainly forthcoming from various relevant United Nations bodies which could organize advice from the wider industrialized world outside the colonial metropoles. UNESCO for example was particularly well placed to recruit educationalists from around the world, with a preponderance of advice coming initially from the United States (which had no nationally organized education system but where education was almost universal and was seen to be of great importance in the inculturation of an immigrant workforce) and from the Soviet Union, which had successfully established a universal schooling system after its Revolution. Although industrial growth in the United States had originated in capitalist entrepreneurialism and commercial freedom, later American developments of the New Deal variety and the military-industrial complex of the war period had afforded to the federal government a large share in the direction of national macro-economic activity. It is hardly surprising therefore that American 'experts' should share with Soviet advisers a devotion to national planning for determining both the policies and the practices of the national education sector in new countries. In the immediate post-war period there was, it seems, little doubt about the primacy of the state in developing the affairs of people. The war had been fought between states and, as a result of the efforts

52 Brian Garvey

of war, state governments had become more expert at organizing the affairs of their citizens. Despite the growing political polarization, there was therefore little disagreement among international advisers about who should take the lead in organizing a national education system. The nature of the need and the realities of the political situation both indicated that it would be the newly established 'state'. But there was a problem about finance. Most post-colonial nations were too poor to create, out of government revenue alone, modern education systems with an enlarged base of primary schools leading eventually to a diverse tertiary subsector. UNESCO was not a funding agency, and developing countries had perforce to obtain resources either from bilateral agreements with developed nations or from multilateral organizations such as the World Bank or the regional development banks. Educational policy had to be devised therefore in a context of a dual economic environment: that of the state and its capabilities and that of the grant or lending agency and its economic prospectus. The primacy of planning in the organization and devising of education systems in developing countries came therefore from two sources. One was the centralizing statist philosophies which were predominantt in socialist countries and which were accepted as a model for development by most of the foreign experts who advised the developing government departments. The other, which became more and more evident as the 'development decades' progressed, was the need to secure financial support from development banks, which like all other banks demanded a worked-out financial plan before advancing loan resources. However, what was particularly lacking in most developing governments at this time was management expertise of any category, including that of planning. UNESCO perceived the need and decided in 1962 to establish the International Institute of Educational Planning (HEP) both to act as a training body from which such expertise could be developed and to co-ordinate advice to ministries on detailed plans and policies. Thus was educational planning formally institutionalized both within the education industry and within the purview of an international agency.

Since the United Nations bodies were not interested in particularist politics, educational planning was understood from the beginning to be a technical and 'scientific' activity. It was described as 'the application to education . . . of a rational, scientific approach to examining ... alternatives, choosing wisely between them, then proceeding systemically to implement the choices made' (HEP, 1969). Philip Coombs, the first IIEP director, described it as 'the application of a rational, systematic analysis to the process of educational development, with the aim of making education more effective and efficient in responding to the needs and goals of its students and of society' (Coombs, 1970). This might have been a satisfactory description of the place of planning activities in the overall management of an education service. There are many instances where rational analysis and a semi-scientific planning can be utilized. There is the process of determining the numbers of schools and teachers required for a given population under different policy options, for example. But educational planning was here understood to mean something altogether wider, including the basic decisions about the size and direction, the goals, of an education sector. This was more, therefore, than a technical operation. Education in one of its meanings has been described above as denoting the state systems for organizing the intellectual, cultural and vocational preparation of the young. This is not simply a matter of technical choice. It is, for instance, both a forward-looking and a backward-looking activity. The young learn in order to be able to operate in and to face the future. But from their teachers they learn about the past (for that is all that their teachers know about). Culturally and vocationally they absorb the skills of the past although it is also hoped that intellectually they will develop abilities which will enable them to deal with the problems of the future. But there is no science of the future. It is impossible to determine with any precision what the needs of the future will be. Despite the rhetoric, the best that education can do is to analyse the immediate, proximate past and hope that the near future will be something like it.

Development and Management of Schools 53

There is a saving factor in the purpose of planning education for a 'developing' society, one that has not yet passed through as much modernization as have the 'developed' states. Developing countries are after all trying to catch up not with the future but with the past. It is possible therefore to posit the present or even the recent past of developed nations as representing the future of developing countries, and thus produce an approximation to a science of the future. But history rarely repeats itself with enough accuracy to provide blueprints for the future, and the past of one country is not necessarily going to be the same as the future of another. The choice of alternatives, whether of goals or of the strategies to reach those goals, is not therefore simply a technical process. The HEP document of 1969 spoke of 'choosing wisely', and wisdom demands more than science. But there is also a problem about whose choice this should be. There are political and educational philosophies which would leave as much of that choice as possible to the individual. But in stateorganized schooling much of that choice has perforce to be made for the citizen by others. Aime Damibe, an educational planner from Africa, wrote that the 'choice of objectives ... should be left to the highest political authority. The educational planner should wait until the political decisions are communicated to him before he begins his work' (Damibe, 1980). Decisions about societal goals, especially those to which nationally organized finance is to be directed, is supremely a matter for society's leadership. More recently another African educationalist has written that 'contrary to misconceptions . . . the power and ultimate authority to plan is the prerogative or exclusive privilege of the highest authority in the land' (Forojalla, 1993). George Psacharopoulos, a World Bank educational economist, pointed out that macro-planning should be considered as policymaking rather than planning, with the implication that it is an activity for higher reaches of government than that of the planning office (Psacharopoulos, 1986). But in the practice of educational planning as advised and organized in developing countries, it was supposed that the ministry planner had a powerful role in such decision-making.

Hans Weiler, a previous director of IIEP, pointed out that in many cases there had been afforded to the educational planner a very fundamental place, even a 'political role in his own right', in determining the direction of educational development (Weiler, 1982). This would seem to echo what Caiden and Wildavski identified as the 'cybernetic regulator role', characterizing such planners as those who see themselves as 'a small but dedicated band which somehow enables the nation to meet its goals by bringing it to its senses when necessary' (Caiden and Wildavski, 1974, p. 266). Moreover, not only have educational planners been thus afforded responsibility for determining education policy, they have also from the beginning been advised to involve themselves in its actual delivery. Philip Coombs wrote that planning must be concerned with its own implementation, that plans are not meant to be carved in stone but must be changed and adapted as occasion warrants (Coombs, 1970). That this is true in practice cannot be denied, but the attribution of such changes to the planning division is an interesting reversal of roles from those of regular industrial management: instead of being a subdivision of management, planning appears to take responsibility for the total management of the enterprise. This does seem to signify a throroughly bureaucratic mode of thinking. If planning includes the devising of policy (choices), it might appear to be bureaucratic good sense to have the implementation of that policy (the realization of those choices) under the same supervision, from the planners in fact. However, modern schooling has not grown simply in order to gratify the state or its bureaucrats. It has been developed out of the process of industrialization: both meeting its needs (for a sophisticated workforce) and applying its methods to the organization of work. One of these methods is the practice of 'management', one function of which, according to the functional definition given above, is planning. This planning is a general activity of all management, not solely a specialist procedure nor even a primary concern of a leadership cadre. Everyone in the education service has to plan. A teacher has to plan a single lesson. A headteacher has to plan a timetable. A curriculum developer

54 Brian Garvey

has to devise new models for the delivery of education by teachers. And in the same way everyone in the education service has a foothold in management, for the central activity of education is not teaching, but learning. And that is always done by someone else: the student. Managing an education service requires first of all attention to survival. 'Steady state' management does not suppose that management always exists in a situation of equilibrium, but that it aims at maintaining something akin to equilibrium: maintaining the activity of teaching-and-learning even in adverse conditions. That this may involve following a plan is natural. But it is also natural that the plan be continually revised and changed as the conditions change. Alterations in the environment can require new methodologies to achieve the original objectives, or may require a change of objectives from those which appeared only recently to be relevant. Industry uses no blueprint for this. Management systems change according to circumstance. 'Corporate management' and 'local autonomy' regularly exchange places on the roundabout of organizational experiment. What is sure about modern industry is that it has ever been continually in flux, and that standardization which in one situation can offer economies of scale will, as circumstances change, often lead to fossilization and industrial stagnation. This of course reflects the difference between the cultures of administration and of management. As has already been pointed out, the administrator does not necessarily initiate or make an action happen. Management on the other hand has to be proactive. A manager is responsible that things occur. He or she must provide assistance to the action (including administrative assistance) but is above all charged with seeing that things do happen, that objectives are met, that work is done. Administration is usually the principal guide for public service activities, although these, too, need management. But management is the sine qua non of successful business, which will also demand competent administration. Administration supposes a stable environment, of rules and precedents and permanent relationships. Administration also helps to create the regulatory environment that it

prefers. Management, however, has to act within the world as it finds it. It cannot create artificial enclaves within which to act. If it attempts to do so its objectives (which have to do with the real, changing and ever challenging world) will be of no consequence outside the unreal enclave and the enterprise will founder when its failure to meet the conditions of the real world is eventually found out. This is one of the difficulties with trying to bring about development (in the real ever changing world) mainly through the actions of the state, which is supposed to be a stable if artificial environment. Another difficulty is the propensity of the state to act within a culture not just of administrative service but also of bureaucracy, which is often that of regulation for the sake of regulation. The French commentator, Michel Crozier, explained how a bureaucracy will fail to learn from its own mistakes. This is because mistakes occur, or at least become visible, at the point of delivery to the public, while bureaucratic superiors (except in highly artificial and unreal circumstances) do not get to meet this public. The manager (the headteacher, the district education officer), however, does meet the public in the guise of parents and guardians, of taxpayers and employers. The bureaucratic system moreover does not encourage the upward passage of information, and the state political system positively discourages the passage of bad news (such as that of a failure to meet objectives) to the rulers, the leading politicians or administrative superiors. Thus do bad policies survive. Poorly thought-out curricula, inoperative examination systems, school organization which discourages vocational learning are seen to persist all over the world, and to survive all attempts to reform them. Not that all such problems are patent of simple solution. Among the characteristics of education as an industry are the complexities of its multiple objectives and the different viewpoints that can be adopted by quite reasonable people about its processes. This is a weakness of Coombs's definition of planning as 'rational, systematic analysis'. Helen McGrath doubted the essential rationality of educational planning (McGrath, 1976) without re-

Development and Management of Schools

ferring to the classic critique of rationality by Herbert Simon who pointed out the limitations of human rationality in practice (the limits of knowledge, of analytical capacity and of time). Simon's views were made from within the (since partially discredited) 'systems' perspective on human action, but sparked off an interest in the micropolitics of administrative procedure by subsequent observers. Management authors such as Cohen, March and Olsen have studied business organizations particularly but have also had an abiding interest in their own intellectual base: that of American higher education. Here the veneer of academic rationality is seen to disguise in practice the many ambiguities of educational life: those of its purposes, of its technologies and of its criteria for success. What is true of American higher education is, mutatis mutandis, to be seen equally in the administration of other forms of education in other parts of the world, and no less so in developing countries. This adds the interference of micro-politics to the process of educational planning. High politics has already been identified in the issue of policymaking in education, and it would be too much to suppose that high politics is wholly rational. Micro-politics (or office politics) exists in all organizations. But office politics is not the basic technology of an educational planner. This has been described by Levin (1981) as being economics. Presumably because of the influence of the development banks on the formation of planning for educational development, the relationship between economic objectives and those of the national education system have always been stressed in educational planning. Decisions about what subsectors of education should have priority in funding have been assumed to depend upon the advice of economists and their arcane calculations. Although such decisions depend in practice upon high politics (as their implementation depends very much upon micro-politics), economic measures have been engaged to guide the statesman. Human resource theory was the theoretical base for this guidance in educational development, although human resource theory does not offer any indication as to how long it may take a

55

nation to achieve economic 'take-off using a human capacity-building approach. It is curious that from being the dominant theoretical backing for educational expenditure in the 1960s, that approach to development suffered a decline as recession ate into educational spending and induced pessimism about its economic effects, only to be restored recently to respectability. A realization that, in the end, all development depends on people appears to be again in the ascendant. However, development banks need a commercially persuasive guarantee of repayment before they will part with resources and this has been provided, by the educational economists, through educational 'cost benefit analyses'. These are processes for evaluating the economic benefit of educational investment by comparing the earnings over time of different categories of schooled workers. Despite their deficiencies (which mainly reflect their tendency to assess future economic performance by comparison with past history), these 'analyses' have featured in the educational policy documents of developing countries (especially in claims to extraneous funding) although they had earlier been completely lacking in those of the developed nations. Later it was considered by the banks that the most appropriate way to lend resources for such a doubtful purpose as education was to tie them to the funding of particular 'projects' with precise objectives which could be costed and time limits which could be controlled. Thus project planning was added to the duties of the planning division of a Ministry of Education, although 'projects' were originally conceived as devices for the construction or armaments industries where they are valued because they deal with precise quantities and with predetermined targets. 'Education' as such is difficult to quantify. Institutions, schools, buildings, teachers (as workers or units of financial expenditure) can be counted. But the resulting phenomenon called 'education' defies enumeration. However, quantities even of the appearance can be used by economists as a proxy for the substance. If enough schools exist and if enough teachers are trained and employed, then it may be presumed that 'education' has been forthcoming. Unfortunately in the real world it does not

56 Brian Garvey

always happen like that. Educationalists are aware of this and so are statesmen. Educational development requires a more adaptive form of management than that provided only by quantitative planning. This has already been identified as a problem in any planning for social development. David Korten (1984) has for many years maintained that international agencies were mistaken in adopting a 'blueprint' approach instoad of his favoured 'learning' approach in their planning for development. In their textbook on development planning Conyers and Hills (1984) described planning as 'a continuous process'. But development happens in localities and is at least partly determined by local circumstances. Rondinelli (1983) suggested that development policies should be judged as little more than experiments, requiring the same sort of adaptive management as that suggested by Korten. The latter considered that development workers must learn by their experiences (by experiment as much as by prior planning): first how to make their experiments effective (in the local circumstances where they are initiated). Second, they must learn how to make them efficient, matching them with effectiveness to the scarcest resources. And third, they need to learn how to make them grow: how to render them replicable in localities with similar problems or conditions. Planning in this sense happens by accretion: by the growth of learning from past experience. There have been examples of this occurring in educational development, but hardly in systems which rely on centralized state-organized planning for development. Daniel Morales-Gomez (1985) wrote of informal and non-formal experiences in Latin America which remain outside the purview of ministry planning departments but which result in locally effective education and which, if given a wider public, might lead to imitation and development elsewhere. Sheldon Shaefer (1990) has described three educational experiments in Indonesia, two of which had very limited success despite their rational planning procedures. However, the most successful innovation (that of CBSA-SPP) emphasized slow, gradual and incremental changes 'with different patterns of

implementation at different sites . . . The project was meant to grow slowly from the bottom up from one area to another, from actual practice in one school to a more general model, then to systematic evaluation and finally to a national plan.' The success of the first experiments of this type encouraged the ministry to extend the project to other areas which, however, caused 'traditional rigidities of bureaucracy to creep in ... mostly due to the pressure to expand without the planned replication sites'. This programme is said to be continuing and to be registering success in that something is happening, something in accordance with the objectives of the original policy. It is of little consequence to the recipient population that what they receive follows or does not follow exactly a ministry plan. What matters is that its education is delivered and that it works. As a recent publication by Olivier Bertrand put it, planning in this sense 'is not a pure technique but rather an art of pragmatic adaptation to circumstances' (Bertrand, 1992). The experience of the 'development decades' has not demonstrated at all clearly the advantages of bureaucratic devices, such as central planning, for the advancement of development in the social sphere. And it is certainly true that the exponents of educational planning have become more and more aware of many of these problems in the last ten years or so. Significantly the IIEP published in 1985 the contributions to a workshop held to commemorate 25 years of the Institute's foundation, many of which were extremely frank in their discussion of the shortcomings of educational planning over the past quarter century (IIEP, 1985). More recently too the Institute has offered us another view of the activities of planning (Caillods, 1991). This paper sets out a 'job description for planners' which includes the basic functions of collection and recording of management information, of assisting policy analysis with information and advice and the 'technical operations' which relate to projecting enrolments and costs, budgeting and even (in what the term technical would hardly seem to apply) developing curricula. But there are also included elements of more doubtful relevance and which might be considered beyond

Development and Management of Schools 5 7

the scope of a planning office. The first is a reversal to the idea of planning as a particular vocation: 'planners should start therefore by convincing political leaders that the path they are recommending is a wise one to take'. This presumes that planners always know a wise path when they see one, or that they are in a better situation to advise ministers than others with a different perspective. The second seems to be an even less likely function: 'planners ... must serve as a link between central government authorities and people at the grass roots level'. That such links are necessary will not be doubted by anyone in educational management, but the planning office hardly seems to be the place to find that facility. In addition, this exercise of renewal appears to signal one bureaucratic characteristic common to all public administration, that of the competition for resources. All the limitations on the effectiveness of planning have resulted in the conclusion that the function of planning should be 'extended to include such issues as the form, contents and method in education and the evaluation of achievements'. Despite the past failures of planning, the planner's job is therefore to grow. A more minimalist view is described by Carron (1992) whereby 'planning units at the central level restrict themselves to ... doing research and gathering data, facilitating decision making and policy formulation, and providing various support services ... and performing some basic functions of monitoring and evaluation.' While it is offered as just one decentralized alternative among others, this would seem better to fulfil the criterion of rationality in the business of educational management than its alternative: a centralized facility for 'developing long range scenarios' which may 'set in train processes geared to changing society through education'. It would seem therefore that despite the reported weaknesses of the modern nation-state, statist direction is still with us and living in educational planning. To return to the drawbacks mentioned at the beginning of this chapter: it seems that, in the last decade of the century and millennium, educational planning is still bedevilled by its subservience to the external agenda of development

banks and agencies. It is also caught up in the ongoing and confusing processes of state development. And it is still only imperfectly integrated into the procedures of national or local management. What has become more apparent also is that there is no clear blueprint to guide or map out any advance into the future. The international development institutions are half a century old and their former atlases are out of date. As parts of the world try to reorganize their political structures it appears that education is bound to develop in differing ways in different places. There are no longer any viable solutions for 'developing' areas in general. Management planning will have to be local and it will have to be a learning experience. But this may yet call for more energy on the part of an organization such as the International Institute for Educational Planning. Its skills in the techniques of quantitative analysis are still going to be required, but its graduates will need to exercise their functions in circumstances of changing power-structures and changing local demands which will hardly ever be foreseen with accuracy. This will together make the life of an educational planner less bureaucratically determined and altogether more adventurous than has ever been the case in the past.

References Bertrand, O. (1992) Planning Human Resources: Methods, Experiences and Practices. Paris: HEP. Caiden, N. and Wildavsksi, A. (1974) Planning and Budgeting in Poor Countries. New York: Transaction Press. Caillods, F. (1991) Educational Planning for the Year 2000. Paris: HEP (Contributions, No. 4). Carron, G. (1992) Capacity Building for Educational Planning and Administration: IIEP's Experience. Paris: HEP (Contributions, No. 10). Cohen, M. D. and March, J. G. (1974) Leadership and Ambiguity. The American College President. New York: McGraw-Hill. Conyers, D. and Hills, P. (1984) An Introduction to Development Planning in the Third World. London: John Wiley.

58 Brian Garvey Coombs, P. (1970) What is Educational Planning? Paris: HEP. Crozier, M. (1964) The Bureaucratic Phenomenon. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Damibe, A. (1980) Educational planning in theory and practice. In H. Weiler (ed.), Educational Planning and Social Change. Paris: IIEP. Forojalla, S. B. (1993) Educational Planning for Development. London: Macmillan. IIEP (1969) Administrative Aspects of Educational Planning. Paris: IIEP. IIEP (1985) XXVth Anniversary Workshop. Paris: IIEP. Koontz, H. and Weirich, H. (1988) Management (9th edn). New York: McGraw-Hill. Korten, D. (1984) Rural development programming: a learning process approach. In D. C. Korten and R. Klauss (eds), People-Centered Development. Contributions toward Theory and Planning Frameworks. West Hartford: Kumarian Press. Levin, H. M. (1981) The identity crisis of educational planning. Harvard Educational Review, 51(1). McGrath, H. (1976) How Can Educational Planning be national? A Consideration of the Process of Educational Planning in Terms of the Problem of Ration-

ality in the Social World. Paris: IIEP (Occasional papers, No. 45). March, J. G. and Olsen, J. P. (1979) Ambiguity and Choice in Organizations. Bergen: Universitetsforlaget. Morales-Gomez, D. A. (1985) Seeking New Paradigms to Plan Education for Development: The Role of Educational Research. 25th Anniversary Workshop, Booklet 6. Paris: IIEP. Psacharopoulos, G. (1986) The planning of education: where do we stand? Comparative Education Review, 30(4). Rondinelli, D. (1983) Development Projects as Policy Experiments: An Adaptive Approach to Development Administration. London: Methuen. Shaeffer, S. (1990) Educational Change in Indonesia: A Case Study of Three Innovations. Ottawa: IDRC. Simon, H. (1947) Administrative Behaviour. London: Macmillan. Weiler, H. (1982) Educational planning and social change: a critical review of concepts and practices. In P. G. Altbach, R. F. Asnove and G. P. Kelly (eds), Comparative Education. New York: Macmillan.

6

Planning versus Management: An Academic Issue

DAVID ATCHOARENA The chicken and the egg syndrome Is planning a composite part of management or is management merely one aspect of planning? For some, this seems to be a moot point. If one refers to the literature on business administration, management is considered to be an all-embracing discipline. The Frenchman Henri Fayol defined it, at the beginning of the twentieth century, as organizing, directing, controlling as well as co-ordinating and forecasting. In more recent times, the term 'strategic management' has found its way into the mainstream of business as well as school administration vocabulary. At the opposite end of the spectrum, the orthodox approach to educational planning would be to argue that management is a subfunction of planning. The answer to this debate, juxtaposing the 'business' school of thought with the 'planning hard-liners', can be seen as primarily academic. However, this confusion calls for a certain amount of pragmatism. It is obvious that in many fields, including education, planning has revealed its limitations. It is also true that education cannot be developed without a global, future-oriented, proactive vision. An overall sense of direction, a set of national goals, integrated strategic plans to achieve these objectives, the ability to measure the impact of implemented policies would appear to form the core of the concept of planning. However, as interest in improving the actual governance of education systems has grown, practitioners involved in educational planning have tended to adopt for their own use many concepts

and tools from the field of business policy. Does this incorporation confirm Fayol's views? Or, alternatively, does it reflect a certain failure of educational planning, and an attempt to restore credibility and achieve greater control over educational change? Without attempting to investigate such questions, it is worth reconsidering the present role and status of planning in educational development, within the context of a changing environment and shifting paradigms.

Planning as a school of humility

A consensus seems to exist that today's world is characterized by profound as well as rapid change, or turbulence, as it is sometimes referred to. In a number of developing countries, rapidly increasing demographic growth represents an enormous challenge to meet such populations' most basic needs, including education and employment. Institutional arrangements, both national and international, have proven incapable of meeting the demand for basic education. Similarly, the inability of the economy to absorb the growing manpower resources has led to high levels of unemployment and underemployment. Furthermore, it is felt that continuing population growth, in a context of scarcity of resources and economic inequality, will have adverse effects on the stability of states as well as on international relations.

60 David Atchoarena

Major transformations have also been taking place in the economic and financial spheres. Globalization and uncontrolled growth of autonomous financial markets have jeopardized the capacity of governments to control their monetary, and therefore economic, policies. Meanwhile, the concentration of international trade on high technology products and advanced services has been detrimental to many developing countries, which are commodity exporters. However, the economies of the developing world have followed contrasting patterns of development. Progressively escaping from the debt crisis, some Latin American countries are showing signs of recovery. In contrast, the situation of sub-Saharan Africa is worsening, and many countries are experiencing reversing trends. Within the framework of structural adjustment programmes, declining national and international support for the welfare state has reduced resources available for the social sectors, including education. Within this perspective, Asia continues to be described as the emerging trade and economic zone, due to the sustained performance of the few newly industrialized countries in the region. Taking into account such demographic as well as economic and financial factors, the success of national education plans has been varied and often disappointing. It must be noted that, in some of the poorest African countries, the intensity of the crisis has generated a drop in the social demand, which had not been foreseen in educational planning. In this global context, radical changes in the political environment have increased uncertainty. The sudden collapse of a large section of the socialist bloc (the former USSR and the states of Central Europe) has taken the international system into a post-bipolar world. The immediate effect of this phenomenon has been to remove from the picture the most significant examples of planning and raise important questions about its relevance and effectiveness, both as a concept and as a set of techniques. At the same time, the North—South relationship no longer seems to be considered a major issue. In spite of an increasing poverty gap between the

north and the south, global models tend to focus on relationships between three areas: North America, Europe and the Pacific. Thus, the ongoing restructuring of international trade and economic relationships threatens to generate a lack of interest, on the part of the international community, for the least developed countries. Such a continued trend could have dramatic effects on human development, including education. These global changes have important implications for educational planning in developing countries. Today's world is quite different to what it was three or even two decades ago. However, planning approaches which have been guiding, and are still to a certain extent guiding, educational development were developed during the last 30 years. For this reason, continuing adjustment is required to apprehend new constraints and emerging challenges. What does a rapidly changing and turbulent international context and globalization imply for educational planning in developing countries? Three basic propositions can be offered as a first attempt to address this difficult issue. First of all, one can no longer speak of developing countries as an homogeneous group. Differences between, and often within, countries have been growing continuously. Educational planning has therefore to face a great variety of situations ranging from development and consolidation to rehabilitation and reconstruction of national educational systems. More than ever, a general planning approach or model does not work. Proper planning requires specific diagnoses and tailormade strategies. This situation increases the demands on policy design and implementation at all levels, within and outside the system. Second, the role of the state must be revised. It is time to abandon definitively some of the old concepts of planning. Planning is no longer viewed as a centralized, technocratic, commandoriented process. In democratic societies, decision-making involves a number of actors, sometimes bearing contrasting views and, in this respect, planning can also be an instrument of policy dialogue. In addition, the ongoing movement of democratization currently taking place in

Planning versus Management

a number of developing countries legitimates increasing participation and interaction in the planning exercise. It also lays the foundation for granting additional legitimacy to the exercise of power. Reflecting this trend, in many countries, new actors have emerged in the socio-economic and political spheres. Hence, the traditional dichotomy between the public and the private sectors loses its sense. Parallel to the dismantling of the welfare state, non-governmental organizations of all types are growing and often becoming very active in educational policies. This evolution of the civil society provides opportunities for promoting new types of agreement concerning co-operation with the state. As a result, trade unions, grass-root movements, church organizations, employers' federations as well as other non-governmental bodies are getting involved at all levels of education, establishing a new form of decentralized planning. Third, international aid for education in developing countries requires a new design. In this respect, one of the tasks is to reshape multilateral actions. The reorganization of the global community leading, among other things, to the birth of new nation-states and the disappearance of the East-West fracture, imposes new demands on the international community and on organizations such as UNESCO, including the IIEP (Hallak, 1990). The ongoing process of aid restructuring is composed of three basic and articulated components: combining emergency and development assistance, focusing on human development and seeking national capacity-building. This last dimension applies particularly to the area of educational planning, where sustained national capabilities imply professional and institutional development. If one accepts these three basic propositions, then the constant evolution of the concept of educational planning and of its methodologies is imperative, not incoherent. Past experience has taught us humility, not resignation.

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Shifting paradigms: the sorcerer's apprentices

In the 1980s, educational planning suffered from a general lack of confidence in the welfare state. In fact, the downsizing of the role of the state in development, and in society as a whole, has tended to marginalize the planning approach and to promote the market as the leading frame of reference. The term 'planning' itself fell out of favour because it implied socialist tendencies. The combination of an ideological factor (state criticism) and a financial factor (rise in public deficits) created an altogether adverse environment for planning. In this context, it was often reduced to an instrument of rationalization through which public funding to education could be lessened. The main preoccupation of policy-makers then turned to the redeployment of educational resources in order to relieve governments' budgets. They also became increasingly concerned with the establishment of a closer link between the educational system and the market. The emergence of this new rhetoric had and still has far-reaching implications for the development of education (Hallak, 1991b). In some countries, the future of education as a publicly governed service is now in question. The growing distrust in planning and the increasing preference for market forces and wisdom have paved the way for a managerial approach to education. According to this shift, what was once based on a forward-looking approach, collective values and central government should now rely on management, contracts and consumer control. Hence, increasingly, the market has been encouraged to regulate the allocation of resources and students through a model promoting competition among schools, parent choice and privatization. What can be said of these recent developments? Is the market-guided approach relevant and effective to govern education? Is it consistent with the

6 2 David A tch oaren a

quasi-universal concept of the nation-state? Various economic theories or models have inspired education policies. The current prevalence of the neo-classical economic theory supports the unplanned, free adjustment of the supply of educational services. Without entering here into a long theoretical debate, we may be able to accept that education cannot be assimilated to any marketable product. Indeed, through the transmission of collective values, education is the basis upon which society is built. Furthermore, individual self-interest, which commands market forces, is likely to lead to inequalities in the distribution of educational opportunities. Therefore, market mechanisms have to be balanced by some sort of state regulation if social mobility and equity are to be preserved. Since all governments, including those in industrialized market-economies, play a significant role in education, empirical evidence of the merits of a genuinely free educational market is missing. Beyond the economic debate, in each country, the proper balance between government-regulated processes and market forces depends very much on the agreed role of the state and on the particular notion of public service. Education unavoidably contains a moral and political dimension and its planning corresponds to a certain belief in the role of collective institutions and values. In that respect, educational planning reflects, a society's commitment to a global vision and to coherence. Market-generated imbalances are now being felt in many countries, including in some of the most advanced industrialized societies. Therefore, it is worth underlining that the champions of marketdriven education are trying to sell to others simple ready-to-use recipes on the basis of purely theoretical rhetoric, while empirical evidence is still lacking to prove the validity of such measures. Market awareness has certainly led to greater attention being paid to costs, demand and management issues. However, although legitimate and positive, this reversal in trend tends to go too far. Applying market principles does not provide a panacea for educational development. Furthermore, selling experimental solutions as if they were sure remedies offers neither technically

sound alternatives nor ethically acceptable options. Finally, the idea of educational planning as a substitute for policy-making also needs to be challenged. In real life, the demarcation line between policy-making and technical expertise is not always easy to draw. Its exact position will vary from one country to another and change with time, according to the degree of neutrality of the local bureaucracy, as well as to the political dimensions of the issues involved. Policy-making has always necessitated that a two-way process take place between technical expertise and politics.

Planning: attaining the age of reason In 1963, when the International Institute for Educational Planning of UNESCO was established, it seemed wise to consider forecasting the future of complex systems such as education. Today, such a position would sound unreasonable. The question is no longer whether or not reliable forecasting models should be developed; it is far more important to know how planning techniques can be used to make informed choices and better manage the process of change. The predictive value of planning tools is not what matters most. The essence of planning lies rather in its capacity to shape a vision of the future and to generate action accordingly. However, it may be worth recalling that the IIEP has never preached normative and centralized planning. Considering education as a complex system means giving up the notions of control and certainty. Should we then give up making plans meant to achieve our development objectives and simply foster the capacity of the system to adapt and change to a turbulent environment? In other words, what is the function of planning in response to sudden changes? This is the planning dilemma. In its first stages, planning attempted to build mathematical models able to describe the education system and to identify the variables which

Planning versus Management

command its evolution. More recently, the progress of computer science facilitated the development of dynamic models whereby, according to various scenarios, a range of possible evolutions of the system could be simulated. Such exercises provided interesting informed support to decision-making. In a number of countries, progress in microcomputers and modelling tools was combined with an effort to disseminate broadly information on alternative policies and encourage discussion with the public at large. Although technically powerful and socially productive, this approach remains unable to predict the possible introduction of new unknown variables, which could affect the behaviour of the system. In order to be able to face the complexity of the educational system, planning, while maintaining its overall coherence, must foster sufficient diversity and autonomy to preserve adaptability and innovation. Educational planning also implies that, in order to achieve sustained development, education must itself become a system which is more adaptable and flexible, and which can learn from experience. The recent emergence of the notions of decentralized and interactive planning reflects this tendency. A vast amount of literature has already been dedicated to the ups and downs of educational planning (Caillods, 1989, 1991; Hallak, 1991a; Verspoor, 1992). It testifies to the continuous and sometimes difficult path followed in order to catch up with reality and meet the challenges of development. During this process, a number of recurrent contradictions emerged, such as planning versus market forces or the techniques against the politics of educational planning. In fact, many of these apparent contradictions found in the planning literature reflect complementarities and sometimes creative tensions which have progressively led to a conceptual transformation (Inbar, 1993). Throughout this process, the IIEP's role has been to promote educational planning and management as well as to strengthen, through training, research and disseminations analytical and managerial capabilities, especially in developing countries. In performing this task, the Institute has never adopted a normative approach or pretended

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to develop its own school of thought in educational planning. It has always tried, on the contrary, to respond to a diversity of contexts and to reflect the plurality and evolution of various approaches and disciplines (IIEP, Fundamental of Educational Planning series). On the international scene, a few milestones have, during the past three decades, marked this evolution. Starting in the early 1960s this process saw, as already mentioned, the establishment within UNESCO of the IIEP (1963), followed soon after by the International Conference on Educational Planning, organized by UNESCO (Paris, 1968). The latest developments are acknowledged by the resolutions of the World Conference on Education for All (Jomtien, 1990), as well as the results of the UNESCO International Congress on the Planning and Management of Educational Development (Mexico City, 1990). These two last events have opened up an era of pragmatism and syncretism, reconciling planning and management, and recognizing, besides the state, the role of other partners, at local, regional and international levels (Caillods and Atchoarena, 1994). There is wide recognition that meeting the growing and changing demand for educational services requires further institutional capacity building. This key task implies that increasing attention should be paid to strategic areas such as budgeting, decentralization processes, management information systems, project preparation and administration, and institutional management. Indeed, there is no doubt that such concrete dayto-day considerations are essential, although their value may somehow have been overlooked in the past. More than ever, educational planning is a complex and demanding process. As such, it requires skills and training for an increasingly diversified group of professionals who perform planning tasks at various levels, within and outside of the system. Coping with this renewed challenge is the main task of the IIEP. Indeed, the main justification for continuing investment in training is that, in the long run, it strengthens the endogenous capacity of developing countries (Carron, 1992). In this perspective, a permanent adaptation to the evolution of planning, as well as the timely reform

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of training programmes and modes of delivery, are pre-conditions for meeting the changing and growing demands of practitioners.

Educational planning in a nutshell There is no global consensus among academics or between scholars and practitioners regarding the definition of educational planning and management. A rapid review of the vast literature dedicated to this topic would show many discrepancies and contradictions, as well as overlaps between such terms as 'strategic management', 'strategic planning' or even 'policy analysis' (Mintzberg, 1994). The fact that the principles and methods of educational planning originated in a diversified corpus of theories explains part of this confusion in terminology. The dynamics of educational planning are also due to a changing historical and ideological context. Contemporary planning constitutes a regulatory process aimed at providing overall guidance within a market-oriented economy and democratic society. Throughout its evolution, planning has become more participatory, interactive and qualitative (UNESCO, 1991). Recent interdisciplinary research on complex systems has destroyed the notions of certainty and control associated with former ways of planning (Godet, 1993). Current understanding describes it as a function able to maintain the overall coherence of the system while, at the same time, allowing for its adaptation to sudden changes in the environment. In a period characterized by a renewed challenge for development and multilateral cooperation, sustained efforts should be dedicated to responding to both the emergence of global agendas and the diversification of needs. Compared to these issues, choosing between educational planning and management appears to be a rather marginal stake.

The major task becomes one of further integrating and constantly updating complementary disciplines in order to improve the management of the process of change. Meanwhile, international co-operation should reinforce its contribution to capacity-building, especially in those countries which are considered to be the most socially and economically vulnerable.

References Caillods, F. (ed.) (1989). The Prospects of Educational Planning. Paris: UNESCO/HEP. Caillods, F. (1991). Educational planning for the year 2000. HEP Contributions, No. 4. Paris: UNESCO/ HEP. Caillods, F. and Atchoarena, D. (1994) Partnership: towards a new paradigm for educational policies? Paper prepared for the 12th Conference of Commonwealth Education Ministers, Pakistan, 1994. Carron, G. (1992) Capacity building for educational planning and administration: IIEP's experience. HEP Contributions, No. 10. Paris: UNESCO/HEP. Godet, M. (1993) From Anticipation to Action, a Handbook of Strategic Prospective. Paris: UNESCO. Hallak, J. (1990) Investing in the Future. Setting Educational Priorities in the Developing World. Paris: UNESCO/HEP; Pergamon Press. Hallak, J. (1991a) Educational planning: reflecting on the past and its prospects for the future. HEP Contributions, No. 2. Paris: UNESCO/HEP. Hallak, J. (1991b) Educational policies in a comparative perspective: suggestions for a research agenda. HEP Contributions, No. 6. Paris: UNESCO/HEP. HEP. Fundamentals of Educational Planning Series. Paris: UNESCO/HEP. Inbar, D. (1993) Educational planning: the transformation of symbols, frames of reference and behaviour. Educational Policy, 7(2), 166-83. Corwin Press. Mintzberg, H. (1994) The Rise and Fall of Strategic Planning. Hemel Hempstead: Prentice-Hall International (UK). UNESCO (1991) Planning and management of Educational development. Final Report of the International Congress, Mexico City, 26-30 March 1990. Verspoor, A. (1992) Planning of education: where do we go? International Journal of Educational. Development. 12(3), 233-44. Pergamon Press.

7

The European Union and its Educational Agenda: A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing?

RONALD G. SULTANA Introduction Debates about the relationship between education and power can be located within analyses which work either at the macro-, meso- or at the microlevel, and the best of these debates look at the interaction between all three levels, connecting, as in the work of Michael Apple (1982, 1986), the relationships of power that develop within and between classrooms, schools and larger institutional structures. The focus of this chapter is on the macro-level, namely on the way a political, economic and cultural movement such as the integration of Europe has important implications for the field of education. Because of the brevity with which such complex processes have to be described in this context, the relationship between the macro-, meso- and micro-levels are only hinted at. The emphasis is placed instead on examining the macro dimensions of a particular area of study that has been largely left unattended: the critical analysis of the European Union's agenda for education. The title of this chapter has been carefully chosen. It has to be established, from the outset, that the European Union does have an influential educational agenda. That this is the case is not often acknowledged, as the general impression is that education and schooling are peripheral to the European project. Those who are of this persuasion have only to point to the official documents of the Community: education is excluded from the sphere of influence of the Treaty of Rome, and while explicitly mentioned in the Treaty of Maastricht, member states are allowed much leeway to

exercise their autonomy in matters educational. Increasingly, however, the Commission of the European Communities1 is echoing the words of Jean Monnet who, in his reflections on his attempts to get the EEC going, is supposed to have said 'If I had to do it again, I would start with education'. 'Education' and a broad understanding of 'vocational education' have featured higher and higher on the priorities of the EU as its awareness of the need to create a 'people's Europe' grew deeper. As Coulby (1994, p. 4) notes, 'there is a political reason for the EU being prepared to spend such generous sums on [Europeanization]. The more the children of Europe learn with a Europeanised curriculum, the more they are likely to grow up to endorse European Union and the political and bureaucratic institutions which support i t . . . The Europeanisation of the school and university curricula is a political intervention on the culture of the continent.' Not only has the number of interventions in the field of education on the part of the Commission of the European Communities increased, but the quality of these interventions has changed. Experts on the legal aspects of education have noted an important shift in Community action that deserves to be underlined. Thus, since 1963 such action in education took place at an intergovernmental level and largely resulted in 'soft law' in the form of non-legally binding Resolutions or Conclusions of the Council and Ministers of Education meeting within the Council. Since the mid-1980s, however, there has been a shift to 'hard law', that is autonomous and enforceable Community action in the contribution of education to positive integration (Lonbay, 1989;

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Shaw, 1991; Barnard, 1992). The same authors note that, quite contrary to the generally held assumptions regarding the Community's forays into the educational arena, the European Court has given, since the 1970s, 'consistently broad interpretations to the legislative powers of the Community' (Shaw, 1991, p. 15). 'Vocational training', that area of education where the Commission has been most active, has been considered to 'include almost all post-secondary education, with the exception of courses pursued for general scholarly interest' (Shaw, 1991, p. 13), so that the European Court has been 'responsible for dramatically altering the face of European education law' (Barnard, 1992, p. 123). The Maastricht Treaty has legitimized and consolidated the influence on educational matters that the Treaty of Rome had developed, extending that influence to the most sensitive area of schooling, compulsory education, and to what should be taught in schools (Barnard, 1992). The influence exerted by the EU on education can be explained by the fact that an intensification of the dynamics of unification requires mechanisms and structures supportive of that process. As Ross (1992, p. 51) has observed, the trade and economic issues of the European Community, 'however narrowly defined initially ... ultimately connect to a wide range of other matters and initiate a snowball effect towards greater supranationality.' A kind of synergy has been created whereby financial and prestige incentives attract governments, researchers, education associations and societies and educators at all levels to focus on European themes at international meetings, in setting up research projects and in devising courses with a European dimension at the compulsory school level and beyond. While the Community emphasizes the autonomy of member states in most matters related to education, increasingly European ministers of education meet to discuss the same situations and preoccupations, aim at the same goals, follow similar directions and adopt similar policies (Leclercq and Rault, 1990, p. 147; Bouchez and de Peretti, 1990; Vonk, 1991). These trends and processes permeate the policy-making practices of different countries at different speeds and with variable degrees of effectiveness. Indeed,

as Ryba (1992) has shown in his analysis of the curricular initiatives regarding the European dimension, the declared intentions that appear on policy papers do not necessarily filter down that successfully to the level of classroom practice. Ryba therefore reminds us that an analysis of power relations requires more than just a reading of official documents.2 He nevertheless agrees that of the different European international organizations that have an influence on education, the EU is 'by far the strongest and most interventionist' (Ryba, 1994, p. 1). Having established that the EU does have teeth, we of course still need to ask whether what we have here is a sheep or a wolf. That is, we need to ask a fundamental question consonant with any analysis of power relations, namely: In whose interests does the EU's activity in the field of education work? This crucial question, reflected as it is by the interrogation mark in the tail end of the title of this chapter, serves further to open up a currently fashionable field of study to critical enquiry and problematization.

A progressive EU agenda for education? Much of the literature on education in a uniting Europe has been marked by an uncritical acceptance of the goals and processes of integration, and an approbation of the presumed implications of these for educational practice (Vaniscotte, 1989; Lowe, 1992; Andrieu, 1992; Peck, 1992, are just a few examples of the kind of uncritical writing I am referring to here). Novoa (1994) has drawn attention to the undiscriminating appropriation of Brussels discourse in the articles on Europe that have appeared in national and international education journals, while Pereyra (1994, p. 12) correctly notes that reference to education in the context of the EU debate is shaped by a proEuropean rhetoric 'impregnated and determined by an eschatological view of Europe'. This eschatological rhetoric is, indeed, a characteristic of much of the discourse that marks the writing about

The EU and its Educational Agenda

Europe in many other disciplines and fields (Wilterdink, 1993), as references are made to 'culture' and 'history* in the description of an essential 'European identity'. Educational writing has, perhaps predictably, latched on to this discourse and developed its own pedagogical projects to feed into the process of unification. The creation of a Single Market has been seen as a 'Good Thing' in itself, taken for granted without much critical understanding of what is at stake in terms of issues traditionally at the heart of educational enterprises, including such values as justice, equity and emancipatory practice. Educators - not unaffected by the new opportunities for career trajectories that the European Union represents — have collaborated in the creation of European school links, cross-national databases, educational action programmes (in such fields as foreign language teaching, technology transfer and student and teacher mobility) and in facilitating innovations in order to develop a 'European dimension' in and across curricula. They have also busily set up 'European' associations and networks, organized international meetings and published textbooks and special issues of journals for all those who are engaged, in one way or another, with educational activities.3 Things European have, to use a Foucauldian phrase, become 'inscribed' in educational discourse. These 'Euro-educationists' will point out the generally progressive tenor of the European Commission's activity in the field of education, marked as this is by a concern with higher achievement levels in education. Such a concern has led to the development of action programmes geared at the better integration of children of migrants (in 1977), of gypsies and circus performers (in 1989) and of students with handicaps and with special learning needs in schools (in 1985). Action programmes such as these, it could be argued, have not only been effective in raising consciousness about the plight of hitherto marginalized and at-risk students, but in some cases have led governments to adopt progressive educational practices that they would not have normally considered. A case in point would be Directive 77/486/EEC (Articles 2 and 3), which imposes an obligation on the authorities of member states of the EU to provide chil-

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dren of migrant workers not only with intensive tuition in an official language, but also to promote the teaching of the mother tongue and the culture of the country of origin of the child (Barnard, 1992, p. 126). Other progressive action programmes have aimed at the better representation of female students in scientific and technical courses (in 1985). Generally speaking, most of the activities of the Commission of the European Communities have contributed to the fight against school failure, and have placed a premium on the development of effective pedagogies on the part of teachers, to attract, retain and facilitate the success of students in schools (Vaniscotte, 1989; Leclercq and Rault, 1990, p. 121). The emphasis on the learning of other European languages and on becoming more sensitive to the European dimension, while dangerous because of their Euro-centric focus (Clay and Cole, 1992; Chistolini, 1994; Sultana, 1995), do represent opportunities for students to live in and with diversity (Palomba, 1993), to be exposed to a process of 'tertiary socialisation', where learners 'know and experience that, from other people's point of view, they are the "foreigners", their mode of thinking and acting seems unnatural' (Byram, 1992, p. 12). As Coulby (1994, pp. 11-12) has argued, 'Against the National Curriculum of England and Wales or the language obsessions of the current French government, the European theme [is] a breath of fresh air. At least through Europeanisation some sense of a wider international community, a richer and less certain history, a more heterogeneous and interactive culture may be accessed.' It is noteworthy, for instance, that one of Lingua's predispositions is to privilege minority languages, such as Danish and Portuguese, rather than English, French or German in its recommendations for foreign language learning in member states (Earl, 1991). Largely due to the promotion of the European dimension in/across the curriculum, national education systems have to confront, to a degree, the national bias in their texts and curricula. A number of educators have, moreover, intercepted the discourse on European identity to define education on the continent in terms of progressive values that are purported to be

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characteristically European. Some of the efforts of these educators have been particularly influential. One could here mention the Vanbergen Report (Commission of the European Communities, 1988) as well as analyses carried out in different countries of the European Union which identify the essential elements of a European education, what Ryba (1994, p. 10) refers to as 'what is best about Europe'. Such elements would include a respect for democracy, human rights, freedom and cultural pluralism; acceptance of a common cultural heritage and a world order supporting the development of mankind; a recognition that the European cultural model is not intended to supersede existing national cultures but to respect their diversity (Luchtenberg, 1994); and increased cooperation and dialogue between the countries of the Union and of the world (Mulcahy, 1992). The focus of a European-inspired education would be 'democracy as a political-cum-pedagogical parameter for a life lived in freedom' (Rohrs, 1992, p. 61).

In whose interests? How could such progressive agendas be seen as dangerous to the democratic enterprise, one might well ask? If this is a wolf in sheep's clothing, then surely it has lost its teeth! My contention, however, is that many of the educators who have been involved in the project for European integration have failed to measure the extent to which the larger economic and political agenda of the EU has a direct bearing on the meaning and significance of activities in the field of education. While the progressive moments in these activities have often been recognized, it has been less common to find an understanding that as an economic space or bloc, the aspirations of a Single Market which facilitates the free flow of capital, goods, persons and services represents the offensive of a capitalist class in the face of international competition, mainly from North America and the Pacific Rim. As Ross (1992, p. 65) has pointed out, 'struggle over the future of Europe is largely about develop-

ing more promising environments for capitalist success', even if the formulation of new options is being carried out most overtly by political rather than industrial entrepreneurs. Based on the assumptions of orthodox market economics, which, with the routing of alternative forms of social arrangements to capitalism, are generally accepted as self-evident truths, the removal of administrative, technical and other nontariff barriers are thought to reduce costs, increase competition, enhance economic activity and deal with stagflation (Ross, 1992, p. 53). In generating such a momentum, capitalists make their presence felt, and to a large degree set the agenda. Ramsay (1992, p. 25), for instance, refers to the extraordinary influence wielded by the Round Table of European Industrialists - made up of 12 major companies operating chiefly in the information technology area - in the lobbying for 'European market integration to be completed as a prerequisite for the formation of Euro-companies capable of meeting the challenge from abroad'. The fact', notes Ramsay, 'that this group include[sl many of the largest, most successful and most influential companies in the region signal[s] the coincidence of the Commission's strategy and the interests of international capital with a European base' (1992, p. 25). In this situation, European labour has suffered a severe weakening of its position due to massive and endemic unemployment and capital's restructuring efforts (Ross, 1992, p. 56). Indeed, from the point of view of some of the representatives of the social democratic Left in Europe, and despite a number of progressive elements in the European Social Charter, there is a fear that the project of a united Europe will set new limitations on the national economic-political scope for action, especially in such areas as the maintenance of a welfare state. It is also feared that the project will change the relative strength of capital and labour in favour of the former, and will lead to a downward spiralling of wages and social standards as different EC member states attempt to provide the most attractive packages for mobile capital (Haahr, 1992, pp. 79 and 80). The European Trade Union Council, for instance, expressed its fear that the harmonization of workers' rights in the EC's social contract will take place according

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to the principle of the lowest common denominator (ETUC conference, May 1988, cited in Haahr, 1992, p. 91). It would be reasonable to argue that education, sharing as it does the same context, would be subjected to similar pressures and influences. As I have argued elsewhere (Sultana, 1994), capitalist influence does not stop in the field of economic decision-making, but permeates the political and ideological fields as well. There is thus a congruence between the interests of capital and the restructuring of the educational field (Guthrie and Pierce, 1990). As governments struggle with an economic crisis whose depth and duration fail to be accounted for, let alone addressed, by traditional understandings of the workings of markets, there has been a steady restructuring of educational policies and priorities away from the concerns of the 1960s and early 1970s (Husen et al., 1992). A list of the new directions in the educational field includes: attacks on the social wage affecting both the amount and direction of educational expenditure (Sharp, 1988); a greater emphasis on vocationalism and instrumentalism (Blackmore, 1990; Sultana, 1992, 1994); moves towards the commodification and privatization of education (Psacharopoulos, 1992); curriculum differentiation, an intensification of the competitive ethos and the impregnation of education with market and management discourse (Ball, 1993). Current comparative educational literature shows the extent to which these new directions work in the interest of some groups, and are 'disastrous for precisely those groups who formed the target of the earlier social democratic advances' (Sharp, 1988, p. 205). In such a situation, one can understand why the approach to education becomes increasingly technocratic. Thus we find the Commission deciding 'to place education and training at the forefront of its priorities to spearhead a new Community-wide commitment to invest in people' (Commission of the European Communities, 1989, p. 1). There is therefore frequent reference to the necessity of producing workers with adequate technical, cognitive and attitudinal skills, since this, it is thought, will make Europe competitive. As Husen and his colleagues note (1992, p. 7), reporting on

the key trends emerging in schooling in modern European society, there is the assumption that 'the high economic performance of the Asian "Dragons" may be explained, at least in part, as an outcome of an efficient school system'. The corollary to this, for many governments in Western Europe comparing themselves to Japan, is that 'underinvestment in skill formation and low school performance in particular, may be factors of importance in an explanation of unfavourable economic performance'. Since the perception is that 'in industrial manufacturing generally, the countries of the Pacific Rim as a whole may eventually outstrip Europe in competitiveness', then it follows 'that this is a material challenge that education in Europe may have to meet' (Husen et al., 1992, p. 7). Most action programmes in education that have been devised with funding from the EU have the underlying premises that 'there is a causal relationship between the quality and level o f . . . education and training provision and the efficiency of the economy' (Lowe, 1992, p. 582). The Treaty of Rome and the Single European Act stress that the key objective of education is to strengthen the scientific and technological basis of European industry and to facilitate its international competitivity (Act VI, art. 24). Vocational training, though increasingly seen to be based, given the requirements of post-fordism, on a good general education, is uppermost in the European Community's agendas. The Treaty of Maastricht, for instance, reaffirms the Community's commitment to the establishment of equivalence between certifications, in order to facilitate the provision of mobile human resources for capital. Article B para. 2 of the Treaty also formally encourages linkages between industry and education and training systems, as does the Green Paper on the European Dimension of Education (Commission of the European Communities, 1993, para. 20, p. 7). The EU's interventions in the field of education are clearly the most vigorous in the field of vocational education, even though there is ample evidence to back up labour market segmentation theory, which, in contrast to human capital theory, proposes that 'productivity is an attribute of jobs, not of people', and that 'people are matched to jobs by criteria

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which may be associated with education, but education is not a determinant of productivity' (Jamieson, 1989; p. 70; Murphy, 1993). This understanding of economic needs shapes expectations and projects for education. For instance, future economic growth is considered to depend heavily on the establishment of an effective international orientation to business firms, an orientation reliant to a great extent upon the international knowledge and orientation of employees. It follows then that education must prepare the young to understand other cultures and to learn at least one other European language. Since innovatory technology is believed to be today's pot of gold, then national curricula must specify an increased focus on mathematics, science and technology. Since hi-technology industries require a highly skilled worker, then the student must be considered as a human resource to be developed in line with economic profiles, and to be moulded into the flexible, adaptable worker required by industry (Commission of the European Communities, 1993, pp. 3,4-5 and passim). The new postfordist European worker is required to be participative, creative, communicative, proactive, a generalist rather than a specialist, ready and able to work in teams, to solve problems, to plan, reason and learn on the job (Brown and Lauder, 1991; Young, 1993). From this it follows that school environments must change to facilitate the development of this new worker.

On education and capital To argue that the EU's agenda in education works in the sole interests of capital would be a prime example of a simplistic, reductionist account of a highly complex situation. Decades of sociological analysis have shown us that education is a 'contested terrain', and that the dynamics of power are rarely crudely obvious. Indeed the effectiveness of powerful interests lies precisely in their ability to engage contradictory discourses and aims. My contention is, however, that despite its progressive moments, the EU's agenda leads to an erosion

of a conceptualization of education as a moral project. Such a conceptualization, ironically enough, is historically at the heart of the European educational tradition, was revitalized in the period of the French Revolution by the likes of Condorcet (Michel, 1989), and runs through the thoughts of the great educators of the twentieth century. In many European countries, however, the educational model that is being adopted is 'bureaucratic-managerial' (Vonk, 1991), where education is arbitrary, imposed and pedagogically defined, a bureaucratically structured delivery system that results from political and economic debates rather than dialogues between interested parties. Such a model has particular images of the educational project as a whole, and of the different partners and elements in that project including teachers, students and parents, as well as curricula and pedagogy. The image of the teacher, for instance, is that of a technician in a minimum capacity model, where values of immediacy, practicality, relevance and utility reign supreme. In this context, 'teachers' work is ... more and more strictly defined, more fragmented, more supervised, more assessed ... teachers are more and more losing control over [their own work]' (Vonk, 1991, p. 135). The teacher has, therefore, been effectively assigned to classroom teaching, and absolved from concern with the school as a social institution and with the social environment as the working space. As Mitter (1991, p. 143) has noted, teachers might be considered, in the present European climate, as change agents, but only on the Commission's own terms, and not as engaged in self-determined activities at the grass roots. The effect of 'overdetermination' (Ball, 1993) through processes of European integration applies not only to the work of teachers (Neave, 1992), but to that of other professions as well (Button and Fleming, 1992). The preoccupation with 'performativity' (Lyotard, 1979) in the field of education has led to the predominance of what Habermas refers to as 'instrumental rationality', where the criteria for establishing the best course of action is decided not with reference to the best reasons, but with reference to the most efficient and effective course to

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achieve desired ends. Instrumental, technocratic rationality has become all-pervasive and hegemonic, and it is primarily interested in 'manipulation and control of the environment, in making predictions about observable physical or social events, in the definition of reality based on empirical knowledge and governed by technical rules, and in the effective control of reality, which determine the appropriateness of action' (Mezirow, 1981, p. 4, cited in Ewert, 1991, p. 348). The problem, according to Habermas, is that this kind of rationality has colonized other life worlds, so that, as a result, moral, aesthetic, educational and political issues are reduced to technical problems, and value-based questions referring to the 'why' and the 'what' are reduced to technical questions referring to the 'how'. This means that words like education, democracy and citizenship have become steeped in a technocratic rationality which 'considers education primarily in instrumental terms and interprets democracy as a system of political management rather than a distinctive form of social and moral life. In such a culture, educational science is inevitably portrayed as quasi-technical expertise in which non-technical, non-expert questions about the moral and social purposes of education are virtually ignored' (Carr, 1989, p. 36). Carr in fact concludes that 'the idea of an educational science as a form of democratic moral discourse now lacks the social context necessary for its practical application.' The result of this is that education becomes a question of behaviour modification and competency-based schooling, with an emphasis being placed on control, conformity and standardized curriculum packages.

Conclusion One might of course argue that this is not at all different from what is happening in North America or Australia, for instance. I would emphasize the fact, however, that the structures of the European Union act as an organized conduit for a more

effective colonization of the life world by a technocratic rationality which effectively redefines the meaning of education. The highly sophisticated networks of information about education systems and policies set up in the European Union, with the view of 'developing exchanges of information and experience on issues common to the education systems of the Member States' (Treaty of Maastricht, Chapter 3, Article A, para. 2), facilitate a convergence in educational policy-making, so that capital and its neo-liberal philosophies permeate ever more effectively not only managers of markets but of education systems as well. There will be those who argue that a post-fordist economy represents a resolution of the tension between what Carnoy and Levin (1985) have referred to as the democratic and the industrial imperative. Perhaps the likes of Brown and Lauder (1991) and Young (1993) are right when they suggest that post-fordist economies require high worker involvement, marked by flexible production, flatter hierarchies, an adaptable and highly skilled workforce and offering tasks which encourage the breakdown of the division between mental and manual labour and learning. In this scenario, morality presumably becomes pragmatic, and there need no longer be a contradiction between democratic educational ideals and the requirements of the economy. Given the present social climate, such arguments are bound to appear attractive. Criticisms of the 'free market' and of the encapsulation of education within that discourse will tend to appear irresponsible unless they are accompanied by a viable strategy for economic renewal (Brown and Lauder, 1991, p. 4). These views, however, remain problematic. First of all, the technical assumptions on which such arguments are based seem to be flawed. There is a consensus among a large number of economists 'that information technology will not produce large numbers of high tech jobs in either the new industries, or the old manufacturing or burgeoning service industries' (Jamieson, 1989, p. 71). In addition, as Halsey (1990, p.96) has pointed out, 'liberal cheerfulness concerning upgrading towards universal, middleclass professional society cannot plausibly accom-

72 Ronald Sultana

modate the re-emergence of widespread unemployment in the First World capitalist countries ... [and] the growth of insecure, part-time and temporary jobs with precarious conditions of service as a conspicuous feature of modern freeenterprise economies'. That kind of labour market dualism, I would add, has a national and international character, with the continued exportation of low-ability, low-wage jobs to economically and politically depressed groups and nations. The question as to the extent to which the European Union's activities in the field of education work in the common interest should, therefore remain open. My own persuasion is that, to adapt a famous saying by Mark Twain, The sheep might lie with the wolf . . . but it will not get much sleep!'

Notes 1 The Commission of the European Communities is the motor behind the EU. It is composed of Commissioners, nominated by member states but acting independently of them, whose task it is to advise the Council of Ministers of the EU regarding matters dealing with the development of Community politics, and to ensure that these policies are implemented. 2 Empirical data collected by the present author regarding the implementation of the European dimension in education in the different member states of the EU is reported in Sultana (1995). 3 What I refer to as the 'mobilizing influence' of the European Union is an important aspect of the play of power relations in this context. Instances of this mobilizing power are the following: the setting up of a European Education Research Association (1994) and of the European Association for Counsellors (1994); the launching of education networks such as PLEASE and CIDREE; the publication of new magazines with a focus on European education, such as Context (1991) and Le Magazine (1994); the publication of special issues of international education journals, such as the International Review of Education (1992), and Comparative Education Review (1992); the convening of international conferences with a focus on Europe, such as the 16th Comparative Education Societies in Europe Conference (Copenhagen, June 1994) and the Oxford Studies in Comparative Education meeting in January 1995. 'Centres for European Education' have been set up in each member state, and various projects to introduce a 'European dimension' in national curricula have been implemented.

Referencess Andrieu, M. J. (1992) L'EspaceEducatif European. Paris: Conseil Economique et Social. Apple, M. (1982) Education and Power. New York: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Apple, M. (1986) Teachers and Texts. New York: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Ball, S. J. (1993) Education policy, power relations and teachers' work. British Journal of Educational Studies, 41(2), 106-21. Barnard, C. (1992) The Maastricht agreement and education: one step forward, two steps back? Education and the Law, 4(3), 123-34. Blackmore, J. (1990) The text and context of vocationalism. Journal of Curriculum Studies, 22(2). Bouchez, E. and Peretti, A. de (1990) Scales et Cultures en Europe. Paris: Savoir-Livre. Brown, P. and Lauder, H. (1991) Education, economy and social change. International Studies in Sociology of Education, 1, 3-23. Button, K. and Fleming, M. (1992) The professions in the single European market: a case study of architects in the UK. Journal for Common Market Studies, 30(4), 403-18. Byrani, M. (1992) Foreign language learning for European citizenship. Language Learning Journal, 6, 10-12. Carnoy, M. and Levin H. (1985) Schooling and Work in the Democratic State. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Carr, W. (1989) The idea of an educational science. Journal of Philosophy of Education, 23(1), 29-37. Chistolini, S. (1994) From the European to worldwide idea of education. Paper presented at the 16th CESE Conference, Copenhagen, 26-29 June. Clay, J. and Cole, M. (1992) Euroracism, citizenship and democracy: the role of teacher education. International Studies in Sociology of Education, 2(1), 75-88. Commission of the European Communities (1988) Enhanced Treatment of the European Dimension in Education. V/751,1988-EN. Brussels: CEC (mimeo). Commission of the European Communities (1989) Education and Training in the European Community: Guidelines for the Medium Term: 1989-1992. Com (89) 236, 2 June 1989. Brussels: CEC (mimeo). Commission of the European Communities (1993) Green Paper on the European Dimension of Education. Com(93) 457 final, 29 Sept. 1993. Brussels: CEC (mimeo). Coulby, D. (1994) European culture: unity and fractures. Paper presented at the 16th CESE Conference, Copenhagen, 26-29 June.

The EU and its Educational Agenda 73 Earl, A. (1991) Europeanisation in the classroom. Language Learning Journal, 4, 50-2. Ewert, G.D. (1991) Habermas and education: a comprehensive overview of the influence of Habermas in educational literature. Review of Educational Research, 61(3), 345-78. Guthrie, J. W. and Pierce, L. C. (1990) The international economy and national education reform: a comparison of education reforms in the United States and Great Britain. Oxford Review of Education, 16(2), 179-205. Haahr, J. H. (1992) European integration and the Left in Britain and Denmark. Journal of Common Market Studies, 30(1), 77-100. Halsey, A. H. (1990) Educational systems and the economy. Current Sociology, 38(2/3), 79-101. Husen, T., Tuijnam, A. and Halls, W. D. (1992) Schooling in Modem European Society. Oxford: Pergamon. Jamieson, I. (1989) Education and the economy: themes and issues. Journal of Education Policy, 4(1), 69-73. Leclercq, J. M. and Rault, C. (1990) Les Systemes Educatifs en Europe: Vers un Espace Communautaire? Paris: La Documentation Frangaise. Lonbay, J. (1989) Education and the law: the Community context. European Law Review, 14, 363-74. Lowe, J. (1992) Education and European integration. International Review of Education, 38(6), 579-90. Luchtenberg, S. (1994) The European dimension and multicultural education: compatible or contradictory concepts? Paper presented at the 16th CESE Conference, Copenhagen, 26-29 June. Lyotard, J. F. (1979) The Postmodern Condition: A Report on Knowledge. Minneapolis: University of Minneapolis Press. Michel, C. (1989) 1789-1989: The French Revolution: have the revolution's educational demands been implemented? Teachers of the World. Berlin: FISE. Mitter, W. (1991) Teacher education in Europe: problems, challenges, perspectives. British Journal of Educational Studies, 39(2), 138-52. Mulcahy, D. G. (1992) Promoting the European dimension in Irish education. Irish Educational Studies, 11, 179-90. Murphy, J. (1993) A degree of waste: the economic benefits of educational expansion. Oxford Review of Education, 19(1), 9-31. Neave, G. (1992) The Teaching Nation: Prospects for Teachers in the European Community. Oxford: Pergamon Press. Novoa, A. (1994) Une Education pour combien d'Europes? Paper presented at the 16th CESE Conference, Copenhagen, 26-29 June. Palomba, D. (1993) Dimension europeenne et pluralisme culturel pour 1'Europe de demain: quelques reflexions. CESE Newsletter, 36, 7-12.

Peck, B. T. (1992) Bringing Europe into the curriculum. Phi Delta Kappan, 72, 91-2. Pereyra, M. A. (1993) The social participation in the construction of the European dimension in education. CESE Newsletter, 36,12-21. Psacharopoulos, G. (1992) The privatization of education in Europe. Comparative Education Review, 36(1), 114-26. Ramsay, H. (1992) Whose champions? Multinationals, labour and industry policy in the European Community after 1992. Capital and Class, 48,17-39. Rohrs, H. (1992) A United Europe as a challenge to education. European Journal of Intercultural Studies, 3(1), 59-70. Ross, G. (1992) Confronting the new Europe. New Left Review, 191, 49-68. Ryba, R. (1992) Toward a European dimension in education: intention and reality in European Community policy and practice. Comparative Education Review, 36(1), 10-24. Ryba, R. (1993) On progress in the development of the European dimension in Education. CESE Newsletter, 36,1-6. Ryba, R. (1994) 'Unity in Diversity': The Enigma of the European dimension of Education. Paper delivered at the 16th CESE Conference, 'Education in Europe', 23-30 June, Copenhagen. Sharp, R. (1988) Old and new orthodoxies: the seductions of liberalism. In M. Cole (ed.), Bowles and Gintis Revisited. Lewes: Falmer. Shaw, J. (1991) Education and the European Community. Education and the Law, 3(1), 1-18. Sultana, R. G. (1992) Education and National Development: Historical and Critical Perspectives on Vocational Schooling in Malta. Msida, Malta: Mireva. Sultana, R. G. (1994) Conceptualising teachers' work in a uniting Europe. Compare, 24(2), 171-82. Sultana, R. G. (1995) A uniting Europe, a dividing education. International Studies in Sociology of Education, 5(2), 115-44. Vaniscotte, F. (1989) 70 Millions d'Eleves: L'Europe de 1'Education. Paris: Hatier. Vonk, H. (1991) Some trends in the development of curricula for the professional preparation of primary and secondary school teachers in Europe: a comparative study. British Journal of Educational Studies, 39(2), 117-37. Wilterdink, N. (1993) The European ideal. Archives Europeens Sociologiques, 34,119-36. Young, M. (1993) A curriculum for the 21st century? Towards a new basis for overcoming academic/ vocational divisions. British Journal of Educational Studies, 41(3), 203-22.

The Powers of the European Union in Educational Matters: Raymond Ryba Responds to Ronald Sultana

Introductionn I have been asked in this chapter to offer an alternative view of the role of the European Union in the development of education in European countries to that presented by Ronald Sultana in Chapter 7.1 do this willingly despite thus being put in a position of offering a 'lawyer's case' rather than the more balanced academic analysis which I would normally prefer to offer. I do so all the more willingly because, in spite of my admiration for the logic, style and erudition of what Sultana writes, and in spite also of a willingness to accept some aspects of his conclusions, I cannot agree to the basic presuppositions on which his central arguments are based and therefore cannot accept his central conclusions. Moreover, I am very concerned that in the hands of less careful critics than Sultana - and, most particularly, in the hands of those Europhobes who are all too willing to use any material which they can find to bludgeon the so-called 'Bureaucrats of Brussels' - his reasoned arguments might, at least at first, appear all too respectable and telling. It therefore seems to me to be all the more important to show that an alternative case exists that is more consistent with current reality and future prospects and one, moreover, which points to exactly opposite fundamental policy conclusions. The essence of Sultana's case - and, indeed, of the similar cases being put forward by other critics of European Union educational policy since the

coming into force of the Maastricht Treaty - seems to rest on three founding assumptions. These are that the educational agenda of the European Union is 'an influential one'; that it is run by a supranational body that is self-justifying and contrary to the interests of European states; and that its consequences are actually and potentially harmful to the countries of Europe and their peoples. Building on these, Sultana then proposes a number of consequences, mostly bad - and some, in his view, dangerous - which seem to him to follow from his reasoning. These, in turn, seem to him to imply a need to watch closely over those in charge of European Union educational policy and practice and to curb their excessive power. While not wishing, as will emerge, to disagree with all the details of this argument, I believe that its founding assumptions need very careful critical scrutiny, to say the least.

How influential is the European Union in educational matters? Let us begin with Sultana's notion that the educational agenda of the European Union is an influential one, in pursuit of which it has access to both direct and indirect mechanisms through which it can intervene in the construction of a specific understanding of education in a uniting Europe. Let us admit immediately that there is some marginal truth in this; and that there are those who

A Response to Sultana 75

would wish this to be true to a much greater extent than it is. But, can more than that really be said? Sultana's argument seems to be that because the European Union has recently increased its powers with regard to education, and because it has changed its mode of using those powers, this means that he has established 'that the EU does have teeth' with regard to European education. To clinch the argument, he selectively quotes from my past work to the effect that the Union is 'by far the strongest and most interventionist' of the 'European international organisations that have influence on education'. What he fails to see is that these things taken together do not make his case. He has tried to make two and two make five! It is, of course, certainly true that the Maastricht Treaty has enhanced the legal basis for the role of education in the work of the Union and of its Commission. In the original Treaty of Rome, that basis did not really exist (though some basis existed for a Commission role in the field of training). By contrast, the Maastricht Treaty, notably in its Articles 126 and 127, outlined an explicit basis for Union-wide action in both the fields of education and of training in a way that had not previously been the case. Thus, Article 126 of the Treaty describes Community action which shall be aimed at: —

developing the European dimension in education, particularly through the teaching and dissemination of languages; — encouraging mobility of students and teachers, inter alia by encouraging the academic recognition of diplomas and periods of study; — promoting co-operation between educational establishments; — developing exchanges of information and experience on issues common to the education systems of the Member States; — encouraging the development of youth exchanges and of exchanges of socio-educational instructors; and — encouraging the development of distance education.

However, all these actions are severely limited by the 'subsidiarity' clause, to the effect that all the Commission's actions must fully respect 'the responsibility of the Member States for the content

of teaching and the organisation of education systems and their cultural and linguistic diversity' in accordance with Article 3(b) of the Treaty (Maastricht, 1992). Moreover, it is possible to make too much of this change in other ways. On the one hand, while no treaty basis existed for Community (now Union) action in the field of education in the Treaty of Rome, this did not prevent such action being initiated perfectly legally on the basis of agreement between the national ministers of education; and, indeed, such action was increasingly initiated in the years following 1975 (Neave, 1984). On the other hand, even today, with the new powers conveyed by treaty, the amount of such action remains extremely small. This is so even by Union standards, let alone the standards of the individual Union member states. It is also true that there has been some shift away from advisory pronouncements on education and training, such as statements of principles and resolutions of the Council of Ministers, towards more prescriptive ones, such as directives. Again, however, the change has been relatively limited and marginal. Sultana, himself, gives certain of the main examples of this approach which would hardly make anyone quake at the power of the 'teeth' being applied (pp. 68-70). It would also have been open to Sultana to quote the very considerable increase in attention and in resources which are at last being applied to the field of education at European Union level. Thus 1993-94 saw the circulation of a major Green Paper on the proposed future educational policy of the Union (Commission of the European Communities, 1993) and 1994-95 has seen the inauguration of the new major five-year SOCRATES Programme in education (European Union, 1995). This programme subsumes the former ERASMUS, Lingua and other main educational programmes and introduces a new Comenius fund, concerned directly with schools (Commission of the European Communities, 1989). Taken together with the extension of the former Youth for Europe programme, it certainly indicates an increase in interest on the part of the Union in actions related to the fields of education and training. It is also true that the budget which has been allocated to these pro-

76 Raymond Ryba

grammes, at 850 million ECU for SOCRATES and a further 126 million ECU for youth exchanges for a period of five years, is substantially enlarged as compared with what has been available in the past (Euroednews, 1995). But it is here that the truth about the level of Union influence on education is most particularly revealed. For, while these figures may seem large in absolute standards, they are in fact very small in comparative terms when the size of educational field in the whole of the Union is taken into account and the five-year term for its disbursement is considered. What is implied is an average of no more than two or three ECUs per year per individual involved in education, depending on what is included. As far as the school education field is concerned, the figure is even more derisory. This is because the bulk of the funding is reserved for the non-Comenius aspects of the programmes, i.e. for the continuation of the ERASMUS Programme for higher education and the Lingua Programme for language training (Euroednews, 1995]. When, in addition, one is aware that the European Council of Ministers, left to itself, would have requested the much smaller overall budget for the programme of 479 million ECU, the notion that the Union is somehow arrogating to itself overweening levels of influence in the educational field is left to look even more ridiculous. The higher budgets actually achieved were only made possible through the intervention of the European Parliament. Money, of course, is not the sole basis for judging the notion of 'influence'. More will be said about this below. Yet, given that all Union actions must be paid for, the limitations applied above are a good indication of the limitations which remain on its level of influence on educational matters in the Union's member states.

A capitalist conspiracy? Turning next to Sultana's suggestion that there is a supranational influence at work through the Union that works against the educational interests of the member states and of their peoples, there is

equally a need to answer theoretical arguments, which are sometimes of a rarified nature, by reference to empirical evidence. Here, Sultana's thesis belongs to a class of objections which is usually filled by those on the more conservative, more nationalist side of politics than is the case for him. The argument is usually that 'national heritages', built up over countless years, are somehow being threatened by a looming and insatiable European superstate. The fact that Sultana's attack comes from the altogether opposite end of the political spectrum is a useful reminder that anti-Europeans, as well as pro-Europeans, can come from all quarters of politics. For Sultana, the specific threat envisioned is that 'educational analysis' has shown little understanding that 'the aspirations of a Single Market... [and] represents] the offensive of a capitalist class in the face of international competition' (p. 68]. He quotes approvingly the statement by Ross that the 'struggle over the future of Europe is largely about developing more promising environments for capitalist success' (Ross, 1992] and stresses Ramsay's concern that the 'extraordinary influence wielded' by the Round Table of European Industrialists, made up of 12 major influential companies 'operating chiefly in the information technology area' ... signalfs] the coincidence of the Commission's strategy and the interests of international capital with a European Base' (Ramsay, 1992). Summarizing the argument, he reminds us of his own previously expressed view that 'capitalist influence does not stop in the field of economic decisionmaking, but permeates the political and ideological fields as well' (p. 69), thus leading to 'a congruence between the interests of capital and the restructuring of the educational field' (p. 69). Wow! There is of course nothing very new about this neo-Marxist line of analysis, except that it has generally been applied to national educational systems rather than to international ones. (See, for example, Bowles and Gintis, 1976.) There is also rather little that can be said about it as a 'deep' analysis of educational realities. The same would, of course, be true of any similar but opposite 'deep' analysis. However, the nub of the matter is that the answers to such questions need to take their starting-points in facts rather than in theoretical

A Response to Sultana 77

suppositions. These facts certainly include the existence of the Round Table of European Industrialists and of UNICE, the European federation of industrialists. Certainly, they are lobbyists in Brussels, as is ETUC, the European federation of trade unions, and hundreds of other bodies. But it is not remotely they - or, for that matter any of the other lobbying bodies - who actually determine or run educational policies of the European Union. Nor is there any real evidence that they remotely determine their nature. In fact, the notion of governance of the European Union by some kind of supranational force which ignores or overrides the wishes of the participating governments, although a widely held notion in some quarters, is a myth born out of ignorance about the true position. Total control of the Union's governance rests firmly in the hands of the participating governments. It is they, collectively, through their participation in the Council of Ministers, who determine the political direction which the Union takes on all matters. They cannot be overridden in their judgements by the Commission or by any other force which may be postulated to be able to control the Commission. Nor, despite the acceptance of qualified majority voting in some circumstances, can their individual wishes in any area of decision-making be overridden except in respect of their own prior decisions. And, given the typically varied nature of the political backgrounds of the different governments represented, the notion that the Council's decisions can be manipulated by one or other pressure group, however powerful and manipulative, defies all reason and experience. Indeed, because of the Council's composition, and, in particular, the differing political composition of its member governments, it must inevitably be more immune to such pressures than any individual government. As regards the Commission, in spite of widely believed rumours to the contrary, its task is limited to preparing, interpreting and implementing the expressed will of the Council of Ministers in all matters. It is simply not the case that it controls in any way the political directions taken by the Union. This is clearly so even where its proposals are apparently rubber-stamped by the Council. Power of political control remains firmly in the

hands of the participating governments who guard their role in this respect with the greatest zeal and perspicacity. Anyone who has ever worked for the Commission knows this only too well. Thus, if it is inevitably true that most of the Commission's employees believe in the Union's existence and would often personally like to see its still very limited powers extended in the interests of the Union as a whole, they are the first to understand the limitations on their personal powers and to accept their logic. To suggest that Commission employees, from the highest to the lowest, would or could in some way undermine or subvert the declared political intentions of the participating governments is to misunderstand the many checks and balances, both formal and informal, which would make it impossible for them to do so, either in respect of special interests of their own or of those of others, however powerful. It also insults their integrity, not to mention their intelligence. It moreover ignores the enormous watchdog functions of the European Parliament, and the individual attention given to the Union's affairs by members of the parliaments of the participating countries, by the ever watchful media, by the various pressure groups themselves and by interested members of the public, both within and outside the Union. In these circumstances, although mistakes are occasionally all too evidently made, no selfrespecting member of the Commission's administration would waste his or her time in pursuing lines of preparation which did not seem to him or her to be of at least potential interest to the Council of Ministers. Nor would they see much point in deliberately developing interpretations which ran counter to the expressed wishes of the Council. In the case of educational matters, protection against any undesirable supranational actions is doubly certain. This is because, as has already been shown, of the explicit clauses of 'subsidiarity' which have been built into Articles 126 and 127 of the Maastricht Treaty as well as to the Treaty as a whole. In point of fact, 'subsidiarity' is taken very seriously by the member states in respect of educational matters. They guard their rights in this regard most jealously, respecting their individual traditions in education, often to a

78 Raymond Ryba

point where it actually becomes counterproductive. Any dangers which exist regarding the Union's educational policy therefore lie more in the direction of inactivity than in overzealous application (see Ryba, 1992, 1995). All this is not to say, of course, that lines of action adopted never coincide with the expressed wishes either of members of the Commission or of one or other of the many pressure groups which surround it. But to suggest, because of this, that any of these groups controls the actions of the Commission or of the Council of the European Union itself is quite another matter.

Conspiracy or relative failure? The last of Sultana's presuppositions which I would like to contest is that the Council's educational agenda is governed by overall economic and political ambitions of the EU, which lead it to support a process through which a utilitarian and technocratic rationality is permeating educational policy-making in Europe. Since Sultana contrasts this with 'positive and progressive movements' in the Union's educational agenda, it is clear that he sees these postulated objectives as negative and regressive. Elaborating his thesis, he sees most writing on education in its European dimension as being characterized by 'undiscriminating appropriation of Brussels discourse . . . impregnated and determined by an eschatological view of Europe' (p. 66). Above all, he quotes approvingly from Coulby that 'there is a political reason for the EU being prepared to spend such generous sums on [Europeanisation]. The more children of Europe learn a Europeanised curriculum, the more they are likely to grow up to endorse the political union and the political and bureaucratic institutions which support it' (Coulby, 1994, p. 4). Once again, the facts do not fit very well with the theories being propounded. We have already referred to the increase in educational expenditure on the part of the Union and shown that, far from being generous, it is in fact quite paltry. But, even so, the contention that the European Union's intervention in education is a politically motivated act

aimed at ensuring the endorsement of the Union and its activities is a serious one which smacks not a little of the serious charge of indoctrination. It is, moreover, a charge that may only too easily be accepted uncritically by many people who are not really familiar with what is taking place. It therefore needs looking at more closely. Let us begin by agreeing that European intervention in the field of education is indeed a political act. This, however, makes it no different from any other intervention in the field of education. What is important here is the nature of the political act. Let us also agree that there are certainly some people, both within the ranks of the European Union's administration and outside them, who would, at a personal level, both espouse and preach Coulby's view of the Union's educational role. Since all kinds of views are espoused and expressed, both within and outside the Union, this could hardly be thought surprising. It is, however, not by any stretch of the imagination, a view for which any evidence can be found in the official writings of the Council and the Commission. The very good reason for this is that such a view is not remotely one held officially by the Union or its Commission. Moreover, if any sign of this being so could be detected, the governments of the member states would be the first to jump on the Union's institutions for even remotely suggesting that it was so. Even at the macro-level at which Sultana conducts his analysis, any examination of the Union's actual policy in education, as opposed to that implied by uninformed critics, cannot fail to make clear that its objectives are actually far from the self-justifying, paternalistic, indoctrinating model which Coulby supposes. Far from being 'topdown' in character, they are very much 'bottomup'. They take their starting-point not from the self-justifying interests of the Union's administrators but from the individual rights and responsibilities of its citizens. They are very precisely located in the founding traditions of European intervention in the field of education, including, as Sultana rightly points out, elements concerned with 'respect for democracy, human rights, cultural pluralism' and, above all, the elimation of the danger of future wars between member states.

A Response to Sultana 79

They are also particularly careful not to pose the 'European' dimension of education as something above and in place of local, regional and national dimensions, or in conflict with even wider international and universal dimensions. No doubt, it would not be difficult for one or other critic to point to particular actions of the European Union which appeared to him or her to breach these principles or to support alternative points of view. In a world where so many views are possible, it would be surprising if this were not the case. Nor is it impossible, at this level, that mistakes are sometimes made, just as they are at other levels of political and administrative activity. But the essential point is that the intentions of policy formulation, acceptance and implementation - at the points at which these are decided - are firmly governed by principles which are quite different from those postulated by Coulby. If this is already so at the macro-level of analysis, it is even more the case at the meso- and microlevels of national, regional and local authorities and of individual schools and classrooms in which Union policies must finally take effect. These levels, as Sultana himself agrees, really need to be considered to obtain a more complete picture. But such studies as have been made at these levels reveal a general picture of types and levels of influence far different from that suggested by Coulby (Ryba, 1992). In terms of types of activity at meso-levels, these tend, where they are actually found, generally to pick up and further develop at national and local administrative levels the main lines of policy statements already adopted at the Union level. There are, sometimes, very interesting omissions at the national level which, if anything, water down even further any possible implication of supranational influence. Thus the UK published official documents in furtherance of the European Community's 1988 Resolution on the development of the European dimension in Education (European Community, 1988) which conspicuously omitted any mention of certain parts of the preamble with which the British authorities were not happy (DES, 1992). Moreover, actions taken in the light of these statements, again where they are found, may be no more than official instructions to

include appropriate work at the institutional level or the institution of pilot activities to investigate its possibility and set an example for the future. At the micro-level, within the unpromising context of the kinds of meso-level actions described above, it is still, with only rare exceptions, only those schools and colleges particularly dedicated to the principles of introducing a European dimension into their work which really engage in it, and those teachers within such schools and colleges who are similarly enthusiastic who actually operationalize programmes dedicated to Europeanizing the curriculum. Such schools and teachers do exist in all the Union countries but evidence suggests that they are still relatively few and far between. Most of those schools and institutions that do practise Europeanizing policies in their curricula and teaching follow, no doubt, the intentions of the Union policies, as further amplified by their own national and local authorities. It has to be said, though, that little as yet is known of the overall picture. Others, no doubt, and entirely against the intentions of the Union, may be found practising policies which are closer in character to those portrayed by Coulby. But the essential point is that, taken overall, far from influencing the majority of pupils and students in favour of slavish conformity with the governance of the Union, the degree of influence is finally still so slight as to have virtually no overall effect at all, even in the intended directions. We are still talking of the proverbial drop in the ocean. It is this result, rather than the danger of overpowering new influences, which needs most to concern us. For whether, individually, we like it or not, the member countries of the Union are members of that organization. Their citizens have new corresponding rights and responsibilities in addition to those which they also have at national and local levels. Above all, they have a right to be informed about these rights and responsibilities and to have an opportunity to consider how they apply to themselves. And, at no level is this right more important than at the level of schools and colleges, which surely should include in their studies opportunities to become aware of such things, to consider them carefully, to form opin-

80 Raymond Ryba

ions about them, including, if felt appropriate, negative opinions about them, and to inform their future actions in the light of those opinions. No doubt, it may be objected that this is a counsel of perfection, unattainable in reality; and this is indeed the case at present. But the fact that this is so does not make it any the less important.

Concluding remarks If the gist of this chapter so far has appeared rather severe, nothing which has been said should be allowed to detract from the value of the many interesting points which Sultana makes and from the general erudition of his argument. To do so has in no way been the intention of what has been written. Rather has the intention been to point out that the outcome of the theoretical analysis offered by Sultana simply does not measure up to the facts as they present themselves at this time. Nor has the intention been to stifle in any way critical evaluation of what the European Union is doing in educational matters. On the contrary, I am persuaded that, as in all matters political at every level, eternal vigilance is an essential prerequisite to the proper functioning of democracy and the safeguarding of human rights. The points that are being made are, rather, that the strictures which have resulted are not really justified. The animal which Sultana discerns in 'sheep's clothing' turns out, after all, to be no more than a sheep. In my opinion, Sultana has simply been 'crying "wolf '! Like the boy in the original story, he should be careful lest when, at some future date, it really proves necessary to do so, he will no longer be believed!

References Bowles, S. and Gintis, H. (1976) Schooling in Capitalist America. New York: Basic Books. Commission of the European Communities (1989) Guide to the European Community Programmes in the Fields of Education, Training and Youth. Brussels: CEC, Task Force on Human Resources, Education, Training and Youth. Commission of the European Communities (1991) Guide to the European Community Programmes in the Field of Education and Training. Brussels: European Eurydice Unit. Commission of the European Communities (1993) Green Paper on the European Dimension of Education. Com(93) 457 final, 29 Sept. 1993. Brussels: CEC (mimeo). Coulby, D. (1994) European culture: unity and fractures. Paper presented to the 16th CESE Conference, Copenhagen, 26-29 June. DBS (1992) Policy Models: A Guide to Developing and Implementing European Dimension Policies in LEAs, Schools and Colleges. London: HMSO. Euroednews (1995) 39, 6—7. London: Central Bureau for Visits and Exchanges. European Community (1988) Resolution of the Council of Ministers of Education meeting within the Council, on Enhancing the European Dimension of Education. Brussels, 24 May. European Union, Council of Ministers (1995). Maastricht (1992) Treaty on European Union. Brussels: CEC, chapter 3. Neave, G. (1984) The EEC and Education. Stoke-onTrent: Trentham Books. Ramsay, H. (1992) Whose champions? Multinationals, labour and industry policy in the European Community after 1992. Capital and Class, 48, 56. Ross, G. (1992) Confronting the new Europe. New Left Review, 191, 65. Ryba, R. (1992) Toward a European dimension in education: intention and reality in European Community policy and practice. Comparative Education Review, 36 (1), 10-24. Ryba, R. (1995) Unity in diversity: the enigma of the European dimension in education. Oxford Review of Education, 21(1), 25-36.

Of Facts, Fictions and the EU: A Response to Ryba from Ronald Sultana

The nub of the argument between Ryba and myself can be summarized as follows: I am arguing that we should take seriously the EU's involvement, as a supranational body, in the field of education, and that while recognizing some of its progressive elements, we should also recognize the dangers that are involved here, given that education is linked, in a contested way, to economics, and that the industrial imperatives espoused by the EU are often in contradiction with democratic imperatives. Ryba, while gracefully accepting my central premiss that one should, indeed, vigilantly and critically watch the EU, finds very little empirical evidence to warrant the concern I have expressed here and elsewhere. His position is, he says, closer to the 'facts': there has been an increase in influence on educational matters after Maastricht, it is true, but its power is severely circumscribed by the clause of subsidiarity; there has been more funding allocated to the field, but this is a relatively minuscule portion of the EU budget; there might be capitalist influence on the direction taken by the EU, but this is constrained by the influence of other lobby and pressure groups, and by the very way the European Parliament functions. Overall, one detects a discomfort with 'macro-theory' since this tends to make claims (at least, for Ryba, and in so far as I am concerned) without empirical proof, that can be checked out by research at the meso- and micro-levels. At face value, the argument between us can be collapsed into a contention between the 'Europhobes' (and presumably I would be a member of this species, since I'm the one 'crying wolf) and the Euro-enthusiasts (and Ryba, despite his meas-

ured analysis, would tend to fall in the latter ranks). That simplification would be a shame, because I think there is enough material in Ryba's paper and in my own contribution to make the case that such binary oppositions are crude, do not quite come to grips with what is at stake and fail to realize the extent to which 'Europe' and the 'European Union' are far from being solid entities with a fixed identity that can be reduced to a 'for' or 'against' position. To his credit, Ryba admits feeling uncomfortable with the 'form' of argumentation this volume series imposed upon him. But in my view, by calling upon 'facts' in order to make his case, and by adopting an epistemologically weak positivistic position arguing that I am (mostly) wrong because I do not have the 'facts' right, he lets himself be drawn upon the quicksands of what, indeed, constitutes a 'fact'. I will, of course, come up with (more) 'facts' to reinforce the main argument I make in my initial contribution, but the main point (or one of them, at any rate) in a discussion such as this should be: how do 'facts' make an argument stick? Lest Ryba think that I am warbling off into some esoteric philosophic terrain, let me bring this argument right down to earth by quoting two authors who have described Europe in very contrasting ways. The first is Herman Rohrs, an established German educationist who, though not unaware of the North-South dynamics in an unequal world (cf. Rohrs, 1995), generally writes in a positive and approving manner about Europe and the EU. The second is Franz Fanon, a psychiatrist from Martinique who died in 1961 having authored some of

82 Ronald Sultana

the most scathing analyses of Europe's colonial presence in Africa. Let us listen to Rohrs first: Europeanism in the spirit of a 'homo europaeus' is based squarely on the primacy of the rational - a rationality achieved against the background of cultural diversity and affording continuity on the historical plane and a touchstone both in the artisticaesthetic dimension and the world of the sciences. At the intellectual level, a European is basically a product of the Enlightenment, while at the same time in no way jettisoning religious faith. (Rohrs, 1992, p. 62)

And then, let us also listen to what Fanon has to say: Leave this Europe where they are never done talking of Man, yet murder men everywhere they find them, at the corner of every one of their own streets, in all the corners of the globe. For centuries they have stifled almost the whole of humanity in the name of a so-called spiritual experience ... today we know with what sufferings humanity has paid for every one of their triumphs of the mind. Come then, comrades, the European game has finally ended; we must find something different. We today can do everything, so long as we do not imitate Europe, so long as we are not obsessed by the desire to catch up with Europe. (Fanon, 1968, pp. 311, 312)

Quoting from Fanon is, I admit, a bit like hitting below the belt in a parrying match, for the weight of history is so definitely on his side, but the point of the matter is not to use the Ryba strategy by asking 'Who of the two is right?', for facts can clearly be marshalled in evidence of both positions. Rather, what interests me is how views about presumably the same 'entity' can be so disparate. And herein lies the first major point I would like to make for Ryba's (and the readers') consideration: Could it be that facts and interests are inseparable, that 'reality' and perception depend rather more on one's values, on one's position in a national and international social hierarchy? In other words, could it be that our views about Europe, our trust, scepticism or fear depend, for instance, on the fact that one of us is British (i.e. coming from a largish island once thought to be the centre of the world, though present 'facts' fail to confirm this any longer), and the other Maltese (i.e. coming from an insignificantly small island in the Mediterranean, though harbouring aspirations to hit the big time by applying to join the Euro-

club)? Could it be that our respective theoretical positions and feelings depend on our experiences of the political contexts in which relationships with Europe and the European Union are developed? Take the following example. Those on the UK Left are probably rather positively disposed, for instance, to the more progressive models of social welfare and industrial relations regimes on the continent, and they will certainly find the EU's Social Charter far ahead of what conservative Britain has come up with (remember that Thatcher lambasted Delors's attempt to carve out a 'social space' to complement the economic space as inspired by the values of 'Marx and the class struggle'; see Palmer, 1989, p. 5). On the other hand, the Danish first said 'No' to Maastricht for precisely the opposite reason, i.e. because they feared the loss of the social partnership model and other fundamental democratic values (Christiansen, 1992, pp. 100-1). The Danish opposition, together with the (real) Left in a number of other European countries, is loathe to embark on a paradigm shift that is promoted by the EU, a shift which signifies the giving up of a number of interrelated projects including the construction and management of the welfare state, the redistribution of income and the implementation of Keynesian policies of demand support and full employment, the deepening of the strength and bargaining power of trade unions and increasing the efficiency of the regulatory function of the national state (Magri, 1991, p. 8). Ryba, therefore, need not be nonplussed as to why a person so clearly from the Left as myself is wary of the European Union. That wariness depends not so much on free floating 'facts', but rather more on how those facts impinge on our existence, given that we are differently located geographically, economically, politically, in national, European and global contexts. Thus, my feelings/thoughts regarding the EU as party to the new circuits of imperialism is based not so much on the close reading of the (rhetoric of those) types of documents that Ryba refers to, but rather more on the voices of the marginalized non-Europeans in Europe. (See the several analyses regarding the intersections between European integration and the rise of the new Euro-racism in various issues of

A Response to Ryba 83

the journal Race and Class, for instance, some of which are sampled in the references below.) Closer to home, it is also based on the way the EU dealt with Malta's (probably misguided) application for membership of the European Union. In its Avis, the EU declared that membership status would be considered if Malta would, among other things, restructure its economy by adopting free market principles and by reducing its public sector and public investment! These conditions were laid at the door of a country with 3.3 per cent unemployment and an inflation rate of 3.9 per cent! There are, of course, other sorts of'facts' that are perhaps less based on hermeneutic readings, though I am convinced that in all cases the reader creates the 'text' as much as (if not more than) the 'text' creates meaning. It is to these sorts of facts that I now turn, since they have much purchase in Ryba's argument. There are constraints of space, so I will be schematic in the presentation of this part of the response. Readers should refer to another paper (Sultana, 1995) for a more sustained account of what I present below. The main class of evidence that Ryba marshals is textual, and he therefore quotes from official EU documents in order to buttress his position. Sultana might be right to argue this or that, Ryba claims ... BUT, he goes on, Sultana is overreacting. Why? Well, one need only read this Article or that EU report to set one's mind at rest: this sort of argumentative strategy is adopted by Ryba throughout, but I will here focus only on three issues: increased EU interest in education, the promise of subsidiarity and accountability and the susceptibility of an integrating Europe to democratic controls. In doing so I will suggest that (1) identifying a tendential shift in power relationships warrants immediate critical interrogation of that shift, rather than passive acquiescence and acceptance of it: something is happening here even if the movements appear to be small and insignificant, and we need to ask what these are, who is behind them and whose interests they serve; and that (2) these movements are not isolated or unconnected events, but that there is a deeper logic which we must be aware of as we

focus (but not become distracted) by the minutiae of details - hence the value of macro-analyses. The argument that education is of minor concern to the EU because it spends relatively little money on it can be easily dismissed: here we are, both of us, discussing the topic, and neither one of us is getting any money from the EU Commission for it! That is the whole point of the use of the Foucauldian concept in my first contribution, namely that Europe has become 'inscribed' in educational discourse. One can spend (relatively) little money but generate very powerful dynamics which, to use Brussels language, have a 'multiplier effect', so that the EU becomes a 'value-added' component of several eduational initiatives, as we all know it has. Rather more serious is the way Ryba readily accepts EU guarantees of subsidiarity and accountability. For somebody who sets so much stock by facts, it is surprising that Ryba is more convinced by officials and their documents, by politicians and their 'Parliament' than by what researchers have to say regarding the way the EU is, in fact, working out vis-a-vis issues related to democracy. And perhaps this is where I would argue most strenuously with Ryba. What is at issue is not the 'integrity' or 'intelligence' of officials, but the structures that render them accountable and responsive to popular control, and how these structures work out in practice. I think both Ryba and I myself have to admit that we lack firsthand, solid empirical data as to the way EU intentions work out in the real world in the field of education. If we had such data, we would have quoted them. Ryba fills in the gap by referring to his own experiences and to some key EU texts. (In the other articles on the subject that he has written, he refers additionally to authors who have not been involved in fundamental research on the topic.) It is indicative that his bibliography does not include references to major studies in the field by other authors: the ones he does list are references from my original piece. I fill in the data gap by quoting from several authors who have specialized in studies related to EU affairs. This is not a question of name-dropping, but rather the point is that there is now a growing body of literature in diverse areas such as economics, politics, gender and especially

84 Ronald Sultana

race relations, policy-making and so on, besides education (which is a very secondary field indeed, and where unfortunately much of the writing is, as I have already claimed, superficial) to suggest that this is not simply the case of 'a boy' shouting 'wolf. To mix my metaphors, there is a whole pack of us out there getting worried! But in his enthusiasm for Europe, Ryba gives short shrift even to the experts in international law I refer to, who have been among the first to note that the European Court has been 'responsible for dramatically altering the face of European education law' (Barnard, 1992, p. 123). These lawyers (Flynn, 1988; Lonbay, 1989; Shaw, 1991; Barnard, 1992; Houghton-James, 1993) note that up to 1992, simple majority sufficed in Council's deliberation on education matters, and hence it was very difficult for recalcitrant member states to block a particular initiative without the substantial support of several other member states. With Maastricht, qualified majority voting has been introduced, so that it is now easier for a member state to block a particular measure. However, this was a concession the Commission was obliged to make given the wider remit on education given by the Treaty (Barnard, 1992, p. 128). In addition to this, a number of benchmark European Court cases gave the Commission and the Council 'almost carte blanche to legislate on the basis of Article 128' (Barnard, 1992, p.125), which ensures that 'in so far as national competence and sovereignty hinder the achievement of Community objectives, in particular the creation of a single market, Community law will intervene' (Shaw, 1991, p. 2). This has a direct bearing on my claims regarding the supranational character of the EU. Ryba's argument that regulative principles announced in official documents are not necessarily implemented cuts both ways, and not only in favour of his position. As Muller and Wright (1994) note in their analysis of the reshaping of the state in Europe, the pressure for Europeanization, both at formal and informal levels, has had a remarkable influence on the parameters of state activity not only in the financial and industrial sectors, but also in such sensitive areas as health, education, social welfare and environmental issues, which 'in spite of vague promises to respect the principle

of subsidiarity', 'have been slowly dragged into the regulatory net of Brussels' (p. 6). Muller and Wright (1994, p. 6) conclude: To an extent which is not fully appreciated, the EU is slowly redefining existing political arrangements, altering traditional policy networks, triggering institutional change, reshaping the opportunity structures of member states and their major interests. These interests are now increasingly entangled in relationships at four territorial levels: the international, the European, the national and the local, and for some of those interests it is by no means clear that the national level is the most important.

Of course, national states are not being wiped out: rather, they are still central actors, remaining for most citizens 'a primary source of welfare, order, authority, legitimacy, identity and loyalty' (Muller and Wright, 1994, p. 10). But there is clearly a change, so that European states are becoming 'increasingly prisoners of an interlocking network of bargained solutions: they are not bypassed or eliminated but rather more constrained. They retain a nodal decision-making position but their action is more indirect, more discreet and more bartered' (Muller and Wright, 1994, pp. 7-8). Balibar (1991, p. 16) goes further, using terms like 'decomposition' and 'deficiency' of the nationstate vis-a-vis the Community, 'a deficiency in power, in responsibility and in public qualities'. 'The "state" in Europe', argues Balibar, 'is tending to disappear as a power-centralizing institution, one to which responsibility for policy can be ascribed and which exercises "public" mediation (in both senses of the term) between social interests and forces.' I am sure that Ryba will grant that even if these are 'mere' tendencies and movements, they are, nevertheless, crucial to the argument in question, and simple assurances by the powers that be will not suffice. Furthermore, my concerns about the coincidence of the Commission's agendas and the interests of international capital with a European base are heightened given the political context in which these are being played out. I am here alluding to what is euphemistically referred to as the EU's 'democratic deficit'. It is a known fact that ordinary citizens have not identified much with

A Response to Rybaa 85

the integration process or ideal. Many feel that the bureaucracy in Brussels is too far away and in any case is not susceptible to the claims of popular movements, since political decisions have been transferred to sites sheltered from popular sovereignty. 'The conception of democracy nourished in the corridors of EC institutions leaves no room for such participation and accountability' (Christiansen, 1992, p. 101), especially since parliamentary-democratic representation in the process of European unification is excluded (Magri, 1991, p. 16), and national politicians who form the Councils of Ministers refuse to account to the European Parliament, and refuse to allow the Parliament to become the legislative body for the Community and the controller of its budget. The charge of 'deficit' has also been levelled at the Commission itself (Page and Wouters, 1994). Streeck and Schmitter's (1991, p. 152) conclusion to their analysis of the 'democratic deficit' in the new Europe is instructive: Whatever will occupy the place of the supranational Single European State governing the Single European Market will likely resemble a pre-New Deal liberal state, with, in Marshall's terms: a high level of civil rights, a low level of political rights, and an even lower level of social rights, with an almost complete absence of a European system of industrial citizenship.

In conclusion, therefore, there might not be any easy answers to the thorny question: Who stands to gain and who to lose under this new regime?, for, as I have argued at the outset, the terrains of the different nation-states on which EU directives and policies are applied are quite diverse. And while the 'costs of non-Europe' (Cecchini, 1988) in economic terms should be carefully considered, there is no reason to believe that the motives which led countries of the north successfully, and without regard for the consequences, to export the crisis to the Third World 'so that their own economic stabilization was paid for through the absolute pauperization of the other, "third" countries' (Balibar, 1991, pp. 8-9), should in any way be different in the long term. Rather, what we have here are, in Sivanandan's (1989) telling phrase, 'new circuits of imperialism', with capital reor-

ganizing itself in order to ensure its continued economic, political and cultural domination. Of course, Ryba might again call for yet more facts. But he can scarcely blame the scepticism and outright suspicion of those who, once bitten, are twice shy!

Referencess Balibar, E. (1991) Es gibt staat in Europa: racism and politics in Europe today. New Left Review, 186, 5-19.9. Barnard, C. (1992) The Maastricht agreement and education: one step forward, two steps back? Education and the Law, 4(3), 123-34. Cecchini, P. (1988) 1992 and the Benefits of a Single European Market. Aldershot: Wildwood House. Christiansen, N. F. (1992) The Danish 'no' to Maastricht. New Left Review, 195, 97-101. Fanon, F. (1968) The Wretched of the Earth. New York: Evergreen Black Cat. Flynn, J. (1988) Vocational training in Community law and practice. Yearbook of European Law, 8, 59-85. Houghton-James, H. (1993) The implication for member states of the development of an education policy by the Court of Justice. Education and the Law, 5(2), 85-93. Lonbay, J. (1989) Education and the law: the Community context. European Law Review, 14, 363-74. Magri, L. (1991) The European Left between crisis and refoundation. New Left Review, 189, 5-18. Muller, W. C. and Wright, V. (1994) Reshaping the state in Western Europe: the limits to retreat. West European Politics, 17(3), 1-11. Page, E. C. and Wouters, L. (1994) Bureaucratic politics and political leadership in Brussels. Journal of Public Administration, 72, 445-59. Palmer, J. (1989) 1992 and Beyond. Luxembourg: Office for Official Publications of the European Communities. Pieterse, J. N. (1991) Fictions of Europe. Race and Class, 32(3), 3-10. Rohrs, H. (1992) A united Europe as a challenge to education. European Journal of Intercultural Studies, 3(1), 59-70. Rohrs, H. (1995) European unification, the Third World and the politics of peace. Education, 51/52, 7-25. Shaw, J. (1991) Education and the European Community. Education and the Law, 3(1), 1-18. Sivanandan, A. (1989) New circuits of imperialism. Race and Class, 30(4), 1-19.

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Streeck, W. and Schmitter, P. C. (1991) From national corporatism to transnational pluralism: organised interests in the S.E.M. Politics and Society, 19(2), 133-64.

Sultana, R. G. (1995) A uniting Europe, a dividing education? Supranationalism, Euro-centrism and the cur-

riculum. International Studies in Sociology of Education, 5(2), 115-44. Webber, F. (1989) Europe 1992. Race and Class, 31, 78-81.

Webber, F. (1991) From ethnocentrism to Euro-racism. Race and Class, 32(3), 11-17.

A Final Note by Raymond Ryba

A substantial part of Sultana's riposte is unnecessarily discourteous: more concerned with kicking the player than kicking the ball. I have no intention of joining him in that game. What is more unfortunate, however, is that the rest of what he says, 'backed up' by the opinions of others whom he considers authoritative (i.e. in agreement with his own views), is completely irrelevant to the debate which he originally began. He seems to believe that spraying references across the pages, as though from a machine gun, is a more appropriate form of argument than thinking carefully through the issues he has raised. For the most part, however, his renewed attack, from a now avowedly anti-European position, is directed at the European Union and its workings rather than at the supposed dangerousness of its educational involvement. Readers must judge for themselves whether they think Sultana might be right on this larger issue. The truth is, however, that none of us, not even Sultana, can do more than guess about the future. But one cannot help noticing that it appears to have slipped Sultana's mind that 15 countries actually belong to the European Union; and that a number of others, including his own, have aspired, and continue to aspire, to join it. Moreover, some of the governments concerned are probably at least as left-wing in orientation as Sultana now boasts of being. Have they all missed something? Or is this just another 'fact' to be dismissed with all the others? And, when he finally refers, rather briefly, to the educational issues with which our exchange began, his references do nothing to back up his

original contentions or to destroy the arguments which I put forward. It still remains true (another slippery concept!) that the educational powers of the European Union are very limited and heavily circumscribed by the subsidiarity principle. And if in the United States - a much stronger union than the European one - it still remains true after more than two hundred years that the state's rights in education are paramount, how much more true is this likely to prove to be the case in the weaker European Union? It still remains true that European funding available for educational initiatives is minuscule and insignificant. It still remains true that there are many checks and balances in European politics which would quickly put paid to any undue initiatives in education from Brussels. Finally (a point that Sultana significantly fails to refer to), such empirical analysis as exists - and I agree that this is as yet very limited - simply does not sustain the argument that the Union is unduly powerful, let alone dangerous, in the educational field. On the contrary, in spite of its 'multiplying' intentions, what can be grumbled about lies more in omission than commission: too little is being done in an effective way to implement perfectly proper and fully agreed policies. The trouble with Sultana's kind of 'macrotheory' lies not in the concept of 'macro-theory' per se but in its failure to accord with relevant data at the meso- and micro-levels of analysis. If he had come up with clear and relevant examples, within the field of education, of the use of the dangerous and malevolent powers which he ascribes to the European Union in action, one might have been able to take his arguments more seriously. But he

88 Raymond Ryba

does not do so. And he does not do so because he cannot do so. So his claim to be 'once bitten, twice shy' is strange indeed. He certainly shows no sign

of being shy. How has he been bitten, one wonders, except perhaps by himself?

8

International Aid to Education: Why Projects Fail

FIONA LEACH Introduction International aid is big business, with official development assistance from the major donors amounting to just under US$ 59 billion in 1992, of which around 9 per cent went to education (OECD, 1994).1 Despite its being an institutionalized feature of global relations, aid is surrounded by controversy. Supporters argue that, despite its shortcomings, it provides essential assistance to poor countries, without which they would be even worse off than they are at the present time. It also fosters international co-operation and understanding, which are essential if nations are to live in harmony in an increasingly overpopulated and rapidly changing world. For some, the rich nations have a duty to assist those less fortunate than themselves (perhaps even to atone for colonial exploitation and pillage) and they have much to offer in terms of technology, expertise and experience of modernization and industrialization. Opponents argue that aid is a political weapon, a form of leverage exerted on the less powerful to oblige them to 'toe the line' in international affairs. Some claim that it is not aid at all, that it is designed to give maximum benefit to the donor nations in terms of spin-offs in trade and ever mounting interest payments on loans (which in 1989 resulted in a negative flow of US$ 32.5 billion from the 'south' to the 'north'; UNDP, 1990). Donors like to fund large prestigious projects (dams, power stations, airports, etc.) which often turn out to be little more than 'white elephants', inappropriate to local needs and costly to maintain. Others see aid as an extension of colonialism, as a

means of ensuring Western supremacy through the imposition of Western ideology on nonWestern peoples. (The same could be said of Japanese aid, for Japan too has lost an overseas empire.) The recipients of aid understand all too well the political nature of aid, and know that its continuing flow should not be taken for granted. Aid from the major powers who make up the donor 'club' increasingly goes only to those who are supportive of their political and economic ideology in the international arena. Aid can disappear almost overnight, especially where there is a change of government perceived as hostile to donor country interests.

Project aid For the past 25 years or so, the most favoured vehicle for providing development assistance, regardless of sector, has been the project. This is especially true of educational aid. For example, 60 per cent of British bilateral aid to education in 1991 went on projects (figure derived from Lewin, 1994). The project is seen as a convenient and manageable form of assistance: it is a visible welldefined entity with relatively transparent accounting procedures (unlike multi-purpose financial aid which tends to disappear without trace into seemingly bottomless government coffers and private bank accounts). Project management is usually in the hands of a team of expatriate 'experts' employed directly by the donor agency and

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accountable to them. They can oversee the project, monitor progress and retain crucial control over funds. The potential high profile of a project appeals to politicians both in the donor country where they need to provide evidence to their taxpaying public that aid money is well spent and in the recipient country where it can be used to win votes and as a source of patronage. Above all, the project is short term and finite, typically with an initial phase of three to five years and extensions dependent on satisfactory performance. A project is often more than just a convenient form of aid disbursement. It can also be an important means of development in itself, for not only can it provide physical assets such as schools, hospitals and power stations, but it can also provide relevant and up-to-date knowledge, skills and technologies to allow the recipients to make maximum use of the physical assets created. Such projects usually contain a staff development component directed to this end. This often takes the form of counterpart training (local personnel working alongside an expatriate) and/or overseas training (in the case of bilateral projects, usually in the donor country, which naturally benefits the institutions receiving trainees). Such projects are seen as engaging in 'capacity-building' or 'institution-building'. Despite its advantages, the development project has recently fallen somewhat out of favour with donors, as its shortcomings have become increasingly obvious. For the past decade or so it has become evident that many projects were failing to promote development as rapidly and as effectively as had been expected, in particular in terms of local capacity-building (Berg, 1993). This has been especially true in education, and in other social sectors such as health and rural development, where large numbers of potential beneficiaries are involved, objectives are numerous, complex and not easily quantifiable, outcomes are difficult to evaluate and progress is slow. Building up physical infrastructure through projects is not difficult (for example constructing and equipping schools, colleges and laboratories) but building up the

capacity to gain maximum benefit from the infrastructure is much more challenging. Likewise, it is easy to provide financial support to the ministry of education, but much more difficult to help it develop an efficient and good quality educational service for its population. This is especially the case where the project is targeted at the introduction of innovatory procedures and practices, for example in teaching methods or curriculum development. These will be difficult to achieve because they usually require significant change in attitude and behaviour on the part of large numbers of people (e.g. administrators, teachers, parents, communities and pupils). From the late 1970s awareness grew that the project process was more complex than had been assumed in the early optimistic years of development assistance, when it was taken for granted that once a project was up and running, implementation and institutionalization of new procedures and practices would automatically follow. In particular, it had become clear that the least developed countries of Africa and Asia had very limited 'absorptive capacity' for aid; yet it was here that aid activity was usually the most intense. Projects came to be seen as artificial creations operating in isolation from the mainstream of public life, as oases of plenty (designed, staffed and resourced by donors) in a desert of deprivation (located in resource-starved public institutions). Most of them never got beyond the pilot phase into fullscale implementation and on the donor's withdrawal they withered away. In the 1990s, as countries face economic recession and the rigours of structural adjustment, local institutional capacity has actually declined in many of the poorest countries. One of the ironies of development assistance is that its chances of being effective are greatest in those developing countries which are more economically 'advanced' and can provide better infrastructure, management support and competent staff for the project (e.g. the middle-income countries of South-East Asia). In other words aid is most successful where it is least needed!

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The difficulty of institution-building Studies of the causes of failures in institutionbuilding projects focus on both external and internal factors. For example, factors external to the project which are frequently cited are: weak government infrastructure; political instability; chronic shortage of funds and skilled manpower; lack of official commitment to development; an absence of accountability; and bureaucratic inertia and confusion. Internal factors cited as undermining project success are: poor project design and preparation; overambitious objectives; overoptimistic time schedules; delays in the provision of essential supplies and equipment; and high staff turnover. In an attempt to counteract the 'enclave project' syndrome (King, 1992), donors have devised new strategies for administering development assistance, where projects are closely linked to wider programmes of support to a whole sector (e.g. education) or subsector (basic education, higher education) and conditional upon policy reform which will create a more conducive environment for project-initiated change. This might include, for example, privatization, the introduction of competitive tendering and user fees and reduced staffing levels. At the same time the host government will be expected to take on a greater degree of'ownership' of the project. Although less faith is now placed in the project as a free-standing vehicle of development, it is unlikely to disappear, as it is too convenient a route for channelling aid funds. Projects will continue to eat up a large percentage of development assistance, much of it in expatriate personnel, while still having very limited impact in those countries where assistance is most needed. With this in mind, it is important to continue exploring the factors which contribute to, and militate against, project success and sustainability. In this chapter, therefore, I shall suggest that in addition to the usual constraints identified in the project literature, all of which are no doubt valid, there is another range of factors which militate against project success, factors that have been largely ignored. These relate not to political, economic or socio-cultural factors external to the

project, nor to procedural weaknesses in planning and implementation, but to the project concept itself and the dynamics that it generates when it is applied to cross-cultural development situations. I shall suggest that the project dynamics that tend to emerge in particular in weak institutional settings make the goals of capacity-building and local ownership of projects difficult to achieve. This is because the actions and interactions generated by the project among the parties involved in implementation can all too easily neutralize its proposed developmental impact and even turn it into a counter-developmental force. Project success can then be seen as dependent upon a certain level of institutional strength and cohesion which allows it to generate a more positive set of dynamics.

The project process Donors and writers on the subject of project aid have remained signally ignorant of what can be called the 'human dimension' of aid. It is truly amazing that in spite of the billions of dollars spent annually on projects, so little research has been carried out into what actually goes on during the project process and the influence that individual actions have on implementation and institutionalization. Project evaluations are often superficial and seek to assess immediate rather than long-term benefits; they are concerned more with measuring outputs against inputs rather than the process of implementation. They also usually reveal a one-sided view of the project, the official one put forward to the evaluation team primarily by the resident expatriate personnel and senior government officials, both of whom have a vested interest in portraying the project in a rosy light so as to assure further funding. The voices of the local staff (as opposed to senior government officials) who are largely responsible for implementing the project are rarely, if ever, heard. As I have already pointed out elsewhere (Leach, 1993), the internationally accessible literature on aid has been produced almost exclusively by

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Westerners (with the Japanese now entering the field). The relative monopoly of information (statistical and other) that is held by the international donor and financial institutions, in particular the World Bank (King, 1991) means that their views are the ones that are transmitted and become accepted currency internationally, while the opinions, preferences and priorities of those who are on the receiving end of the aid rarely reach a wide audience. The domination of Western views also prevails in the project design. The planning phase of the project is supposed to be a collaborative effort between donor headquarters personnel (most of whom until the emergence of Japan as a major donor came from Western nations or had lived extensively in the West) and the relevant government authority in the receiving country, but it is often a one-sided effort. In particular, the project design will of necessity be influenced, or indeed dictated, by Western concepts of organization and management which are built upon Western principles of rationality and efficiency. It will therefore reflect prevailing norms of what the particular donor considers to be good professional practice in the relevant field. This might include, for example, strategic planning, explicit statements of goals and performance targets, clearly defined tasks and flexibility to cope with changing circumstances. Such a project design contains a number of assumptions which are rarely questioned. These are: that the project will provide a model of organizational principles and practices that the local institution will seek to emulate; that such principles and practices are both appropriate and transferable to all cultures; that the project provides an appropriate framework for the transfer of skills from expatriate to local counterpart; and that these skills are perceived as necessary by those who are expected to acquire them. All of these are, in my opinion, highly questionable, and I shall devote the remainder of this chapter to explaining why. To illustrate my argument, I shall draw on some research which I carried out on a number of educational projects in Northern Sudan during 1986-87, which were based in institutions of higher education (university departments, training colleges) and ministries. While the findings of this research

as such do not allow for generalization, information gathered from other sources suggests that the project dynamics described below are very common in weak institutional settings, especially in sub-Saharan Africa. The analysis will revolve around a number of key project features which, on interaction with features in the host institution, can generate a particular set of dynamics which undermines or even defeats the developmental aims of the project. These features are: the project culture; patterns of power and decision-making; knowledge and skills transfer; types of expertise; and motivation. Each will be dealt with separately.

The project culture Education projects are usually based in public institutions, such as ministries of education, university departments, research centres, teacher training colleges and vocational training centres. To explore more fully the nature of the development project and the institution in which it is based, Charles Handy's notion of organizational cultures (which he first propounded nearly two decades ago) offers a convenient starting-point. According to Handy (1976), organizations subscribe to different ideologies or 'cultures', each with its own structures, values, customs, traditions and unwritten rules. Handy identifies four cultures, which he calls power culture, role culture, task culture and person culture. Although Handy is writing within the context of the industrialized Western nations, his model provides a convenient analytical tool for use elsewhere. I would suggest, therefore, that the types of institutions in developing countries where education projects are based are, using Handy's model, a mixture of the role and the power culture. The role culture is usually associated with bureaucratic organizations which have well-established rules and procedures, a rigid hierarchy, centralized decision-making and well-defined roles for individual employees, who are not expected to perform over and above what are clearly laid down as

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their duties. Role cultures are essentially engaged in systems maintainance, and are reluctant to change, or even to acknowledge the need for change. Many public institutions in developing countries also subscribe to elements of Handy's power culture, in which certain figures consolidate great power and influence around them, taking all important decisions and choosing who works with them and whom to favour. In many cases they maintain their control less by ensuring that rules and procedures are followed (as in a role culture) and more by political patronage, kinship allegiances and the trading of favours. One consequence of this is that individuals may owe their position to personal contacts and may be expected to show loyalty to their patron. This may require them to engage in not only pursuit of regular institutional goals but also collusion in, or cover up of, irregular or illicit activities. For this reason, many junior staff in public institutions in developing countries are deterred from speaking too openly or critically (i.e. to project evaluation teams), or from acting in a nonconformist manner (i.e. being excessively enthusiastic about the project). Into this combined role/power culture is introduced the Western-designed project, which according to Handy's categorization belongs to a task culture. The emphasis here is on getting the job done, with individuals expected to perform quickly and competently as members of a tightly knit team. The individual is considered more important than the role he/she is given, as roles may have to be adapted to fit new circumstances; the individual must be flexible if the predetermined objectives are to be met within the specified timelimit. Nothing is static or unchangeable. The task culture is essentially a short-term injection of resources (human and financial) intended to generate change in the system. Team members earn respect on the basis of performance rather than seniority, as is found in a role culture. All this fits ill with the ideology of the host institution. Expatriates are likely to feel at home in a task culture, especially given the short-term nature of their commitment. They may well be familiar with this style of work from previous project experience. In contrast, most of their local counterparts

will have been seconded to the project because they were the appropriate (or indeed the only) persons available and not because they showed any propensity for, or experience of, working in a task culture. The existence of these different organizational cultures, each with its own aims, strategies and time-scales, has the potential to generate a high level of incompatibility between the host institution and the project. Operational difficulties may arise within any organization that seeks to introduce a small-scale task culture into a dominant role culture or to shift from one type of culture to another (as has been experienced by public service institutions in many industrialized countries over the past decade as they have become privatized or exposed to market forces). However, these difficulties multiply in the case of the development project, for it has to operate not only in a potentially incompatible organizational environment but also across national boundaries in a society where a different set of socio-cultural norms and values prevails and communication through a common (usually European) language may be difficult. Additional incompatibilities, even conflict, stemming from the wider local or national culture are therefore likely to emerge between the expatriates and their local counterparts. These may be aggravated even further by the usual incompatibilities of personality and attitude.

Patterns of power and decisionmakingg This potentially stressful cross-cultural situation is further complicated by the imbalance of resources within the project, which influences the way in which power and decision-making are distributed between the two groups, the expatriate project team and the host institution managers. Because the donor is providing most or even all of the resources, its representative, the expatriate project manager, has considerable say over how these should be distributed and how the project should be run. This introduces a new source of

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power into the institution which is likely to be perceived by local managers as a threat to their own power base. At the same time, the lower levels of personnel who are likely to be responsible for implementing the project may be resentful at the failure to consult them on project matters. On the Sudanese projects studied, the project manager and his/her team, faced with relatively disorderly and ineffectual management and poor performance from local staff (who, it must be said, had to deal with daily living difficulties such as shortages of basic commodities and a poor public transport system), were tempted to take on directive and authoritarian leadership roles. These were not well suited to a working environment intended to build up local confidence and local competencies and encourage local ownership of the project. Over time this disproportionate share of power, the directive approach to project management and the perceived lack of consultation served to alienate many local personnel who, given the lack of accountability in the host institution and the absence of criteria for acceptable standards of performance, concentrated increasingly on pursuing their own personal agendas. Some became indifferent, even hostile, to the project's development aims. However, they were still able to influence the project process through the use of what Handy (1976) calls 'negative power'. This is the (illegitimate) power to disrupt, block or delay, for example by withholding information, providing misinformation or failing to sign or pass on official papers. Even active sabotage is not unknown on projects. Meanwhile, the expatriate team, ever mindful of targets and deadlines, became impatient of the slower working pace of their counterparts and tended to assume responsibilities and duties which should have been shared with, or carried out by, their counterparts. The end result of such a scenario is that the project, far from enabling the development of interdependent structures and processes within the host institution, will function in isolation and may even lead to a weakening of the already underdeveloped local management capacity. In this way it negates the development

objectives of institution-building and local ownership.

Knowledge and skills transfer As already noted, most development projects include a staff development component. This may involve either individual participation in a formal course of study (often in the donor country) or, where expatriates are part of the project package, on-the-job training of counterparts. This means that the expatriate is expected to provide local counterparts with appropriate up-to-date knowledge and skills to function more effectively in their current posts, in particular where change is being introduced, and probably to take over the expatriate's duties when he/she leaves. The content and method of this on-the-job training are not usually spelled out in project documents. In much of the literature on project aid and technical co-operation as well as in the theoretical literature on development, the transfer of knowledge and skills is regarded as non-problematic (Leach, 1994). From the earliest days of Christian mission activity and European colonialism it has been assumed that non-Western peoples have much to learn from the West and that this knowledge can easily be transferred, whether through the school, the media or the modern workplace (Inkeles and Smith, 1975). This transfer is also assumed to include the transfer of values, i.e. progressive, modernizing 'Western' values which stress achievement, individualism, forward planning and hard work, and which are absorbed uncritically and comprehensively. Official rhetoric from donors echoes this assumption of non-problematic transfer. Transfer is seen as taking place through a kind of apprenticeship, in which the counterpart appreciates the value of what is being offered by the 'expert' and puts it directly to use. Unofficially there has been recognition for some time among donor agency staff that it is not so simple, and acknowledgement that the counterpart system has not been very successful, in particular in Africa (Spitzberg,

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1978). However, there has been little attempt to identify and analyse the forces which might be militating against effective cross-cultural transmission and to incorporate the analysis into project design. This is surprising, given the heavy investment in technical co-operation over more than three decades and the presence of so many foreign 'experts' in developing countries. (Approximately half of the global technical cooperation budget, which represents one-fifth of total DAC development aid, is spent on expatriates; OECD, 1994.) There are therefore fundamental questions that need to be addressed regarding cross-cultural transfer on development projects: questions about the nature of the knowledge, skills, values and attitudes that are supposedly transferred, the means and effectiveness of this transfer and whether there is transfer in the opposite direction, from local counterparts to expatriates. There are few ethnographic studies of contemporary everyday interactions in cross-cultural development situations which can allow us to draw any conclusions about the nature and effectiveness of the transfer process. (Some exceptions in the field of education are Lillis, 1981; Scott-Stevens, 1987; Leach, 1991.) Without this empirical evidence, the assumption that cross-cultural transfer is nonproblematic cannot be validated. Indeed my own research in Sudan revealed that in the eyes of the expatriates and their local counterparts there had been little such transfer, except in a few notable cases where individual counterparts had been particularly receptive and the expatriates had established good working relations with them. Given that the transfer of knowledge and skills is fundamental to the counterpart system and that without it expatriates have little or no raison d'etre beyond that of acting as police for the project, this finding is disturbing.

Types of expertise Expatriates are usually recruited on the basis of their expertise in a particular field (e.g. as science teacher, health educator or water engineer) and it

is usually assumed that a public sector institution in a developing country which receives technical co-operation is short of a particular type of specialist expertise. However, on the Sudanese projects studied most of the expatriates were of the opinion that their counterparts had adequate, if not extensive or totally up-to-date, knowledge and skills in their specialization to carry out their present jobs to a reasonably satisfactory level. The counterparts concurred in this and were overwhelmingly of the opinion that the main institutional need was for funds, not expertise. To the expatriates, the institution's needs lay elsewhere. First, the most pressing need was not for specialist expertise but for the consistent and effective practical application of the knowledge and skills already possessed by the counterparts and for improved planning and management in the institution. For this to be achieved, the local staff had to acquire general organizational and small-scale managerial skills. It was because of the absence of such skills that the expatriates spent much of their time on general routine tasks. Second, there was a need for more appropriate professional practices. This might involve a move to more student-centred problem-solving teaching methods, greater use of teaching materials and aids and more practical work in laboratories. However, in societies where there is strong social conformity and a rigid social hierarchy, such changes in practice can be perceived as threatening in both terms of status and customary work patterns. Student-centred teaching can undermine the conventional authoritarian teacher-student relationship; practical work can be perceived as threatening the status of an academic, who perceives his or her work as being mainly in the theoretical domain. Both are more demanding of staff in time, energy and teaching skill. Administrative tasks such as photocopying or typing, even when required for teaching purposes, are likely to be perceived as outside the terms of reference of a professional and hence socially demeaning; likewise, low-level technical tasks (such as keeping equipment in good order) are seen as the work of technicians. On the projects studied, the expatriates' enthusiasm for job flexibility was interpretedd as stemming from their preoccupation

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with meeting project objectives and deadlines in order to please their employers and thus enhance their career prospects. In the expatriates' eyes, the delays engendered by such rigidity, especially when secretarial and technical support was of poor quality, had a deleterious effect on the running of the institution. In broad terms, they were arguing for the host institution to move away from what Handy terms a role culture and to embrace the target-specific working environment of the task culture, where roles and duties are flexible and subject to change. However, this would entail a radical shift in values, attitudes and behaviour among local personnel, which was not forthcoming for the reasons given above. Indeed, the literature on change shows that proposed changes of attitude and behaviour which threaten to upset existing value systems are likely to be rejected (Arensberg and Niehoff, 1964; Foster, 1973). The expatriates' assessment of the type of expertise required in the host institution serves to expose the inappropriateness of much of what they themselves had to offer. Managerial experience and competence and the ability to train others in generalist skills would appear to be more important than subject expertise. However, most project managers, even though they may have gained some management experience informally from previous project work, are neither trained managers nor trained trainers (for counterpart training). They need training in interpersonal skills, group dynamics and leadership to carry out their work effectively, and they need to know how to pass these and other skills on to others. At the same time, the transferability of Western skills and techniques, in particular in the field of administration/management, may not be so easy when these come into conflict with different sociocultural patterns of authority and status. As Moris (1977) has pointed out, skills and techniques may be easily identifiable and transferable but the social and administrative context in which they were originally developed is not amenable to transfer and so their impact is neutralized by the highly entrenched institutional structures into which they are introduced.

Motivation Participants on development projects react to proposed change in terms of how they perceive it affecting them personally and in particular in terms of the benefits which might accrue to themselves, and where applicable to their institution (Foster, 1973; Hurst, 1983). It is not unreasonable to assume that projects which impose on local staff additional responsibilities, a longer working day and changes in working practices which might undermine their professional status, with no obvious benefits accruing to them (beyond perhaps a study trip abroad) will not be welcomed and change will be resisted. People need to be motivated to contribute towards development goals. In the Western management literature the motivation of staff is seen as an important managerial function (Hersey and Blanchard, 1982), yet on development projects planners and managers pay little attention to the need to develop commitment to project goals from the local personnel who should be responsible for the day-to-day work of introducing and following through new procedures and activities. This is especially important in education where change is multifaceted, slow and often difficult at a personal level. Motivation on the part of expatriates is usually high. They have been sent to complete a specific task in a short period of time and, with the exception of volunteers (who are motivated in other ways), are well paid; many feel a strong desire to help those less well-off than themselves. In contrast, motivation on the side of local staff is often low: they suffer from the low morale and general apathy of most civil servants in poor countries. This can be in part attributed to the low level of financial reward received by civil servants (which often makes 'moonlighting' unavoidable), the frustrating and dysfunctional work environment of government institutions and the lack of accountability, professional support and prospects for promotion and career development. All of this encourages individuals to divert their energies elsewhere in the pursuit of their own personal informal agenda. Local staff feel little obligation to

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work towards either institutional or project goals under these circumstances, especially as they have little sense of ownership of the project. As a result, the imbalance in resources and power on development projects already referred to above is complemented by a further imbalance, this time in level of motivation. This has a negative impact on the project, as expatriates attempt to produce better performance in their local colleagues through an authoritarian style of leadership, and when this fails seek to compensate by taking on more of the work themselves. Heaver (1982) provides a notable exception in the aid literature in that he does recognize the importance of motivation. Acknowledging the very limited opportunities in the poorer countries for improved financial rewards in government service, he suggests ways in which motivation can be improved through non-material incentives built around professional support and prestige, increased participation in decision-making and recognition of individual effort and achievement.

Conclusion The dynamics of the project process present a dilemma for donors. They wish to direct their development assistance at the building up of local capacity, especially in the poorest countries, and the project is a convenient way of doing this. But it is precisely in these countries, where the need is greatest, that projects are least likely to succeed. As shown above through illustrations from Sudan, projects in weak institutional settings tend to generate a set of dynamics which all too often serves to neutralize the project's intended development impact. The phenomenon of negative dynamics arises in large part from the working relations which develop between expatriate and national personnel involved in project implementation. These relations are moulded by the interaction of two opposing organizational cultures (each with different goals, values and work patterns) and are aggravated by the imbalance in power between expatri-

ate and local personnel regarding project resources and decision-making, the differing levels of commitment to project objectives and deadlines and the differing perceptions of what constitutes appropriate roles and duties for professionals. This difference in perspective and circumstance between expatriates and nationals makes collaboration between the two groups difficult, which in turn leads to neglect of the principle of counterparting and negates the developmental goals of capacity-building and local ownership of projects. In contrast, in countries where economic growth has created a stronger infrastructure, where institutions are better able to fulfil their official functions and where local staff are better motivated, better paid and better trained (as is perhaps found today in the rapidly expanding economies of East Asia), the imbalance in power and resources between expatriates and local personnel, and between formal and informal agendas, is not so great. Hence the chances of creating a positive set of project dynamics leading to the successful sustainability of project activities are much greater, even though there may still be problems arising out of differences in organizational culture. But one could argue that these countries hardly need development projects at all. So how are donors to address the dilemma of assisting the poorest countries effectively? Should they abandon capacity-building projects altogether and look to alternative ways of delivering development assistance? For example, should they restrict their support to the provision of physical plant, hardware, formal training (scholarships) and budgetary assistance? Or should they look more closely at the way capacity-building projects are set up and run, in particular at the ways in which individuals work together on projects, and try to make them more effective? As long as donors continue to provide development assistance, they are likely to remain attached to the capacity-building project as a convenient form of disbursing such aid. However, both donors and recipients need to acknowledge that the record to date of such projects is depressingly poor and seek to understand why. As already pointed out, in many poor countries, institutional capacity

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is much weaker now than it was two or three decades ago. Although this may be in large part due to government mismanagement, economic difficulties and the poor quality of local training institutions in public administration and other related fields, it also indicates that donor efforts to help have had little or no impact, despite the enormous sums allocated to project aid. Ultimately institution-building must be seen as part of the broader process of economic and social development. Without appropriate economic policies, public and private investment in infrastructure, industry and agriculture, access to good quality education and training for all, and high levels of accountability and performance for individual government employees, institutions will not develop strength and dynamism. And they will continue to be subverted by unofficial agendas created by people who are unable to make an adequate living out of their official job. Whatever donors choose to do, it will always be a very small artificial input and will have little impact on the dominant organizational culture, which is part of the wider culture of society. However, the lamentable failure of projects to have any serious impact on institutional capacity can in part be attributed to the conceptual model of the project put forward by donors, and it may be that by 'reconceptualizing' the project it can be made more effective. The prevailing model is one which is dominated by specificity, short-term objectives, intensive activity and tight time schedules, all of which are potentially incompatible with local institution-building, particularly when the project offers a pattern of management and organizational practice which is at odds with the host institution's prevailing organizational culture. Any attempts at improvement, however, will require fundamental changes which will certainly present donors, and to a certain extent recipient governments, with a number of dilemmas.2 First, donors need to reassess the role of expatriates on development projects. The presence of long-term expatriates in poorly functioning institutions on the whole militates against the creation of local initiative, responsibility and sense of ownership, all of which are necessary for local capacity-building; instead, it encourages depend-

ence, resentment and disinterest. Donors should consider using long-term expatriates more sparingly and only as facilitators and advisers, not as leaders and managers (relying more on highly specialized and suitably prepared short-term consultants from abroad and on local consultants). The dilemma for donors is that such a 'hands-off approach requires them to give up much of their control of the project process and it is likely to lengthen the project duration and increase the uncertainty of outcomes to an unacceptable degree. Second, donors need to accept that project objectives, time-scales and strategies cannot be set in stone. A true capacity-building strategy implies risk-taking, accepting uncertain, even negative, outcomes and allowing local personnel to experiment with new roles and responsibilities and to learn through trial and error. The emphasis has to be on 'process' not 'product'. Such a strategy requires loosely defined objectives or objectives which evolve as the project progresses. The dilemma for donors is that it opens up the possibility of priorities emerging which do not conform with the donors' own perceptions of where the greatest need lies. Third, both donors and recipient governments need to recognize and address the lack of motivation and commitment to project goals on the side of local implementers. Without developing motivation and commitment, there can be no capacity-building strategy along the lines described above for this is dependent on co-ordinated human effort. Unfortunately, all too often lack of commitmenthas been mistaken for lack of ability on the part of local staff, resulting in the tragic waste of skills and energy which could have been harnessed in support of project goals but instead has been diverted into the pursuit of personal informal objectives. A greater understanding of the manner in which systems of incentive operate in situations characterized by low salaries, poor working conditions and low status could lead to greater convergence of official with unofficial objectives and hence greater commitment to the project. The dilemma for donors and local managers and policy-makers is how to use available resources creatively to increase moti-

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vation in ways that are effective, non-divisive and enduring. Fourth, donors need to realize that the enthusiasm which senior officials in the recipient government often display for new projects may well not be shared by those whose responsibility it is to implement them. By working almost exclusively with senior officials (or senior academics) at the project preparation stage, donor personnel often unwittingly generate hostility to the project before it even starts, for junior staff may be distrustful of their managers and superiors, in particular with regard to the distribution of project benefits. Wider involvement of local staff (and of course potential beneficiaries) from the earliest stages of the project may well avoid such hostility. However, for donors the dilemma is how to bring this about in authoritarian and hierarchical organizations (dominated by a combined role/power culture) where consultation of junior staff and their participation in decision-making are largely unknown and are likely to be perceived by senior personnel as potentially detrimental to their status and power. On the recipient side, there is the dilemma for government officials of how to make a realistic assessment of what the host institution can offer in terms of contribution and commitment to the project process, without jeopardizing the chance of significant financial support from the donor. Potential recipients of aid funds need to learn to say 'no' more often to donor proposals. At the same time there needs to be greater recognition by local managers and staff of institutional weaknesses beyond that of a mere shortage of funds. With a fuller involvement of all parties and a more flexible project framework which allows the opportunity for people to take greater responsibility for project-initiated tasks in ways that give them some reward (whether in terms of status and career enhancement, greater job satisfaction, or material benefits), there is a greater chance of local ownership of the project becoming a reality and of its activities becoming an integral part of the local institution's life. However, without a sea change in views regarding appropriate work practices in the wider society, the impact of capacity-building projects which

are built upon Western organizational principles and practices will remain minimal.

Notes 1 This figure applies to the 21 countries which are members of the Development Assistance Committee (DAG) of the Organisation for Economic Cooperation and Development (OECD), which is made up of the major Western nations together with Japan. The biggest donors in real terms are the USA, Japan, France and Germany. Contributions to total aid disbursements by non-OECD donors, such as the CSS (Commonwealth of Soviet States), East European countries, the OPEC countries and China, have always been small by comparison. 2 For a detailed and stimulating account, echoing the points made here, of the many dilemmas that donors face in seeking to improve the institution-building role of technical co-operation in developing countries, see Berg (1993).

References Arensberg, C. and Niehoff, A. (1964) Introducing Social Change: A Manual for Americans Overseas. Chicago: Aldine-Atherton. Berg, E. J. (1993) Rethinking Technical Cooperation: Reforms for Capacity Building in Africa. New York: UNDP/Development Alternatives Inc. Foster, G. M. (1973) Traditional Cultures and the Impact of Technological Change (2nd edn). New York: Harper and Brothers. Handy, C. (1976) Understanding Organisations. Harmondsworth: Penguin. Heaver, R. (1982) Bureaucratic Politics and Incentives in the Management of Rural Development. World Bank Staff Working Paper 537. Washington, DC: World Bank. Hersey, P. and Blanchard, K. (1982) Management of Organizational Behavior: Utilizing Human Resources. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall. Hurst, P. (1983) Implementing Educational Change - A Critical Review of the Literature. EDC Occasional Papers No. 5, University of London Institute of Education. Inkeles, A. and Smith, D. H. (1975) Becoming Modern. London: Heinemann. King, K. (1991) Aid and Education in the Developing World. Harlow: Longman. King, K. (1992) The external agenda of aid in educational

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reform. International Journal of Educational Development, 12(4), 257-63. Leach, F. (1991) Counterpart relationships on technical cooperation projects: a Sudanese study. Unpublished DPhil thesis, University of Sussex. Leach, F. (1993) Counterpart personnel: a review of the literature with implications for education and development. International Journal of Educational Development, 13(4), 315-30. Leach, F. (1994) Expatriates as agents of cross-cultural transmission. Compare, 24(3), 217-31. Lewin, K. (1994) British bi-lateral assistance to education: how much, to whom, and why? International Journal of Educational Development, 14(2), 159-76. Lillis, K. (1981) Expatriates and processes of secondary curriculum innovation in Kenya. Unpublished DPhil thesis, University of Sussex.

Moris, J. (1977) The transferability of western management concepts and programs, an East African perspective. In J. E. Black, J. S. Coleman and L. D. Stifel, Education and Training for Public Sector Management in Developing Countries. Working paper. New York: Rockefeller Foundation. OECD (1994) Development Cooperation 1993: Efforts and Policies of the Members of the DAC. Paris: OECD. Scott-Stevens, S. (1987) Foreign Consultants and Counterparts: Problems in Technological Transfer. Boulder, CO: Westview Press. Spitzberg, I. J. (1978) Exchange of Expertise: The Counterpart System in the New International Order. Boulder, CO: Westview Press. UNDP (1990) Human Development Report. Oxford and New York: OUP.

9

International Aid to Education: Some Comments

HENRY KALUBA Leach's chapter makes yet another attempt from the Western perspective to give a catalogue of factors that lead to the failure of aid projects in education. Factors assumed to be responsible for the failure have been given in this range of issues: project design; project process; project culture; power and decision-making; institution-building; knowledge and skills transfer; expatriate expertise vis-a-vis local peoples' expertise; and motivation. Overall, the thrust of the chapter challenges donors' philosophy and practices in aid process. Donors and recipients to some extent have also been criticized in areas critical to the success of aid projects: Potential recipients of aid funds need to say 'no' more often to donor proposals, (p. 99) A true capacity-building strategy implies risk-taking, accepting uncertain, even negative, outcomes and allowing local personnel to experiment with new roles and responsibilities and to learn through trial and error, (p. 98)

Leach has tried to be as balanced as one can be in a few pages on a very broad and complex subject. The indictment of her chapter appears to weigh heavily against donors on whom greater responsibility for policy and decision-making lies, and for their failure to recognize critical cultural factors in designing and implementing aid projects. There is no doubt that the factors identified in this chapter have contributed to the failure of projects, but their discussion has raised more questions on understanding of what aid stands for among donors and on judgement of issues. Aid is an expression of socio-economic and cultural

power, capacity and ability to extend assistance and influence over others less able. It is given for donors' international political, cultural and economic objectives which are better secured through the international development programmes. International aid has often defied rationality in its design, and its targeting of recipients. It is therefore not surprising that the process and implementation of aid projects has often faced difficulties arising from the factors identified by Leach in her chapter. Notwithstanding the current shortcomings of projects as vehicles for development aid, projects in both traditional and modified form are likely to continue to be the preferred mode of aid delivery. Management practices too are unlikely to change fundamentally, especially if the introduction of new changes are going to affect the pursuit and achievement of donors' national interests in aid. Western critics have not realized that donors are trapped in their own donorization culture which they have created.

Institution-building The causes of failure of institution-building projects in developing countries includes not only political instability; chronic shortage of funds; lack of skilled manpower; lack of official commitment to development; absence of accountability; bureaucratic inertia; poor project design; overambitious objectives; overoptimistic time schedules; but also donor competition and lack of co-

102 Henry Kaluba

ordination of aid projects. These factors too have contributed to creating a less enabling environment in institution-building. It is also a well-known fact that institutions in developing countries do not generally have identities and lives of their own, but are dependent on donor life support systems. The author should have given readers the benefit of her abundant experience and evidence of how donors' philosophies and practices work against local institutionbuilding.

Project process The statement that little research has been carried out into the 'human dimension' of aid is damning and should therefore prick the conscience of donors. It is true that project evaluations tend to assess immediate rather than long-term benefits. This is important to donors as it is what they can take back to their parliaments and taxpayers. Qualitative long-term benefits would probably not easily convince economists in aid organizations to increase aid budgets. It is not true (p. 91) that project evaluations have tended to be superficial; many have been damning but have been suppressed by donors to protect their work. The author would have done well here to tell readers the policies and practices of different donors on project evaluation reports. Not long ago some donor agencies did not even find it fit to involve qualified local people in project evaluations. While it is true to say that Western views prevail in the design of aid projects (p. 92), there are moves now that are departing from this norm. The Development of African Education (DAE) emphasizes local participation, consultation and ownership in the projects it facilitates. Presently, the Centre for British Teachers (CfBT) is funding locally designed teacher management improvement projects in Mozambique, the Seychelles and Zambia. This is a move towards real partnership and

local empowerment. It gives local people that important opportunity to be designers and critics of their own projects. It is hoped that major bilateral programmes will draw useful lessons from the DAE and CfBT approaches. Aid projects will continue to be influenced by Western concepts because international development aid itself is a Western concept, and those it is intended to deliver to it locally have been schooled in Western development philosophies, theories and practices. There is nothing wrong in expatriate aid workers adopting Western management frameworks; what is unacceptable however is the disregard for local social/cultural norms of organization and management and the need for flexibility and accommodation of local practices. It is therefore not surprising that donor assumptions on management and transfer of skills and knowledge come up against what donors consider to be unexpected obstacles. The biggest obstacle to international aid development on the part of donors has been their failure to recognize one important fact that, even within the context of one country, transfer of development ideas and practices between regions would face as much difficulty or resistance as is the case with international development transfer. What local people need are resources and the independence to design their own programmes, to implement them and to make mistakes.

Project culture Fiona Leach's use of Handy's notion of organizational culture frameworks makes her fall into the same trap that she is trying to point out to others in the Western world. Handy's four categories of organizational cultures: Power, Role, Task and Person are as much applicable to donors' organizational structures as they are to aid projects, donor institutions and host institutions. The difference in exhibition of these features between donors and host institutions is in the way each one of them practises and carries forward these attributes. Do-

Some Comments on Leach

nors have been engaged in systems maintenance and have been reluctant to accept change, especially that demanded by host institutions. It is also a well-known fact that donors have their own rigid hierarchy, centralized decision-making and denned role for donor and recipient staff working on projects. One can therefore associate donors with strong elements of role culture. While it is true that many public institutions in developing countries subscribe to role culture, Leach's analysis and comments on power culture as it relates to developing countries have been overstated and impaired by her Sudanese experience. Sudan's cultural setting cannot claim to be representative of many African countries. Only a few military regimes and overtly corrupt regimes have the kind of power culture Leach is describing. Power culture as described in her chapter is synonymous with corruption, and criminal activity: 'individuals may owe their position to personal contacts and may be expected to show loyalty to their patron. This may require them to engage in not only pursuit of regular institutional goals but also collusion in, or cover up of, irregular or illicit activities' (p. 93). The argument here is that donor projects have failed in institutions which do not exhibit these characteristics; this therefore limits the explanatory utility of the notion of power culture as presented in her chapter. Furthermore, Western projects and donors do carry with them power culture. The abundant resources which projects often have are sources of power which yield their own loyalty and patronage among local staff. Hence, local staff see expatriate staff in the same power light as they see local senior staff. Aid projects are known for creating insular parallel project administrative structures within host institutions. This is intended to preserve their power over projects. This often leads to frustrations and conflicts between expatriate project staff and local ministry or department officials. Incompatibilities, even conflict, stemming from cultural differences between local staff and expatriates are inevitable, and are sometimes even worse between locals of different regions, as the case would be in the Sudan.

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Leach should have given further explanations on how the resource power of expatriate staff might contribute to strengthening directive and authoritarian leadership among local managers who use their share of access to project resources as an instrument of additional power over junior local staff. The idea that only Western-designed donor projects belong to the task culture which is more suited to expatriates' work norms and experience raises even more questions on the validity of Handy's cultural categorizations as analytical and explanatory frameworks. The notions are culturally biased as presented in Leach's chapter. It is not correct, as Handy's task culture suggests, that host institutions are not task-oriented, and that they appoint local project staff merely on account of availability rather than on any identified appropriate experience and propensity for working in a task culture. There may be incompatibilities in working norms, styles and pace of work performance between expatriates and local institution but that does not make the local institution and its local staff less task-oriented. Many of these local staff have come from traditional backgrounds where seasonal work is strictly task-oriented. If host institutions have fewer task-oriented local staff, the blame lies on donors who have provided the bulk of staff development training for local staff, abroad or on a counterpart basis.

Knowledge and skills transfer Although the general observation of Leach's chapter in this section is widely common in many aid projects, parts of it appear to be mainly applicable to socio-cultural situations similar to the one studied in the Sudan. Knowledge and skills transfer has been problematic because in the first place recipients of such knowledge and skills are never consulted on their actual needs in this area. Consultation would provide donors with very useful information on cultural factors that are likely to impinge on acceptance of certain knowledge and adoption of certain skills or practices.

104 Henry Kaluba

Type of expertise The findings from the Sudanese project are very consistent with experience in many aid projects. No research is carried out to find out the type of expertise needed by the host institution, and how expatriate expertise balances against local expertise.

Motivation It is true to say that the majority of local project staff are not motivated as are their donor counterparts for reasons given in Leach's chapter. However, the author should have made a distinction between junior and senior local project staff. Local senior project staff are usually well motivated as they are rewarded with appropriate incentives: project staff cars; higher topped-up salaries; paid petrol expenses; and power in matters of awarding

small contracts where this is applicable. It is therefore local junior staff who face the brunt of frustration and lack of good morale arising from donors' inability to give them incentives. One issue which Fione Leach should have explored in relation to motivation is the effect of regionalism and tribalism/ethnicity on motivating local aid project staff. Are local project staff motivated to work harder on projects outside their regions, especially in socially highly structured societies such as the Sudanese case? Such comments would have given us another dimension to the issue of motivation from a local perspective. The conclusions of Leach's chapter go against the political ethos of development aid. Political interests of donors cannot be served by some of the approaches being suggested by the author. Overall, the chapter brings out fresh reminders on why aid projects, especially complex projects such as those in education, fail. It also throws challenges to donors which they cannot afford to ignore.

Fiona Leach Responds to Henry Kaluba

In his response to my chapter, Henry Kaluba raises some interesting points. In particular, he is keen to remind the reader that the concept of organizational culture applies to the donor agency as much as to the aid project and to the recipient institution. In doing so, he is correct in pointing out that the donor culture resembles the host institution in that it is also role-oriented, hierarchical and resistant to change. Indeed, the famous American anthropologist G. M. Foster wrote as long ago as 1972 with respect to donor agencies: 'today the greatest problem in technical assistance no longer is the client group but the innovating bureaucracy itself ... a well established bureaucracy is more resistant to change than is the traditional agricultural village' (Foster, 1972, p. 11). This is probably still true, although one could argue that donor agencies are becoming less roleoriented and more task-oriented as they are increasingly exposed to market forces, and are obliged to engage more staff on short-term contracts and to introduce flexible working practices and clear performance criteria. The challenge for governments in developing countries, and a central aim of current World Bank and IMF conditionally, is in fact to make bureaucracies more taskoriented and less entrenched in work patterns excessively constrained by role and status (reminiscent of the restrictive practices defended vehemently by trade unions in industrialized countries until recently). Comparisons between the donor agency culture and the host institution culture are interesting but there was no room in my chapter to consider these. Instead I focused on the project culture, which is

in many ways very different from that of the donor agency (even though it is largely a creation of the latter) because the project (unlike its creator) has a very short life span, exists for a very specific purpose and employs staff solely to realize a clearly defined set of objectives. Henry Kaluba also raised the interesting issue of the impact that regional and local differences may have on the project process. He suggests that the transfer of ideas and practices from one region to another within one country may also be problematic because of cultural differences (and this is particularly apposite of the multi-ethnic state of Sudan). He also raises the question of whether local staff working on projects outside their own ethnic area might be more highly motivated than those working among their own people. This suggests a fascinating area of research. It is also true that the DAE (Development of African Education) group is attempting to foster local participation, consultation and ownership of projects in a more detached manner than the usual 'hands-on' directive approach adopted by official donors. NGOs are also given credit for working in more collaborative and egalitarian ways. However, one needs to distinguish rhetoric from reality, in particular by observing how differences of opinion over priorities, strategies and funding arrangements between 'giver' and 'receiver' are resolved on the ground. I should like to pick up on (and contest) a few points raised by Henry Kaluba in his comments. First, I should like to defend the notion of the power culture as describing in part the way that government institutions operate in many develop-

106 Fiona Leach

ing countries. It was not my intention to suggest that a power culture is synonymous with corruption, although it may encourage unorthodox or corrupt practices. A power culture is, according to Handy, dominated by a central figure with great power and influence who personally chooses those who work around him or her. Large corporations in Western countries built up by tycoons such as Rupert Murdoch, Paul Getty or Tiny Rowland are typical power cultures. At the same time, most organizations have elements of a power culture, for example when individual employees are reluctant to criticize or disagree with their seniors for fear of losing their jobs or being victimized in some way. However, a dominant power culture is one in which one or more individuals exert power in such a way as to circumvent normal channels of procedure in the pursuit of certain aims, which may be either advantageous or disadvantageous to the institution. Such a power culture operates more easily in an environment which lacks strict accountability (and hence makes malpractice easier) and in the developing country context tends to be found where those in government positions have greater material security than the bulk of the population and are expected to use their favoured government positions to meet kinship and extended family obligations. A donor agency is not usually a power culture in the sense described above. However, that is not to say that it does not wield power to defend and promote its own interests (which may not in the long term be beneficial to the recipients of aid). One way in which it exerts its power is, as Henry Kaluba has pointed out, through projects. According to Handy, organizations manifest different types of power. Hence, in the project context, the expatriate staff have considerable resource power (the project budget) and expert power (specialist knowledge and experience) at their disposal, while the host institution, being predominantly a role culture, relies more on position power, this being the power to enforce rules and procedures. However, this power may well be weak because position power depends in part on adequate levels of resource and expert power and these may be lacking. In such circumstances, position power

can be supplemented by personal power, which stems from the power culture. Hence, while all parties involved in the project process are able to exercise power (quite junior staff too, but it may be what Handy calls 'negative' power, i.e. the power of non-co-operation, delay or disruption), they hold different types of power and in varying degrees. Second, it is true that I am applying a Western model (Handy's concept of organizational cultures) to non-Western situations, and its relevance can be questioned in the same way as I am questioning the relevance of Western management models and practices. However, in my defence I should say that I am only using this model as an analytical tool, and not as a prescriptive tool or a framework for action. While not totally acceptable, I have done this through lack of any alternative, non-Western analytical model. Finally, I should like to say that, although the circumstances described in my chapter are drawn from a study of a small number of projects in one African country (Sudan) and that it is impossible to generalize the findings to other developing countries, it is not unreasonable to expect a similar set of project dynamics to operate in other countries where there is the same imbalance of resources between project and host institution. Unfortunately there is very little case-study material to provide concrete evidence of this but some works cited in the references do go some way to supporting my findings (e.g. Scott-Stevens in Indonesia, Lillis in Kenya). While every situation is different and not all my conclusions apply, there is no doubt in my mind that there are common threads across projects and across countries.

Reference Foster, G. M. (1972) An Anthropologist's View of Technical Assistance Methodology. Washington: USAID, Bureau for Technical Assistance, Methodology Division.

10

Aid and Education

ROGER IREDALE The effectiveness of aid interventions in the provision of education in developing countries and those of economies in transition (the countries of Central and Eastern Europe) is difficult to assess, though there is evidence of overall aid effectiveness that can, by extrapolation, be applied to education as a component of overall development assistance.1 What is much less clear is exactly what aid has achieved for the educational systems of developing countries, in the sense that anyone can see the dams, roads, power stations, ports, railways, airports, forests, irrigation schemes and other infrastructural developments that cover the landscapes of a huge number of countries and appear to operate in ways they were originally intended to do. The physical manifestations of education are the substantial numbers of primary and secondary schools, universities, polytechnics, vocational institutes, libraries and other buildings that form the infrastructure of education, together with a range of equipment of varying levels of technology, from exercise and textbooks to computerized management information systems, including science equipment, workshops and many other forms of support for teaching and educational planning. The UK Overseas Development Administration (ODA) has played a major role in the physical construction of many universities throughout Africa, particularly in the Southern, Central and Eastern areas. It has built secondary schools throughout Africa, the South Pacific and parts of Asia and over the past decade it has provided huge numbers of primary schools and add-on classrooms in Southern India as part of its Andhra

Pradesh Primary Education Project (APPEP). APPEP began life as a physical upgrading initiative aimed at improving classrooms and providing new ones in rural locations throughout South India, but subsequently concentrated increasingly on the provision of classroom materials and teacher education on a huge scale. Such infrastructural support is more widely used these days by the World Bank and by the Regional Development Banks, whose low interest loans continue to be welcomed by most governments as a means of providing educational infrastructure that could not otherwise be afforded. The bilateral donors on the other hand have tended to concentrate more and more on human resources contributions to larger multilateral projects to some extent because their funds are more limited and therefore require greater targeting, and partly also because recipient governments are wary of borrowing money, however low the interest rates, to support consultancy, training and longer-term expatriate assistance. When they can governments prefer to use grant terms for these purposes, since there is no repayment regime and they are not eventually left paying debts for items to which there is no physical monument. Superficially, infrastructural support is considerably less controversial than technical assistance, and apparently easier to evaluate for effectiveness. Putting up buildings always seems less complicated than trying to change human behaviour, and educational buildings are seemingly uncontroversial. Nevertheless most agencies have their shares of disasters, mirroring some of the great disasters in other sectors, like the huge Vipya forest in

108 Roger Iredale

Malawi that still awaits a viable use, or the archetypal dam that produces silt, malaria and huge social disruption. There are plenty of inappropriately designed schools in Africa provided by donors using foreign models that are too lavish or environmentally unsound; and institutions are so littered with unusable, broken-down equipment, from overhead projectors to electronic microscopes, that in some countries task forces from volunteer agencies funded by bilateral donors have invaded institutions on a national scale in order to try to replace unavailable spare parts, including bulbs, and make basic repairs.2 Over the past 15 years there have been huge changes in the philosophy of what constitutes good and effective aid. The 1970s, particularly in Africa, still witnessed infrastructural support from bilateral donors, such as the science block at the University of Botswana, and a new university lecture theatre and administration block in Lesotho. In addition, aid agencies—especially Britain continued to supply very substantial numbers of expatriate teachers in secondary school classrooms, teacher training colleges and even sometimes in primary classrooms. In 1978 there were still 387 aid-supported British expatriate education staff in Zambia alone, of whom a substantial proportion were teachers in secondary schools.3 The numbers fell only slowly during the early 1980s. More importantly, the governments of those countries, far from wanting to reduce their dependency on expatriate teachers in favour of indigenous personnel, faced considerable scarcity problems and fought hard, sometimes desperately, to persuade the donor countries to maintain the numbers. Seen from an economic viewpoint, their continuing dependence on expatriate teachers, externally funded and therefore apparently quite content with their relatively low local salaries, postponed a day of reckoning when ministries of education would have to turn to the market and perhaps face substantial salary rises in order to attract sufficient numbers of locally educated and trained teachers to the profession. Similarly, at the tertiary level, many governments fought hard to maintain a significant expatriate presence in their universities, such were

the skills shortages and the need to try to maintain some element of parity of esteem with the international university system. Even in the early 1990s the Asian Institute of Technology in Bangkok continued to seek aid funding for its (British) principal and some of its academic staff. The gradual development, throughout the 1980s, of a project-based approach to human resource development in education, using the project framework formula developed by numerous donor agencies, especially the World Bank, led to the realization on the part of many governments and their ministries of education that it was no longer possible to continue with ad hoc, programme style support. Increasingly, donors wanted 'projects' with which they could identify, both to prove to their evaluators and auditors that they were generating Value for money' and to ensure that they could own a particular operation over which they could metaphorically raise their national flag. The pressures on aid agencies are substantial.4 They arise from the vagaries of ministerial whim, fear of audit by finance ministries, economic pressures arising from competition for limited resources from other government departments, sustained and heavy lobbying by commercial interests, the ability to deliver nationally, and hence the particular strengths of the donor's education and training systems, and foreign policy. The most obvious of these are the commercial pressures, well illustrated in the case of Britain by the Pergau Dam fiasco in Malaysia, where aid money was illegally used to induce large arms sales;5 and foreign policy, best illustrated by Japanese and American aid, where the choice of country, type of aid and method of delivery closely reflect foreign policy objectives, which themselves arise partly from commercial pressures.6 The rise of the 'project' has steadily unearthed two major difficulties: the greater is that of perception: what appears to be a project to a donor may well form only part of a much larger initiative of the host government, in which the aid element is only a single discrete element, even if it is an important one. It is true that most project documents today indicate the cost of a particular aid

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intervention to the host as well as to the donor and that indigenous cost of aid often considerably outweighs the donor's own contribution. But to a ministry of education, attempting to develop primary education in a coherent way, a particular curricular innovation project, or an attempt to upgrade in-service teacher training, is not a project but an initiative inextricably linked to a range of other inputs, however much one of the many donors with which it is involved may choose to see it as having a separate identity. Hence, in the ODA's Andhra Pradesh Primary Education Project (APPEP) of the late 1980s and early 1990s there was little apparent coherence between the major and significant improvements which British aid was making to primary school building and in-service teacher training, and the government of India's Operation Blackboard, which largely operated quite independently of APPEP. While APPEP, with the apparent support of the state government, concentrated on providing teachers with simple teaching materials which they were trained to use through in-service training and teachers' centre meetings, other materials unconnected with APPEP appeared simultaneously in packing boxes at the backs of classrooms (sometimes accompanied by television sets many of which either did not work or were not connected to an electricity supply), remaining frequently unopened by the teachers. The even greater dislocation between APPEP and what was happening in schools became apparent when it appeared at a steering committee meeting around 1991 that the State Council for Educational Research and Training (SCERT) had published a new generation of primary textbooks that incorporated none of the curricular or teaching principles inherent in the APPEP 'project'. To parts of the governments of India and Andhra Pradesh the 'project' simply was not a project in their terms: for them the targets set in the FiveYear Plan would be far more likely to be regarded as an educational project or initiative. This is not to say that the 'project' was unsuccessful: on the contrary, it is generally judged to have achieved a great deal, as repeated evaluations revealed. But it was perceived as a 'project' largely by the ODA and those local officials most directly associated

with it. To many others — and probably the majority - it formed part of the much larger project, Operation Blackboard. The other problem, steadily gaining a higher profile as projects become more complex and try to integrate with national plans of the kind formulated after the World Conference on Education for All held in Jomtien in 1990, is that of project or aid management. As donors have moved steadily from programme-based systems for providing aid, where the provision of staff, training, books or other inputs was arguably an end in itself, they have increasingly looked to more efficient and accountable systems of management in order to ensure efficiency of delivery and proper reporting lines. Aid project management has developed into a major business. For some donors the methodology has been current for a substantial length of time, as in the case of US AID, who were contracting the delivery of aid projects to American universities like Ohio and Florida State as far back as the 1970s. For others like the ODA, education project management by contractors has steadily developed in recent years. During the 1970s and much of the 1980s British education aid was administered, rather than managed, by the British Council, since much of it was still programme-based like, for example, the Key English Language Teaching (KELT) Programme where typically the first question was 'Where shall we put a KELT officer?' rather than 'how are we going to improve English language skills among the target group?' As the ODA has developed its emphasis on delivering aid projects, the British Council has attempted to behave more like a private sector aid manager and is increasingly facing challenges from private sector consultancy units and institutions that actually provide training and consultancy from their own resources and who, with the need to develop their own resources rather than rely on an infrastructure provided by the public purse, are clearly a good deal more lean, mean and efficient. Educational aid is steadily developing in a way that matches the much longer-standing methodology of bidding, contracting and managing that has previously ruled in, for example, the engineering sector.

110 Roger Iredale

Aid management, particularly in a field like education, is not a simple science or art. To begin with, the managing contractor has to link together two widely separated geographical and cultural entities by identifying resources in one that will assist or contribute to deficiencies in the other. In doing so he or she has to meet the requirements of the donor, whose own idea of how to implement may not be particularly well defined, as any experienced aid manager will know only too well. Simultaneously there will be problems in having to negotiate with a foreign government whose various agencies may not be familiar with the objectives or methodologies of the project (e.g. customs and taxation authorities) and with on-the-spot representatives of other donor agencies who may well have their own agendas, assumptions and interests. Even more complicated, both the commercial manager and the recipient government have to cope with the donor's usually complicated financial reporting methods, which are unlikely to be compatible with their own. It is not unknown for a consultancy group bidding for an educational contract to have to produce two completely separate sets of accounts, one for the donor agency and another for their own accounting system, with different accounting lines adding up to an identical grand total. Nor is it unknown for a permanent secretary in a ministry of education in a developing country to make it known that he does not want further aid in the form of cash payments because of the extreme complications of accounting for it adequately and according to the donor's rules. Increasingly educational aid is becoming a highly specialized business, with complex technical requirements on those who deliver and ever more demanding pressures on those within the donor agencies responsible for defining, monitoring and supervising the delivery of aid. In-house professional education staff at the ODA have, for example, risen in number from only four in 1986 to about 17 nine years later, against a backdrop of substantially declining disbursements on the bilateral programme.7 This increase directly reflects the growing complexity of designing projects, negotiating them with governments, co-ordinating

them with those of other donors in the same field, redefining them into documents suitable for putting out to tender, receiving and adjudicating tender bids, approving the financial and personnel arrangements of the contract managers, monitoring the project and its management, arranging suitable evaluations and reporting back to the minister on the relative success of the project in due course. Given this inherent developing complexity it will be surprising if many education aid projects do in fact achieve their objectives in full. Like forerunners such as the Tunisian Textbook Project of the 1970s, where successive teams of British KELT officers managed the stupendous achievement of producing three successive English language school textbooks, each superseding the previous one before it had even been properly tested and evaluated, many of the current projects being developed by donor agencies are doomed to limited effectiveness. Increasingly recipient governments are realizing that there is no alternative to a properly developed national development plan for human resources, effectively produced and controlled by the ministry of education. The ministry itself needs to sit in the driving seat when it comes to ensuring that donors are kept in order, prevented from making impossible demands on its financial or planning capacity and subordinated to its overall vision of the development of the education system. In the past this has been difficult, but the Education for All initiative has given many governments a vision of the possible, in which they have realized, sometimes for the first time, that they have to accept the responsibility for developing their own national plans rather than hope that a donor agency will provide a 'suitably qualified' educational planner who will do it for them. The new government of South Africa has already made it clear that it does not want aid on the donors' terms, and others are reading these runes. In Eritrea the University of Asmara has similarly made it clear to donors that it will not allow more than nine donors on to the campus, and then only on the university's financial terms, which are that the aid

Aid and Education

is not tied to foreign goods and services but supplied in cash or its equivalent. As these developments proceed, aid donors and recipients will face new dilemmas. For the donors there is a problem of accountability as increasing sums of money are committed and spent locally rather than in the donor country; donors will find it less easy to demand projects that are shaped externally, rather than designed by the recipient; they will have to use indigenous consultants as these become steadily more available; and as time goes on they will have to face the problems raised by widely contrasting consultancy rates as between nationals of the donor countries themselves and those from recipient nations, where incomes and traditional expectations are generally much lower. When the $300 per day paid to a consultant from a donor country equates to a month's salary for an African university professor, what is equality of treatment? For the recipients the new patterns will also generate difficulties. While the creation of national plans into which donors are expected to slot their offerings may provide some kind of map for ministers and their planners, donors cannot be expected to give up old habits all that quickly, and many recipients will have to wrestle with the dilemma of whether to refuse aid that does not fit the national plan, or whether to accept a 'gift' that deflects from a chosen path. Moreover, while the provision of money rather than goods, personnel and services may sound seductively attractive, accounting for it to the donor's rules may create almost insurmountable problems in ministries which have limited personnel to spare for sophisticated accounting techniques.8 Inevitably, aid donors will have to refocus on the need to perform what recipients require;9 they will have to rethink their attitudes to aid management, strengthen their own systems for ensuring that they know what they want before they put half-digested proposals out to tender and learn to support aid managers, whose task is ever more complex as they struggle to understand the thinking of the donor agency and conduct the manage-

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ment, within tight financial constraints, that is sympathetic to the recipient's wishes and needs. Jomtien has emphasized the need for continuing donor support at every level,10 and it is clear that if universities, for example, in many parts of the world are to make the necessary major improvements in quality they will continue to need substantial aid inputs. Aid to education continues to be a necessary and essential ingredient of human resource development in many countries, but donors, recipients and their aid managers need to reappraise their relationships as a matter of urgency.

Notes 1 R. Casson and Associates (1994) Does Aid Work? (Oxford: Clarendon Press), p.7 et seq. 2 C. Colclough with K. Lewin (1993) Educating All the Children (Oxford: Clarendon Press), p. 250, suggests that money spent on capital aid should be reduced since, among other things, it encourages the overdesigning of schools and raises the cost of buildings. 3 The mimeographed Overseas Development Administration British Aid Statistics (London: Overseas Development Administration) annual series provides general data on British aid personnel. 4 See R. Iredale (1995), Aid to education: the provider's view. In R. M. Garrett (ed.), Aid and Education: Mending or Spending? Bristol Papers in Education Comparative and International Studies 3 (University of Bristol). 5 See ActionAid (1994) The Reality of Aid: An Independent Review of International Aid (London: ICVA, EUROSTEP ACTIONAID), p. 120, for a brief description of this episode. 6 Ibid., p. 86 (Japan) and pp. 122-3 (USA). 7 Ibid., p. 117. 8 The author has personal experience of being asked by the permanent Secretary (Education) in an African country to offer technical assistance rather than accountable cash precisely because of this difficulty. 9 See R. C. Riddell (1987) Foreign Aid Reconsidered (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press), p. 193, for an illustration of differences between donor's and recipient's perceptions of the success of an aid project. 10 See, for instance, C. Colclough with K. Lewin (1993) Educating All the Children, p. 225, where the aid required to achieve universal primary education by AD 2000 is put at between $50 and $100 billion.

11

Aid for Development or for Change? A Discussion of Education and Training Policies of Development Assistance Agencies, with Particular Reference to Japan1

KENNETH KING Whereas the flow of money from West to East Germany represents US$140 billion per year (and will continue so for the next ten years), German assistance to the South amounts to US$10 billion per year (which is about the same as in the last few years).2 (IWGE, 1995, p. 56)

The end of the Wall and the flow of aid What is valuable about these figures is the starkness of the contrast between the size of the resources allegedly flowing eastwards from what was West Germany to what was East Germany just one country, and not particularly underdeveloped despite 50 years under a very different economic system - and what was going as assistance to the countries of the developing world. There is little doubt that the purpose of the first transfer is transformation or what used to be termed 'modernization', so that the East comes to have the same standard of living, of aspiration and of incomes as the West. It is a huge ambition and it has its costs, felt by each West German family in the form of special taxes for reunification. What is more difficult to assess is the purpose of the smaller amount going to all the nations of the south with which Germany has an aid programme. What exactly is the aim of this transfer? Is it to run a number of projects - successful, it is hoped -

here and there, in a variety of different countries? Is it to maintain a diplomatic and trade presence, deploying German expertise, in as large a number of countries as may seem appropriate to the German Ministry of Development Co-operation, in rather the way that Japan's aid goes to some 150 countries and Britain's to no fewer than 167 (Hewitt, 1994, p. 11)? Or is it to ensure that in the many trouble spots in the world there is a capacity to react to natural disasters, refugee crises, gross famine, drought and the after-effects of wars? Whatever the purpose may be - and it is possible that it could be a combination of all of the above it certainly cannot be the modernization and transformation of all the countries of the south which receive German assistance. One of the most powerful images in the transformation of East Germany, in the period after reunification, has been the presence of enormous pipes, where the Berlin Wall once stood, literally transferring resources of water, gas, electricity to the East. But what would be the most appropriate metaphor for how we conceptualize our current obligations to the south? Would it, for instance, be the slogan of the little envelopes we are asked to fill with whatever bits and pieces of change we may have by chance in our pockets on the plane journeys we occasionally make? These are entitled 'Change for Good' which is an interesting pun since it suggests that what little change we give can somehow change countries 'for good' - i.e. once and for all.3

Education and Training Policies in Japan

To get more perspective on this question of basic assumptions and rationales for aid, it may be worth rehearsing a number of further figures for development assistance in the recent period, always bearing in mind the amount of 140 billion US dollars per annum that one of the principal OECD countries is transferring to just a single part of one country in order to effect major change. For the OECD countries as a whole the Development Assistance Committee (DAC) reports that for 1993 the total ODA going to the South was US$ 54.8 billion. If we look then at one of the most needy continents - Africa - it can be noted that in the same year sub-Saharan Africa received approximately US$ 16 billion from the DAC countries, although it should also be noted that in 1993 the region had to transfer some US$ 16 billion back to the north in the form of debt service (Leys, 1995, p. 189). Another way to ask the question is to take the recommended goal of the UN for development assistance north-south. At the moment, it is suggested that for DAC countries 0.7 per cent of their GNP be transferred as Official Development Assistance (ODA). Only a small number of countries have reached or exceeded that guideline (notably Sweden, Norway, Netherlands and Denmark), while many of the others have lagged far behind. For example, the UK was at 0.31 per cent in 1993, Japan at 0.26 per cent and the USA at 0.14 per cent. In the case of the latter two donors these small percentages provide the relatively quite substantial sums of US$ 11 and 9 billion dollars of ODA respectively. But it is currently quite inconceivable that Japan, the largest bilateral aid donor, would raise this more than twice to reach the UN target, and in the case of the United States the issue is not whether they might raise ODA but rather whether the powerful lobby in favour of cutting ODA or even of completely abolishing the agency in the State Department responsible for aid can be halted (McGinn, 1995; ODI, 1994). Overall, the result of these cost-cutting concerns, not only in the United States but in several other bilateral donors, has been that the total ODA from DAC members has fallen from US$ 60.8 billion in 1992 to US$ 54.8 billion in 1993 (ODI, 1994), or from an

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average of 0.35 per cent of GNP in 1990 to 0.29 per cent in 1993. We return therefore to the question of what exactly is expected from the UN target of 0.7 per cent of GNP. Is it transformation, or some form of substantial change, or just some change for the better at the margins? What is intriguing about this situation of uncertainty on the role of aid and the evidence of decline in overall commitments is that there is a continuing or even increasing tendency for the north to make a series of very far-reaching recommendations to the south on development issues. A good example is the strong concern with 'aid effectiveness' in the UK at a time when the actual percentage of its aid as a proportion of GNP continues to decline. This is evident in that country's education aid programme where, for instance, there is the paradox of a much larger number of aid professionals in 1995 than in 1986 delivering, presumably more 'effectively', a not dramatically larger bilateral aid programme. (See Iredale, in this volume.) However, these recommendations to the south from the northern aid constituency and from others, e.g. in politics and in some parts of the NGO community, seem to arise from a strong sense of the need for action in the south, but not in the north.

The second image of the wall between south and north Recently there has been a sharpened discussion about the need to keep the flows of immigrants from the south out of the north. In both the USA and the UK, for example, there have been bills proposed that would drastically limit legal immigration and make it much more difficult for illegal immigrants to work (Japan Times, 2 December 1995), and there are acute political concerns in other OECD countries such as France where the interest has been to reduce the access of North and West Africans to the country. There is

114 Kenneth King

also anxiety about the new immigration threats posed by the countries of the former Communist Eastern Europe and the Soviet Union. But there is a paradox about the planned reduction of official aid for development taking place at the very time that there seems almost to be the erection of a new wall between north and south (including what might be thought of as the 'New South' in parts of the former Eastern Europe and the Soviet Union. This impression of a new and illjudged isolationism in the north has been well captured by Spence in a comment on this changing pattern: I do not think what we in Europe can cut ourselves off from Africa. What happens there will affect Europe . . . But consider migration from the Maghreb countries into the states of Southern Europe. Do we simply build a wall to keep people out? Do we treat them as we in Britain have treated the Vietnamese boat people and the Chinese in Hong Kong - or do we recognise that we have an obligation to help the sender countries create social and economic conditions that will make mass migration less likely? If we do build a wall then the world we create will be morally, philosophically and perhaps economically and politically a very uncomfortable one to inhabit. (Spence, 1995)

One of the dangers of the thinking behind the immigration debates and the new isolationism of the north is that it gives the impression that we on the northern side of this imaginary wall - whether in the USA, in Japan or in the UK - are safe from the problems facing what we call the 'south'. But this is almost certainly not the case. In this increasingly market-driven world, with little or no social control over the movement of capital, we in the north, and especially in the UK and in the USA, are already being affected by some of the impact of globalization. The weaker sections of the population are already being faced with the consequences of the contraction of social services, and of the pressures towards the casualization of the workforce. Large numbers of people are now being obliged to accept part-time or short-term contract work, and there are now estimates that as few as one-third of the working population of the UK are holding what might be termed secure jobs.

The other two-thirds live with insecurity at work if they have work at all (Hutton, 1995). From this perspective, the situation affecting Africa, for example, can be seen as just the first and most spectacular illustration of the logic of this new world order in which nation states have effectively lost control over their economic destinies (Leys, 1995, p. 195). Thus this same law of the market also explains that of the US$ 200 billion of direct foreign investment going to the south from the north less than 1 per cent goes to sub-Saharan Africa. The logic of this global, competitive market may even be affecting so-called aid funds which it might be expected would predominantly be targeted at the world's poorest countries, if the rationale of ODA was poverty alleviation or 'more aid to the poorest' as the rhetoric of development assistance sometimes suggests. Rather, it turns out that in 1992 just 25 per cent of ODA went to the least developed countries. The paradox, we have said, in this globalizing world where it has been shown that overall proportions and absolute quantities of ODA have actually been reduced is that the northern discourse about what the south ought to do has become more insistent, more invasive of southern sovereignty, and more ambitious about southern responsibilities and reactions. In particular there has been rather a marked shift from project aid to a concern with changing the policies of the recipient governments. This does not of course mean that there are no more aid projects — clearly, there are many and some agencies continue to emphasize projects (see Iredale, in this volume, pp. 108-10) - but the concern has grown that isolated projects, however successful or 'effective' they may be in terms of their initial implementation, are inherently unsustainable if the larger policy environment in which they have to survive is hostile. They can well become enclaves, protected by foreign exchange, access to project resources and good salaries for project staff. Accordingly the emphasis has moved markedly to what is termed policy-based grants and policybased loans (cf. Mosley et al., 1991). The aim here is to use the leverage of aid moneys to try to change the policies of the recipient government. That way, it is hoped, with appropriate policies in

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place, initiatives, whether foreign or local, will be more likely to be sustainable. Examples of such policies are many. Some are the already well-known macro-economic structural adjustment policies. Others are those that directly encourage democratization and multiparty politics. And others include a multiplicity of sectoral and subsectoral policies which seek to change government practice in many different walks of life. We shall turn now to look at examples of such policies from the sphere of education and training, but it must be remembered in so doing that there is a huge variety of such policies seeking comprehensively to affect the policy environment of developing countries, and most especially in those least developed countries that find it hardest economically to sustain their own priorities. As we examine this particular set of sectoral policies, we shall bear in mind the larger question with which we started: is the purpose of this aid thorough-going transformation or just some change at the margin?

Policy-based aid for education and training One of the most remarkable developments in the sphere of policy-based aid has been the emergence of the World Bank's views on particular policies in education and training. Over the last ten years, and particularly since 1988, there have come a series of policy papers either on the education sector as a whole, or on education in an entire continent (e.g. sub-Saharan Africa (1988)), or on a subsector such as primary education (World Bank, 1990), vocational and technical education and training (World Bank, 1991) and higher education (World Bank, 1994) and most recently of all a paper that summarizes the Bank's views on education across all sectors and for all developing countries, including the so-called transitional economies of Eastern Europe and the former Soviet Union (World Bank, 1995). As a whole, these pa-

115

pers have both reinforced existing policies and practices of the Bank in education and training, and they have also summarized very sharply the particular strategies that the Bank has judged to be effective. All these papers have been based on relatively large amounts of commissioned research, and have taken between three and four years to complete. In general, they have been disseminated very widely indeed, in several languages apart from English. These papers take strong views about the priorities both for external aid and for internal educational reform, and they tend to argue at the sectoral level for policies that parallel those being recommended at the macro-economic level. Thus the paper on vocational and technical education and training argues very strongly for the encouragement of private sector training, and is very discouraging about the value of school-based vocational education: Training in the private sector - by private employers and in private training institutions - can be the most effective and efficient way to develop the skills of the work force. (World Bank, 1991, p. 7)

Equally strong policy recommendations, including a strong pitch for the private sector, are made for higher education, where, again, it is argued, among four major themes, that there should be 'greater differentiation of higher education institutions, including the development of private institutions', and that in terms of diversifying funding, the role of the private sector should be strengthened and that most new enrolments should be channelled to private institutions (World Bank, 1994, vii, p. 8). Some of the most contentious recommendations from these reports have related to what the World Bank has termed the trade-off between primary education and higher education. It has tended to argue that there is a tendency for nations to 'misallocate' resources between education subsectors, and especially in low-income countries a tendency to underinvest in primary education. The line of argument in favour of primary schools is heavily supported by a highly contentious reli-

116 Kenneth King

ance on rate of return analysis as in the following typical approach from the 1995 policy paper: In low- and middle-income countries the rates of return to investment in primary and secondary education are generally greater than those to higher education. Therefore basic education should usually be the priority for public spending in education in those countries that have yet to achieve universal enrolment in basic education. (World Bank, 1995, p. 56)

What is rarely acknowledged in these very firm policy priorities adopted by the Bank is just how contested the argumentation frequently is. This air of certainty about rate of return findings would be very problematic in an academic paper, but in a policy paper distributed world-wide in multiple languages it might seem even more necessary to qualify recommendations with a health warning about the sources, the methodology or the generalizability of the positions being adopted. What is additionally of concern in these very forceful positions is that the World Bank is now responsible for 25 per cent of all external educational aid (or loans to be exact). This means that in many widely different settings the Bank is in a position to make its views known to would-be recipients. One result of the production and dissemination of this tightly linked set of papers is that the range of educational advice available to potential clients of the Bank has effectively narrowed over recent years. There is now available in the market-place a relatively monolithic Bank view of what makes sense in education policy. This was not the case in the late 1970s and early 1980s. This is not to argue that the World Bank staff necessarily translate such policy advice directly into practice on all occasions - there continues to be scope for flexibility in such negotiations. Nor does it mean that major clients such as China need follow the letter of Bank advice; they clearly do not (Cheng Kai-ming, 1995). But for countries that are desperately in need of external support for their education sector - for example in sub-Saharan Africa - it may well be somewhat more difficult to argue for an alternative educational strategy to that of the Bank.

Bilateral policy advice and the influence of the Bank It might be thought that the existence of a large number of bilateral aid agencies could in practice offer an alternative set of policies and of sources of support to those so forcefully argued by the Bank. To an extent this is true; different bilateral agencies are still well known for the specificity of their approaches (King, 1991). It is nevertheless also true that the clarity and simplicity of the Bank's messages in education have found favour in bilateral circles. Some examples of this trend may be drawn from European donor policies, and especially from the UK. It may also be useful to contrast these with the attitudes of Japan. The British Overseas Development Administration's (ODA) most recent policy paper on education, Aid to Education in the 90s, certainly appears to draw very heavily on many of the education policies supported by World Bank research and policy papers (ODA, 1995). Thus, the arguments for investing in female education in order to decrease fertility are directly drawn from World Bank research: 'Mothers educated above a certain threshold level tend to have small families, with secondary education for girls reducing the average number of children they will have from 7 to 3' (ODA, 1995, p. 2). Equally there appears to be dependence on the Bank's research for the arguments about education and productivity, about the lessons to be learnt from the East Asian miracle and for the rate of return analysis ('Education, especially basic education, yields high private and social rates of return, some analyses suggesting rates of up to 49% for private rates of return and 27% for social rates of return': ODA, 1995, p. 3). Interestingly the ODA paper does in fact admit that there is 'some dispute' over the use of traditional rates of return, but does not elaborate on what the debate might be about. Of greater concern for our theme of the narrowing of donor policy advice in the education sector is the fact that the ODA policy paper which is confessedly in part occupied with Britain's 'com-

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parative advantage' in education, contains a set of references which are exclusively drawn from the World Bank's papers and publications. And although the ODA paper mentioned the dispute about the rate of return analysis, the reader is only offered in the reference section the Bank's own argumentation in favour of the rate of return approach (Psacharopoulos in ODA, 1995, p. 11) and no references are offered to the very widespread critique of these approaches, as for example in Bennell (1995a; 1995b). It is particularly unfortunate that ODA's most recent policy paper was not used as an opportunity to illustrate Britain's comparative advantage in education policy analysis, since it is an area of strength, and one which the ODA Education Division itself recognizes in its increasing support for UK research. A second example of the narrowing of the bilateral approach and the tendency increasingly to reflect the dictates of the market economy can be deduced from recent research in Denmark, Sweden and the Netherlands in the sphere of education aid policies. For the donors in these countries, too, it has been argued that the dominant discourse of the market has begun to be influential: Even the front-runners among Western nations seem to be influenced by the current international ideological climate and the emphasis on the creation of market economies, democratisation and private initiative in recipient developing countries. (Buchert, 1995b, p. 61)

It could also be argued, as a third example, that the European Union, a rather late participant in the international policy debate about education in the developing world, has also shifted its traditional focus rather markedly in the last few years. Its older policy of responsiveness to the preferences and priorities of the recipient countries has been altered to reflect a much stronger emphasis on basic education, and a greater readiness than before to 'condition' education support in favour of particular approaches (King, 1995; McHugh, 1995). For a fourth example of the tensions within bilateral agencies between the very pervasive discourse of the World Bank and the changing vision

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of the bilateral agency itself, we turn now to Japan.

Japan: the world's largest bilateral donor seeks to define an education policy It may be useful in trying to define a relationship between our concern for overall ODA and development goals on the one hand and the example of shifts in education and training policy on the other to look at Japan. Currently Japan has been devoting some 6 per cent of total ODA to the education sector (JICA, 1994a, p. 24),4 but it has been reviewing its educational aid by its usual means of an official study group, and it is possible that a careful examination of the report of the group may further illumine the tensions about policy advice and aid assumptions with which we have been concerned thus far in this chapter. One of the first points to be evident in analysing the Study on Development Assistance for Development and Education (JICA, 1994a) is that it would appear to be quite dependent on the same research findings of the World Bank that we have noted with other agencies.5 Indeed, the report starts by laying out some of the key trends among other major donor policies such as emphasis on primary education; education as a human right; education for women; and education for the poor and disadvantaged (JICA, 1994a, p. 2). It then goes on to argue in ways very similar to World Bank documentation of the last five years that education is an excellent form of human capital investment. Without identifying precisely the sources of their conviction, the study group is clear about the relationship between education and economic growth: Thanks to much research on the subject, it is now widely understood that investment in education serves to increase worker productivity and is a leading contributor to economic growth. QICA, 1994a, p. 7)

The study group explicitly acknowledges the importance of human capital theorists such as Deni-

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son and Schultz, and it goes on to quote with apparent approval one of the most influential pieces of Bank research in the sphere of human development:

Education is premised on participation by pupils from all walks of life; therefore it strongly reflects ethnic, cultural, regional and national characteristics. (JICA, 1994a, p. 12)

Data from a World Bank study from 1980, for example, show that a farmer with four years of primary education is, on the average, 8.7 per cent more productive than a farmer with no schooling at all. QICA, 1994a, p. 7)

From the side of the Japanese themselves, it is argued that one of the most important aspects of education is its very intimate relationship with a particular nation's history, traditions and development. This theme has sometimes been used in Japanese discussions about aid to education to argue that Japan should especially not become involved in aid to primary education, on the grounds that this is a sphere that should be a nation's own particular concern. In the study group's thinking, however, this point is extended to apply to all education subsectors in a way that is very distinct from World Bank commentaries:

Human capital theory itself is also affirmed without hesitation, and with examples drawn from the USA rather than from Japan: The theory of human capital has led advanced countries to stress investment in education. In the United States and many other industrialised countries, human capital theory has become the basis of manpower policy. (JICA, 1994a, p. 7)

A further example of the study group's drawing on the World Bank research is very evident in the strong position taken on the contribution of female education to the curbing of population growth. Again the source of their data is not indicated, but the Bank's influential research on this area must surely be one of the obvious reference points when the study group argues that 'Statistical data clearly demonstrates that raising women's educational level helps to lower birth rates' (JICA, 1994a, p. 8). However, even though the study group does not constitute JICA policy, there is clearly discernible evidence throughout the report of another aspect of Japanese thinking about education and development. This thread is very different from the basic human capital approach and is a thread that is much more closely linked to Japan's own experience of educational development as a nation. For instance, despite the strong support to World Bank-style thinking on education as human capital investment, it is abundantly clear that the study group pays a great deal more attention to the cultural, moral and religious dimensions of education than do Bank reports. In discussing the problems of education in developing countries, for instance, the study group underlines the point that education is inseparable from other factors than the economic:

Because education is an area where values, morality, aspirations to national unification, culture and sovereignty are involved, it is difficult for Japan actively to enlarge the scope and enrich the content of its aid for education. (JICA, 1994a, p. 37)

In a similar vein, the study group argues that the very value-laden character of education makes it a priori problematic for many Japanese to be identified for educational assistance missions (JICA, 1994a, p. 37). This then produces a rather paradoxical situation. On the one hand, the study group has apparently felt a responsibility, given the logic of human capital from the research associated with the Bank, to make the case for increasing Japanese aid to the education sector, but on the other hand, it is keenly aware of the cultural and moral dimensions of education. This makes the study group diffident about Japan's capacity to provide support in such a sensitive area. There is then something of a possible contradiction running through the three major recommendations that the study group has assembled. These are as follows: 1

2

Increase Japan's educational aid, including that for vocational training, to about 15 per cent of total ODA by the year 2000. Assign the highest aid priority to basic education.

Education and Training Policies in Japan

3

Without focusing narrowly on basic education alone, identify the stage of development of each country's education, then implement the kind of education aid that is required (JICA, 1994a, p. v).

The first and second recommendations seem to derive from a sense of the importance of education, as proved by a great deal of research, including from the World Bank and other donors, and from Japan's own history of education as well as from Japan's leadership role as the world's largest bilateral donor with responsibilities for extending educational aid further afield. But at the same time as assigning the highest priority to basic education, Japan is only too aware of why it had found it difficult to aid basic education in the past: It was thought that basic education is not well suited to aid programmes because basic education involves a people's morals, values, and customs, and accordingly aid in this area touches on a nation's culture and sovereignty, and because basic education targets huge populations, spread out over vast geographical expanses. (JICA, 1994a, pp. 39-40)

The third recommendation reinforces the hesitations about making basic education too dominant a priority, and underlines the importance of responding to what the particular country's development requires. This readiness to decide on priorities more in terms of the country's development needs emphasizes another aspect of the study group's approach that is intriguing. Unlike the certainty of many of the policy recommendations associated with the World Bank, the study group is actually very tentative about Japan's expertise and authority in aid to education. So at the same time as saying that basic education should be the highest priority, the group are also admitting that 'Japanese authorities still do not have enough information about recipients' needs for aid and what other donors are doing' (JICA, 1994a, p. 37). It is probably for this reason that JICA has very recently supported the Commonwealth Secretariat in undertaking a review of basic education in six Southern and Eastern African countries (Kann, 1995).

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Rethinking aid policy in a climate of uncertaintyy We have deliberately dwelt for some time on Japan because, in terms of our earlier discussion about trends in aid, it seems in a number of ways to be different. For one thing, Japanese ODA has certainly been growing in absolute terms at times when other donors could not conceive of growth. For another, Japan has continued to encourage large numbers of students to come north to Japan at a time when we have noted many other donors have been cutting back on overseas training and emphasizing local capacity-building. Unlike other donor countries, there is evidence also that the reading public is actually interested in accounts of aid, not just the sensational but also the more serious and educational (Hewitt, 1995). We have in addition noted a certain diffidence, at least in the thinking of the education study group, about any attempt too narrowly to dictate to recipient countries what Japan feels should be their education and training priorities. The result of these tensions may well be that Japan will not move very rapidly away from its traditional support to higher technical and technological education and vocational training. Equally if it does move more into support of basic education, it may well continue to provide hardware and equipment, such as good primary school buildings, as opposed to the more problematic, 'softer' areas of support for teacher quality, inspection and curriculum development. Here lies a further interesting contrast among bilateral and multilateral traditions of aid to education. In a number of agencies, including the UK's ODA, there has been a shift away from infrastructure projects towards human resources and 'software' projects. To some extent this has been because of the lack of bilateral funds to implement major infrastructural projects and programmes (cf. Iredale in this volume, pp. 108ff.), and to some extent it has been driven by a desire to emphasize policy-based aid rather than merely delivering educational buildings and infrastructure (in the case of the Bank). In other words, the hardwaresoftware shift coincides with a reduction in over-

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all aid to education, but an increase in the invasiveness of that reduced aid in the policy arena. It is by no means obvious, therefore, that a country such as Japan that is not currently seeking to reduce its overall aid budget should necessarily follow the fashion of moving from infrastructure to software. For one thing, Japan has much less comparative advantage in some of these software arenas of curriculum, administration and quality improvement than it has in delivering first-rate infrastructure projects. Second, its hesitations about the sensitivities involved in basic education do not, to the same extent, attach to the provision of buildings and equipment. Third, the major transformation of the social and economic infrastructure of particular countries is what Japan feels it has been most successful in supporting. At the more general level of aid policy, this diffidence about interfering in the basic organization and curriculum of primary schools has parallels with a certain Japanese hesitation about imposing conditionalities in respect of democracy or human rights. There are also hesitations about any basic needs approach in which aid becomes too close to social welfare for the poor and the needy. Japan's own national experience (including receiving World Bank loans for infrastructure development) and its long-term provision of yen loans to the countries of South-East Asia have suggested to its policy community that evidence of self-help and of self-reliance is crucial to successful development. As far as our initial question about the goal of aid is concerned, therefore, the position of Japan itself seems to be that aid can indeed assist, not just at the margins, but in the whole process of economic take-off. This certainly seems to be the Japanese view regarding some of the countries of South-East Asia, as is argued in Japan's ODA: Official Development Assistance: Annual Report 1994: Due in part to the ODA of Japan, the economies of some of the Southeast Asian countries have taken off or are on the point of taking off. Some of them have graduated themselves from being recipients and have joined the donor community. It could be said that the approach of Japan to aiding developing countries, in

particular, Asia-oriented and encouraging self-help efforts approaches, are now rightly evaluated by the international community. (Ministry of Foreign Affairs, 1995, p. 35)

What is intriguing about Japan is that it does discern, within the history of the last 50 years, evidence both in its own post-war experience as an aid recipient for its large infrastructure projects, and in its own provision of aid to South-East Asia, something of a formula for success. It is no accident that aid is so frequently mentioned by Japanese official texts in the same sentence as selfreliance and in the context of lessons learned from Japanese history: Thus Japan experienced rehabilitation of its war-torn economy after the war by summoning up the spirit of self-help and with the help of the United States, the World Bank and the international community, and has finally achieved vigorous economic growth. This experience, further reinforced by the success Japan has achieved in its aid efforts for Asian countries, has confirmed its belief in the importance of the self-help efforts of recipient countries as a key ingredient of success of an aid programme. (Ministry of Foreign Affairs, 1995, p. 12)

In one way therefore the UNDP league tables showing what proportion of bilateral aid is going to the neediest countries and what proportions are being allocated to the human priorities (such as basic education, primary health care, safe drinking water, etc.) tend to highlight the relatively low ranking for Japan on these criteria (only 3.4 per cent of total ODA was allocated by Japan to these 'human priorities' in the period 1989-91). But these comparisons in terms of human priorities do not perhaps sufficiently take account of Japan's deep conviction that self-reliance is itself a key human priority. These cross-national comparisons (see, for example, the OECD DAG annual reports) also tend to suggest that Japan has too high a proportion of loan aid as opposed to grant aid; in 1993 Japan provided bilateral grants of 40 per cent and loans of 31 per cent of its total ODA. But here too Japan's philosophy of avoiding the dependency culture may need to be borne in mind in assessing the balance between loans and grants in particular contexts.

Education and Training Policies in Japan

Behind these figures and trends, it is still relatively difficult to access the assumptions underpinning these traditional Japanese approaches to aid, and particularly when it comes to analysing aid rationales at the sectoral level. There are, of course, general books by Rix on Japan's foreign aid (1993; 1995), and by Yasutomo (1995) on the newer multilateralism in Japan's foreign policy, and a new journal from the Research Institute of Development Assistance (within the Overseas Economic Co-operation Fund) has just emerged in 1995, The Journal of Development Assistance. In addition, there is now the locus of an elaborated critique by Yamada and Sakakibara of the free market advice traditionally associated with the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund (Dawkins in Financial Times, 7 February 1995), and the importance of articulating alternatives. Much more problematic to detect are the changing rationales for support at the sectoral level. We have noted particularly in the education and training sector a difficulty in teasing out the different threads of Japanese experience and external donor influence that seem almost to be combined in the report of the Education Study Group. These two threads have been unravelled further in a very valuable analysis by Sawamura (1995). He argues that in its relatively recent aid leadership position, Japan must become much more aware of its unique, comparative advantage in educational aid; it must become more conscious in its policy dialogues of what can and cannot be successfully transferred to other countries; and finally it must produce 'newer, more independent approaches based on Japan's own experience of providing aid' (Sawamura, 1995, p. 170).

An end-note on critical approaches to the aid industry The mention of independent approaches is salutary but it may also be dangerous. It is salutary because it underlines the growing importance of the Japanese aid policy community thinking about

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the meaning of aid leadership and of Japan's comparative advantage as a non-Western aid donor. It may be dangerous if Japan becomes so sure about the high road towards effective aid that it only has one solution for all countries. Japan, like West Germany in relation to the former East Germany with which we started this chapter, has become progressively more clear about the way most effectively to aid countries such as Thailand, Malaysia, the Philippines and Indonesia. What is much more at issue, whether in Germany, Japan or the UK, is the strategy for aiding those countries where the state is extremely weak, or where there is not already in place the kind of engine of local self-help and self-reliance that Japan, in particular, has emphasized so strongly. In such settings, and they are widespread in Africa, it is not at all obvious that the Western donors have a solution, even though their policy dialogue today is much more assertive than ever before. One of the most urgent necessities for independent and critical approaches and questioning is that many of those involved in the aid industry (whether in agencies or in NGOs) are no longer clear what the overall purpose of their aid enterprise is. The massive crises, especially in Africa, have made it difficult for many to believe any longer in the transformation and modernization project of earlier years. But in its place, is there really a goal for aid at all? Is it just a question of ensuring that a few good projects are put in place, where individual donors can 'metaphorically raise their national flag' (Iredale, in this volume, p. 108)? Can we really believe that thoroughgoing change can be brought about with steadily reducing proportions of GNP going towards development assistance? Can severer and severer conditionalities bring about such change, especially if the northern countries do not change their conditions for admitting southern produce to their protected markets? In a word, can the north really aid the south to modernize, if it continues to believe that the problem in this dramatically globalizing world is really only down there, in the south? Far away, over the Wall.

122 Kenneth King

Notes 1 Some of the initial ideas for this chapter were outlined in the seminar of the Franco-British Council on Britain and France in Africa, 9-10 November 1995, but the main body of the argument was first presented to the JICA International Seminar under the title of 'Recent international trends in educational aid' at the Institute for International Co-operation (JICA), 28-29 November 1995, Tokyo, and at the Graduate School of International Development, Nagoya University, Nagoya, 30 November 1995. Neither the Franco-British Council nor the Japan International Co-operation Agency (JICA) is responsible for the ideas expressed here. 2 Official German ODA in 1993 was reported as US$ 6.8 billion. The figure given here may include other components of assistance (Buchert, 1995a, p. 8). The figure of US$ 140 billion is different from the German paper on which presumably the IWGE text relied. In the latter the figure mentioned is, variously, US$ 70 and US$ 60 billion per year going from West to East (Deutscher, 1994, pp. 2, 5). This discrepancy points to the difficulty of determining what should be counted in financial flows, but does not alter the general point that even the smaller figure of US$ 60-70 billion is ten times larger than the entire aid budget going to the 'South'. 3 This is not a criticism of UNICEF which has managed through this innovative strategy to raise very significant amounts of money for development projects. But only of the possible meanings attributed to the provision of some spare coins by those who participate in the scheme. 4 The JICA Study Group on Educational Aid has reanalysed the ODA figures and judged that the percentage of total ODA going to Education and Training is closer to 8 per cent (JICA, 1994a). 5 It should be stressed that the recommendations of the JICA Study Group are precisely what they say - recommendations of the group; they do not constitute JICA policy on education and training. See JICA, (1994a), foreword and JICA (1994b), pp. 28-9.

Referencess Beauchamp, E. R. and Vardaman, J. M. (eds) (1994) Japanese Education since 1945: A Documentary Study. London: M. E. Sharpe. Bennell, P. (1995a) Using and abusing rates of return: a critique of the World Bank's 1995 Education sector review. Institute of Development Studies Working Paper 22, Sussex. Bennell, P. (I995b) The limits of globalisation: a comment on RORE patterns. NORRAG NEWS, 18, 48-50, Centre of African Studies, University of Edinburgh. Buchert, L. (1995a) Recent Trends in Education Aid: Towards a Classification of Policies: A Report from

the IWGE. Paris: International Institute for Educational Planning. Buchert, L. (1995b) Current foreign aid patterns and policies on education in developing countries among like-minded nations: some key issues. Scandinavian Journal of Educational Research, 39(1), 61-74. Cheng Kai-ming (1995) Informing policy-making: policy-related research in China. Paper to the DSE/ NORRAG meeting on Consultation and Consultancy: New Dimensions of the Public and the Private in the Cultures of Educational Research, 12-18 Nov., Zschortau, Germany. Dawkins, W. (1995) Pedlars of the Japanese alternative. Financial Times, 7 February 1995. Deutscher, E. (1994) The impact of new East-West relations on international assistance. Paper to the International Working Group on Education Meeting, 16-18 November 1994, Nice. Hewitt, A. (1994) Commentary. In ODI, Japan's Aid and the Developing Countries: Papers of the 1994 London Conference. London: Overseas Development Institute. Hewitt, A. (1995) Tokyo story: aid sells books. Development Policy Review, 12(1), 81-8. Hutton, W. (1995) High risk. Guardian, 30 Nov. 1995. International Working Group on Education (IWGE) (1995) Education Aid Policies and Practices. Paris: International Institute for Educational Planning. Iredale, Roger (1997) Aid and education. Chapter 10 in this volume. Japan International Co-operation Agency (JICA) (1994a) Study on Development Assistance for Development and Education. Tokyo: the Study Group on development assistance for education and development, JICA. Japan International Co-operation Agency (JICA) (1994b) Japan International Co-operation Agency: Annual Report 1994. Tokyo. Japan, Ministry of Foreign Affairs (1995) Japan's ODA: Official Development Assistance: Annual Report 1994. Tokyo. Kann, Ulla (1995) The status of basic education in subSaharan Africa: the case of Lesotho, Malawi, Swaziland, South Africa, Tanzania and Uganda. London: Commonwealth Secretariat on behalf of JICA. King, K. J. (1991) Aid and Education in the Developing World. Harlow: Longman. King, K. (1995) The history and character of EC/EC aid policy in education and training. NORRAG NEWS, 17, 13-17, Centre of African Studies, University of Edinburgh. Leys, C. (1995) The Rise and Fall of Development Theory. London: James Currey. McGinn, N. (1995) Paper to the DSE/NORRAG meeting on Consultation and Consultancy: New Dimensions

Education and Training Policies in Japan of the Public and the Private in the Cultures of Educational Research, 12-18 Nov., Zschortau, Germany. McHugh, N. (1995) An Analysis of the European Union Member States' Aid Policies and Activities in the Field of Education and Training to Developing Countries. Brussels: European Commission, DG VIII, Development. Mosley, P. et al. (1991) Aid and Power: The World Bank and Policy-Based Lending, 1. London: Routledge. NORRAG NEWS (1994-95), 16-18, African Studies, University of Edinburgh. ODI (1990) Briefing paper: Japanese Aid. London: Overseas Development Institute (ODI). ODI (1994) Briefing paper, No. 4 of 1994. London: Overseas Development Institute. OECD (various years) Development Cooperation: Annual Reports. Paris: Development Assistance Committee (DAC), OECD. Overseas Development Administration (1995) Aid to Education in the 90s: Education Policy Paper. London: Education Division, ODA. Rix, A. (1993) Japan's Foreign Aid Challenge: Policy Reform and Aid Leadership. London: Routledge.

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Rix, A. (1995) Japan's Foreign Aid Challenges. London: Routledge. Sawamura, N. (1995) Changing Policy and Practice of Japanese Educational Aid to Sub-Saharan Africa. MPhil. Edinburgh: University of Edinburgh. Spence, J. E. (1995) Great Britain and Africa: the historical record and contemporary reality. Paper to the seminar of the Franco-British Council on Britain and France in Africa, 9-10 Nov. 1995. World Bank (1988) Education in Sub-Saharan Africa: Policies for Adjustment, Revitalisation and Expansion. Washington: World Bank. World Bank (1990) Primary Education. A World Bank Policy Paper. Washington: World Bank. World Bank (1991) Vocational and Technical Education and Training: A World Bank Policy Paper. Washington: World Bank. World Bank (1994) Higher Education: The Lessons of Experience. Washington: World Bank. World Bank (1995) Priorities and Strategies for Education: A World Bank Paper. Washington: World Bank. Yasutomo, Dennis (1995) The New Multilateralism in Japan's Foreign Policy. London: St Martin's Press.

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Part Three Pressures for Change in England and Wales

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12

Consumer Rights in Schooling

TONY EDWARDS Consumer choice is sometimes used as a 'trumping move' by advocates of an open market in education, an assertion of the rights of individual consumers so obviously justified morally that 'ordinary', uncommitted evaluation of its effects can be avoided or discounted (Jonathan, 1993). Philosophically it is seen as extending to all that power to choose, and consequent sense of parental responsibility for their children's schooling, previously restricted to the wealthy or most articulate. Practically it is presented as a certain remedy for poor schooling. Such faith tends to ignore rather than to move 'mountains'. The benefits of enhancing choice are often asserted without reference to how this is being done, or to the history and present structure of the system being reformed. Questioning the effects may then be dismissed as a timid irrelevance when the advantages are so 'obvious'. Yet securing a workable, and fair, balance between private choice and public interest is very difficult. At the level of faith, the matter is simple. As Presidents Reagan and Bush affirmed at a White House workshop called to exalt the benefits of market provision - 'choice works and it works with a vengeance', ending that allocation of 'captive customers' which explained the 'selfperpetuating mediocrity' of public schools (cited Maddaus, 1990, pp. 267-8). Properly subjected to the disciplines of the market-place, schools have to deserve sufficient custom or else face the consequences of declining demand and the prospect of closure. Stuart Sexton has used both lines of argument to promote his vision of an education system

composed entirely of 'self-governing schools obliged for survival to respond to the market'. And he has done so with a clarity that comes from an apparent absence of doubt. In proposing his own 'incremental steps' towards that objective, and in welcoming successive government moves in the same direction (in particular, the potent combination of open enrolment with delegated school budgets determined largely by pupil numbers), he has portrayed those reforms as simultaneously improving schools and empowering parents (Sexton, 1987; 1992). If such beneficial effects were certain, there would be no dilemma. It is because they are not that the 'free' exercise of consumer rights in an open, competitive market demands careful, critical and continuing scrutiny. Against the certainties exemplified by Stuart Sexton, the objection that 'it all depends' will seem unheroic. Yet asserting the general benefits of enhanced consumer choice without detailed reference to the structure, history and traditions of the school system which it is intended to reshape, or without considering carefully who the likely winners and losers may be, is a dangerous idealization. As the American Charles Glenn (1993) warned in an otherwise enthusiastic advocacy of that reform, 'a deliberate effort to the contrary' is required if 'free' parental choice of school is not to produce greater social segregation and greater educational inequality. And although it was to American evidence that the National Commission on Education (1993, p. 185) referred to justify its conclusion that 'relaxing constraints on choice' can have the 'unacceptable consequence' of increasingly unequal opportunities

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in a steeply tiered system, one of its own Briefing Papers reported similar findings about the effects of open enrolment to Scottish schools. Concluding that it had led to 'inefficient use of resources, widening disparities between schools, increased social segregation', and consequently to more unequal educational opportunities, Michael Adler (1993) predicted that the outcomes of a rather later introduction in England would be even more 'problematic'. There are therefore difficulties in understanding what it is that 'works with a vengeance' once the traditional obstacles to a 'free' interplay of educational supply and demand are removed. For the appeal to consumer rights is merely a slogan without some delineation of what the choices are, who can make them, under what constraints and with what prospect of having the choice accepted. Since there is clearly no going back to the largely unquestioned allocation of school places by Local Authorities, and to rigid catchment areas which seemed to guarantee a continuing supply of pupils even to schools which did not deserve it, the main policy dilemma lies in finding an appropriate balance between the rights of individual consumers and acceptable notions of public interest. Within the terms of that fundamental dilemma, how much priority should be given to parents-asconsumers, seeking and getting the kind of schooling they want for their children, against a public interest in securing for all children access to a well-taught, broad and balanced curriculum? What weight should be given to parental choice of school, against a 'rational' use of resources which indicates, for example, that surplus places should be taken out of the system rather than re-allocated as a reward to successful schools or that parents' understandable wish to keep an unviable school alive should be overruled in the interests of more cost-effective and coherent local provision? Should 'failing' schools receive any protection or support, or should the market decide? How far should Local Authorities be enabled to intervene on behalf of those consumers likely to be the losers in a competitive market, and how far is such a market more effective in protecting consumers than well-intentioned but mistaken political intervention?

To a thoroughgoing advocate of consumer rights, Stuart Sexton for example, the answers to all those questions will be derived from a belief that markets must be trusted to produce their beneficial effects. Government intervention beyond the securing of minimum educational standards is therefore mistaken, which is why he has argued strongly against any form of prescribed national curriculum and fervently against the extensive prescription imposed since 1988. In so far as education is seen at all as a public good, it is a good best secured by encouraging parents to invest in their children's future in whatever ways they see fit. Lack of confidence in market forces is fainthearted, or else a politically motivated preference for providing education from above rather than allowing all parents that freedom of choice always enjoyed by the minority able to pay fees, buy a house in a favoured catchment area, or work a school's admission procedures to their child's advantage. In contrast, I will argue that the likely outcome of greater parental choice as it is being implemented in England will be to disadvantage further already disadvantaged parents and children. That counter-argument does not depend on a paternalistic denial of parents' capacity or some parents' capacity to choose wisely, as is sometimes asserted by market enthusiasts. It is a pessimism about the consequences of enhancing consumer rights in particular ways and in particular circumstances. Market advocates sometimes argue that while the effects of market forces must be unequal or there would be no incentives for the able and ambitious, they cannot be 'unjust' because they are, at the level of the individual, both unintended and unforeseen. But if those already disadvantaged are likely to suffer a further reduction in opportunity from a particular form of market provision, then 'we can be held to bear collective responsibility for the outcomes . . . [especially] when the outcomes are capable of being altered' (Plant, 1990, pp. 17-19). In exploring the dilemmas raised by the 'free' (or at least freer) exercise of consumer rights maybe in conflict with public interest, I concentrate mainly on the government's promotion of a diversified, competitive market in secondary education. It is at this stage, at least in urban areas, that parents are

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likely to have alternative schools within travelling distance. It is also the stage when their choice can be informed by published examination results which the government has so far treated as useful and fair indicators of schools' comparative performance. It was partly for that purpose that the government imposed a National Curriculum by legislation, schools having to be sufficiently alike for their 'products' to be compared. That this curriculum took a form closely resembling the traditional grammar school and independent school range of academic subjects reinforced powerfully that dominant model of good secondary education. Before considering how this has shaped the processes of choice, I want to comment on the dilemma created within the political Right by the alternative attractions of curbing the curriculum experiments of 'progressive' schools and LEAs, or of encouraging schools to specialize in what they teach and to market themselves accordingly. For conservatives of the kind Stephen Ball (1993) has described as 'cultural restorationists", the National Curriculum represented both a rescuing of 'real' subjects from the clutches of 'progressives' and the opportunity to strengthen children's sense of a common cultural identity through the teaching of national history and literature. To market liberals, however, it was entirely incompatible with a proper belief in letting the curriculum be determined by what consumers want (Sexton, 1988). Especially in its initial specification, it was also attacked for being so extensive and so prescriptive in detail as to crowd out innovation (Centre for Policy Studies, 1988). From both ideological directions, there were objections that too much common ground meant levelling down. The egalitarian potential of raising the threshold of knowledge and understanding to which children should have access 'wherever they live and go to school', an objective highlighted in early government publicity and which carried an implicit obligation to intervene on behalf of children for whom that right would otherwise be formal but unreal, was dismissed as pandering to those who wished to ensure 'that all should reach and none should exceed a universal, uniform and hence supposedly undivisive mediocrity' (Flew, 1991, p. 44).

It can be argued that in the National Curriculum, the 1988 Reform Act recognized what might be called 'citizen rights' to a 'broad and balanced' education alongside the various measures designed to create a system of largely autonomous and competing schools. To Sexton (1988), those two strands were so incompatible that he proposed removing the entire section on the National Curriculum as a necessary condition for the Bill's other benefits to be realized. From that perspective, the 1993 Education Act is more logical, because it is dominated by the concept of parents as consumers and the National Curriculum is hardly mentioned at all. That curriculum embodies the notion of schooling as a common experience contributing to social cohesion. In contrast, neoliberals want uncommon schooling. They wish to encourage different kinds of school, responsive to and if necessary created to cater for the needs of particular groups who wish their children's education to be contained within their own frame of cultural or religious reference. As elsewhere in this discussion of consumer rights, the dilemma is essentially that of finding a balance between competing claims. Arguing for schools to specialize in the values they uphold as well as in their curriculum, David Hargreaves (1994) also recognizes the critical importance of a common 'civic education' in a pluralist society otherwise at risk of becoming a collection of cultural fragments. He cites in support Chief Rabbi Jonathan Sacks's distinction between a 'second language' which connects us to our various local 'worlds', and a 'first and public language of citizenship'. It is the essential task of schools to 'teach' that first language, which must mean a strong public interest in the content and organization of schooling. I consider the scope of that public interest in the final section of the chapter. At this point, I return to the likely effects of giving priority to consumer demand and hence of deregulating educational supply. It was 'choice and diversity' which the government highlighted, from among the 'great themes' shaping its educational reforms, to announce a 'new framework for schools' which would be to the benefit of all (DFE, 1992). Yet an OECD (1994) study of choice policies in six countries, including England, concluded that the existence of a domi-

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nant model of 'good' schooling makes it as likely that choice will reinforce existing hierarchies as that it will raise standards and improve educational opportunities. Nor, where there is an obvious market leader, is consumer demand likely to produce diversity without vigorous supply-side initiatives to promote alternatives. To avoid reinforcing academic and social selection, the report also concluded, popular schools may need practical encouragement to grow and disadvantaged groups may need privileged access to certain schools. Now English secondary education is certainly dominated by a traditional, subject-based, academic model. Schools which fail to resemble it closely enough, most obviously on the annually published evidence of their pupils' examination performance, thereby reduce their chances of being chosen and increase the likelihood of incurring financial penalties for under-recruitment which are now immediately damaging and may begin a cycle of irreversible decline. And whereas in another kind of market an unsuccessful trader goes out of business while customers take their trade elsewhere, an apparently underperforming school 'harms its own products' and may take a long time finally to 'fail* (Downes, 1994). Far from functioning as a self-correcting mechanism, choice works to the further benefit of schools already advantaged by their intakes and to the detriment of schools suffering the effects of being underchosen in circumstances which may be largely outside their control. Pupils unlikely to contribute to the good results, and so to the market appeal, of a 'successful* and therefore overchosen school have reduced chances of being admitted to it. The overall effect is the creation of many losers as well as many winners, rather than that universal empowerment of consumers which a market is supposed to produce. In outline, those are grounds for scepticism about the generally beneficial effects of greater consumer choice. The outline becomes clear by questioning that prime assumption of market advocates - that consumer choice simultaneously requires and promotes diversity of provision. In an ideal educational market, 'every school is a school of choice' (Glenn, 1993). That is, every school should have something distinctive to offer which

attracts custom. Different kinds of educational provision then develop to meet different kinds of demand, a temporary excess of demand for a particular model leading either to its expanded production or to the devising of attractive alternatives. But if neither of those effects is achieved, then access to the prestigious model becomes a positional good - a matter for competition between potential customers in which choice reverts to the producer, and the customers in these conditions of scarcity are likely to be unequally placed to have their custom accepted. This is so close to the actual English situation that it throws into doubt the government's claim that it was promoting 'specialization' (defined as 'choice by parents'), but was not promoting 'selection' (defined as 'choice by schools'). Any selection which did occur would be 'parent-driven' because the encouragement now being given to schools to 'play to their strengths' would 'gear' educational provision to 'local circumstances and individual needs' (DFE, 1992, p. 9). That optimistic assumption assumes not only that choice generates diversity, but that consumers will accept the alternative forms of educational provision being created as different but equal. No such convenient matching of specialized supply with specialized demand is likely where parents see different kinds of secondary education as offering very different opportunities. In English secondary education, the traditional collection of academic subjects has proved highly resistant to change in its basic structure. It is closely associated with the surviving grammar schools and those comprehensive schools (often former grammar schools) which largely retained their old curriculum. It is also closely associated with a private sector which has had conspicuous success in asserting a causal connection between independence and high standards, greatly helped by an Assisted Places Scheme built on the premiss that 'able children from less well-off homes' had to be rescued from their local comprehensive schools if they were to benefit from 'real' academic education. Independent schools allocated publicly funded places as part of this new scholarship ladder had therefore to demonstrate their quality by the conventional measures - that is, by their pupils' academic per-

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formance, the size of their sixth forms and high entry rates to higher education - and were refused admission to the scheme if they could not (Edwards et al, 1989, pp. 42-6). Protected by their status from being statutorily obliged to teach the subject-based and academic National Curriculum, independent schools could reasonably claim that they did not need to be asked to do what they were doing already in response to their sector of parental demand. A 'successful' secondary school is most readily identified by its position on the annual tables of performance in subject-based public examinations — in effect, by its conformity to the dominant model of academic quality. Clearly, there are other considerations which shape parental choice. Proximity to the home remains the most frequently mentioned factor, with only a small minority of parents choosing against the local school or overriding their child's wish to remain with his or her friends (Adler et al., 1989; Hunter, 1991; Willms and Echols, 1992). There is also evidence that schools have scope to market 'happiness' and a distinctively 'humane' environment (Echols et al,, 1990; Coldron and Boulton, 1991; David et al., 1994). But it appears to be at least very difficult for schools to market successfully an alternative version of academic quality. For example, the government's introduction of city technology colleges was a vigorous market intervention intended to create consumer demand for a new, distinctly modern, technologically-oriented and enterprising version of secondary education. Yet interviews with CTC parents have indicated that those supposed attractions were less influential than a belief that these new schools were selective, albeit using non-traditional criteria of suitability; were better resourced; and were more likely to uphold traditional values and discipline (Whitty et al., 1993; pp. 82-9; Gewirtz et al., 1991). More significantly, because they have been so enthusiastically promoted by ministers as the model for an entire system made responsive to consumer demand, grant-maintained schools have put most of their marketing efforts into emphasizing traditional discipline and ethos, and high success rates in the key academic subjects. Although the government abandoned in 1991 its initial prohibition on

changing the character of a school within five years of changing its status, they are more easily associated as a category with the preservation of traditional patterns of schooling than with innovation (Fitz et al., 1993; Power et al., 1994). In English conditions, competition is therefore more likely to lead schools to play safe by conforming as closely as is feasible to the established model than to seek some specialized market niche by playing to different strengths as the government assumes they will do. And in that undifferentiated competition, schools are very unequally placed to be among the winners. Despite all objections of invalidity and unfairness raised against them, the tables of schools' examination performance continue to present 'raw' results and to take no account of pupils' prior attainment or social background. The 'better' schools are therefore highly likely to be schools advantaged by their intakes. Knowing this, and also appreciating powerful 'composition effects' of intake characteristics on teachers' expectations and pupils' academic aspirations and achievements, overchosen schools are more likely to use their strong market position to become selective than they are to expand to meet rising demand. In this competitive market, 'able' students are worth more because they stay longer and enhance the examination results; conversely, and in the absence of any compensatory financial incentives to take them, less 'teachable' pupils will cost more to cope with and bring less return. In market terms, schools whose competitive position is strong will logically use it to attract as many as possible of the first category while evading as many as possible of the second. So if schools are very unequally placed to be chosen, so are parents unequally placed to have their choice of a 'good' school accepted. As defined formally in the government's 'updated parent's charter' (DFE, 1994), a parent has 'a right to a place in the school you want, unless it is full to capacity with pupils who have a stronger claim.' That protects consumers to the extent that it denies a school which is not full the right to refuse an apparently unpromising entrant, but it does nothing to clarify prospects of getting into a school which has many more claimants than it has places. For all his distrust of producer interests

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and his commitment to consumer choice, Stuart Sexton recognizes that an oversubscribed school will naturally give preference to applicants 'who demonstrate a greater ability and aptitude to learn what it teaches'. His advice to less popular schools is, in effect, that they should seek to become selective in relation to different aptitudes and abilities - a marketing strategy which I have argued has not yet been effective (Sexton, 1992, p. 15). Although he would presumably deplore the financial inducements which the government has offered schools to specialize in mathematics, science, technology or modern languages as being an unacceptable interference in the working of market forces, they are consistent with its encouragement of comprehensive schools to select up to 10 per cent of their entry by applicants' special aptitude for or interest in one of those curriculum areas, or else in music, drama or sport. Indications so far are of schools seeking to be partly selective on the grounds of 'general' rather than of 'special' ability, though there are also some indications of special interests being used as surrogate measures in a process of social selection. Grant-maintained schools, which have more control over admissions than other publicly funded schools, have denied any intention of becoming overtly or even covertly selective. And yet a third of the first hundred such schools were using primary school reports and/or pupil and parent interviews to achieve some kind of sifting of applicants. The conclusion of the study from which that statistic is taken is that the creation of this new category of self-governing schools is facilitating a two-tier system of chosen and unchosen schools (Bush et al., 1993). Educational resources have always been unevenly distributed between schools and types of school. What is new in the present situation is that those differences are being deliberately increased on the grounds that they are deserved - that the verdicts of the market must be respected, popular schools should be rewarded for their quality by being encouraged to grow and unpopular schools left unprotected against the prospect of going out of business unless they improve. The power of Local Education Authorities to intervene in support of apparently 'failing' schools has therefore been deliberately reduced. This is partly a con-

sequence of the larger claim that even egalitarian objectives are better served by markets than by well-intentioned but ineffective interventions of central or local government. Indeed, it is argued that low-income families benefit most because it is their schools which have tended to be poor and which have been bureaucratically protected against the consequences of failure, and because they themselves are least able to take their custom elsewhere. Government policy has therefore been driven by an assumption that unpopular schools are most likely to 'improve' by experiencing a loss of resources directly proportional to their loss of customers, and by a commitment to providing limited escape routes for a 'deserving' minority through assisted places at independent schools or the 'new choice' offered in urban areas by city technology colleges. In that process, many other parents become disadvantaged as their local school becomes progressively less capable of providing that 'broad and balanced' education which the 1988 Reform Act seemed to promise to all. In the quasi-market which is now being created, far too much is determined by the self-interest of some consumers and by the competitive advantages of some schools. I have argued that greater inequality is the predictable outcome. That is a political objection to the 'free' exercise consumer rights unregulated by any clear sense of social justice, and is prompted by the conviction that markets work best for those who already have most. In arguing that schooling should be 'taken out of polities' and left to the interplay of supply and demand, market advocates are actually seeking to replace one kind of politics, based on a strong sense of public interest and a consequent willingness to intervene, with another based essentially on the survival of the fittest. They also tend to show a marked preference for consumer 'votes' cast in the anonymity of the market over individual and especially collective expressions of satisfaction or dissatisfaction with what has been chosen. It is characteristic of much of the polemical literature in favour of school choice that while right of 'entry' to a preferred school is extolled, little attention is then paid to the consumer 'voice' in the work of that school once the choice is

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made. Even the 'self-governing' grant-maintained schools which have been voted out of what is now misleadingly called LEA 'control' by parental ballot, and which might therefore appear as an embodiment of parents' exercise of a collective 'voice', do not appear from evidence so far to be any more responsive to parental influence over their organization, curriculum, or methods of teaching (Bush et al., 1993). I have argued that the dilemma raised by market provision, except for its most extreme advocates, is how to secure a practicable and fair balance between private and public interests. In this country, as elsewhere, systematic attempts have been made to transform schools by transforming parents, portrayed as having previously been the deferential recipients of services provided from above, into customers who know what they want, know their rights, set the terms of trade and hold producers to account. The mechanisms through which this transformation is being achieved individualizes parents' relationship with schools and is intended to do so. It is also intended that the shape of the education system as a whole should be largely determined by the outcomes of consumer choice. This policy has advantages for government. The market 'produces its own order', and if things go wrong, then 'misguided consumers or tardy producers' are to blame and responsibility lies with them (Ball et al., 1994, p. 13). Democratic accountability is superseded by accountability to particular consumers enforced by the threat of a withdrawal of custom. The effects of government policies are thereby taken beyond the scope of public debate because, consumers having been properly freed, those effects are no longer in that sense a public matter. My argument throughout this chapter has been that the dilemmas posed by consumer choice are not resolved by tilting so sharply the balance between the public and the private. As the then recently retired Senior Chief Inspector of Schools argued just before the 1992 White Paper was published, a 'public and equitable' education service must be shaped by something more than 'the aggregation of the random, self-interested choices made by individuals in thousands of particular schools' (Bolton, 1993, p.

8). It is that 'something else', in relation to the curriculum or to some rational and fair planning of school places or to the support of schools not (yet) fully viable or of children and parents disadvantaged in any competition for places, which is the dilemma and the challenge of consumer rights.

References Adler, M. (1993) An Alternative Approach to Parental Choice. London: National Commission on Education, Briefing Paper 13. Adler, M., Fetch, J. and Tweedie, A. (1989) Parental Choice and Educational Policy. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Ball, S. (1993) Education, Majorism, and the 'curriculum of the dead'. Curriculum Studies, 1(1), 195-214. Ball, S., Bowe, R. and Gewirtz, S. (1994) Market forces and parental choice: self-interest and competitive advantage in education. In S. Tomlinson (ed.), Educational Reform and its Consequences. London: Institute of Public Policy Research/Rivers Oram Press. Bolton, E. (1993) Imaginary gardens with real toads. In C. Chitty and B. Simon (eds), Education Answers Back: Critical Responses to Government Policy. London: Lawrence and Wishart. Bush, T., Coleman, M. and Glover, D. (1993) Managing Autonomous Schools. London: Paul Chapman Publishers. Centre for Policy Studies (1988) The Correct Core. London: Centre for Policy Studies. Coldron, J. and Boulton, P. (1991) Happiness as a criterion of parents' choice of school. Journal of Education Policy, 6(2), 169-78. David, M., West, A. and Ribbens, J. (1994) Mother's Intuition? Choosing Secondary Schools. Lewes: Falmer Press. DFE (1992) Choice and Diversity: A New Framework for Schools. London: HMSO. DFE (1994) Our Children's Education: The Updated Parent's Charter. London: HMSO. Downes, D. (1994) Managing the market. In D. Bridges and T. McLoughlin (eds), Education and the Marketplace. London: Falmer Press. Echols, F., MacPherson, A. and Willms, D. (1990) Parental choice in Scotland. Journal of Education Policy, 5(3), 207-22. Edwards, T., Fitz, J. and Whitty, G. (1989) The State and Private Education: An Evaluation of the Assisted Places Scheme. Lewes: Falmer Press.

134 Tony Edwards Fitz, J., Halpin, D. and Power, S. (1993) GrantMaintained Schools: Education in the Marketplace. London: Kogan Page. Flew, A. (1991) Educational services: independent competition or maintained monopoly? In D. Green (ed.), Empowering the Parents: How to Break the Schools' Monopoly. London: Institute of Economic Affairs. Gewirtz, S., Walford, G. and Miller, H. (1991) Parents' individualist and collectivist strategies. International Studies in Sociology of Education, 1,173-92. Glenn, C. (1993) Schools of choice and the revival of urban community. International workshop on School Autonomy and Choice, University of Tel-Aviv, 14-17 June. Hargreaves, D. (1994) The Mosaic of Learning: Schools and Teachers for the Next Century. London: DEMOS. Hunter, J. (1991) Which school? A study of parents' choice of secondary school. Educational Research, 33(1), 31-9. Jonathan, R. (1993) Parental rights in schooling. In P. Munn (ed.), Parents and Schools: Customers, Managers or Partners? London: Routledge. Maddaus, J. (1990) Parental choice of school: what parents think and do. In C. Cazden (ed.), Review of Research in Education. Washington, DC: American Educational Research Association.

National Commission on Education (1993) Learning to Succeed. London: Heinemann and the Paul Hamlyn Foundation. OECD (1994) School: A Matter of Choice. Paris: OECD. Plant, R. (1990) Citizenship and rights. In Citizenship and Rights in Thatcher's Britain: Two Views. London: Institute of Economic Affairs. Power, S., Halpin, D. and Fitz, J. (1994) Underpinning choice and diversity: the grant-maintained schools policy in context. In S. Tomlinson (ed.), Educational Reform and its Consequences. London: Institute of Public Policy Research/Rivers Oram Press. Sexton, S. (1987) Our Schools - A Radical Policy. Warlingham: Institute of Economic Affairs, Education Unit. Sexton, S. (1988) A Guide to the Reform Bill. Warlingham: Institute of Economic Affairs, Education Unit. Sexton, S. (1992) Our Schools - Future Policy. Warlingham: Independent Primary and Secondary Education Trust. Whitty, G., Edwards, T. and Gewirtz, S. (1993) Specialization and Choice in Urban Education: The City Technology College Experiment. London: Routledge. Willms, D. and Echols, F. (1992) Alert and inert clients: the Scottish experience of parental choice of schools. Economics of Education Review, 11(4), 339-50.

13

Her Majesty's Inspectorate in the 1980s and 1990s: An Exemplary Tale

JOHNTOMLINSON HM Inspectorate represented two concepts anathema to the New Right politicians of the 1980s and 1990s, namely independent professional judgement and disinterested policy advice based on evidence rather than ideology or conviction. The surprise must be that it has survived at all, however changed and attenuated. But it was a closerun thing. By the time decisive action was taken in the 1992 Education Acts, the Inspectorate had suffered 15 years of uncertainty, punctuated by 'reviews', followed by 'scrutinies' and more reviews yet interspersed, especially in Sir Keith Joseph's time, with moments of greater prominence and power. This chapter follows that story, analyses some key issues and episodes in the relationship between HMI and government since 1979 and argues that what is revealed is emblematic of the experience of the whole education service in these years. Like so many other organs of the former distributed system, HMI have been made subservient to and the instruments of government policy. Yet the patina of their independence was so lustrous and hallowed that the final reform claimed it was burnishing rather than tarnishing it. To the extent that HMI may be able to prove the truth of that, a different generation of government, administrators and teachers may yet again find independent-minded policy advice available to them. If that were to happen it would re-enact the experience following the second half of the nineteenth century. Then, 'payment by results' had made HMI the instruments of government and the enemy of teachers. What must also be remembered, however, is that after the introduction of

payment by results in 1862, some HMIs expressed their dislike of it immediately and all did so by 1869 (Thomas, 1986, p.69). Even so, the system lasted, though in attenuated form, until 1898. HMI in the late twentieth century may need to take the point that independence of thought needs to be exercised to be kept in good shape, and that its effects may have a long leadtime. During the post-war period, 1944-70, government and LEAs were chiefly concerned with expanding provision of places and teachers. Curriculum and school management were left to the professionals; 'neither the Minister of Education nor the DES intervened in matters of the curriculum or method. What went on in schools and institutions was a matter for HMI' (Open University, 1982, p. 12). HMI had the HMI Handbook and its inspection supplement as a guide and new entrants were inducted through mentoring by senior colleagues. The Divisional Inspectors were responsible for the field forces and Staff Inspectors provided subject or phase expertise. A dominant culture developed in which HMI, while inspecting and reporting on schools and colleges, were also seen as conveyors of ideas on good practice, the providers of some of the best in-service training and as advisers to teachers, especially heads. It was also a culture of quality and exclusivity; and, as was intended, was felt almost as tangibly by those outside as those inside. Within this framework, however, HMI were largely self-motivating. Hence the belief that this post-war period was the heyday of the Inspectorate and Thomas suggests that the Select Committee on Education and Sci-

136 John Tomlinson

ence report of 1968 could be seen as 'the most forward point of the swing of the pendulum' (Thomas, 1986, p. 70). In the papers to the Select Committee there was even a proposal that inspections could be abandoned, other than in exceptional circumstances, and that HMI would best serve as friends and advisers to teachers. As Thomas remarks, 'it was not always clear on what evidence their advice should be based' (Thomas, 1986, p. 70). The sense of independence was strong within the Inspectorate. When HMI were asked by the Plowden Committee in the mid1960s to grade primary schools on the basis of inspections over recent years, the notion was regarded with distaste by some HMI and notes of visits were close to being regarded as confidential to the inspector concerned. None the less, the Plowden survey published in 1967 was a harbinger of future practice because it was 'a first serious attempt to identify weakness and strength and their proportions' (Thomas, 1986, p. 71). The so-called highwater mark of 'progressivism' was also the starting-point of nation-wide comparative assessment of schools - and primary schools at that. The truth and the irony have usually been ignored by one-sided commentaries. In the 1970s, especially under the leadership of Sheila Browne as Senior Chief Inspector (SCI) after 1974, HMI read accurately the harsher economic and political climate, and moved into a mode of working which permitted the collection and analysis of data in a more scientific way so that it could be used both to inform the education service about itself, in published documents, and as a basis for policy advice to ministers. It was largely upon HMI advice that the Assessment of Performance Unit was set up in 1974 and at the same time there were set in hand the thoroughgoing surveys of primary and secondary education which were issued in reports in 1978 and 1979 (DES, 1978, DES, 1979). A key moment occurred in early 1976 when 10 Downing Street asked the DES to report to the Prime Minister on issues of quality and standards. HMI realized that it was an opportunity to assert their role in providing accurate information from the field of the kind needed for nationwide assessment and planning. 'The Yellow Book' (Secretary

of State, 1976) declared that 'HM Inspectorate is without doubt the most powerful single agency to influence what goes on in schools, both in kind and standard ... It is the oldest instrument for monitoring the education system and, from this primary function, it derives a second major role, that of improving the performance of the system' (para. 37). It went on to assert that HMI had anticipated 'most of the matters of concern to the Prime Minister, ie reading and language development in the primary school, curricula for older children in secondary schools and the 16-19 problem in its various forms ... mathematics in the primary school was the subject of continuous concentrated action ... Despite initial reluctance on the part of much of the education system, an increasing number of courses on assessment and evaluation have been put on . . . ' (paras 40-1). Here is the tone of voice of a body bidding for more power. In that they were allied to the DES officials: 'Nor need there be any inhibition [about a firm statement from the Prime Minister] for fear that the Department could not make use of enhanced opportunity to exercise influence over curriculum and teaching methods: the Inspectorate would have a leading role to play ... and is ready to fulfil that responsibility' (para. 58q). The much vaunted separation of HMI and Department was, in the heady yet anxious moment, forgotten. Also at this time, in the mid-1970s, a less visible but very influential series of surveys was begun. HMI reported to the joint LEA/DES/Treasury Expenditure Steering Group (Education), ESG(E), on 'the effects of LEA expenditure policies for education on the quality of provision'. Later, 'and the quality of response from schools and colleges in England' was added to the title. The reports were a proxy for the effects of government decisions each year on the level of Rate Support Grant. But because that was a block grant, and LEAs could therefore individually choose their priorities, the fiction had to be maintained that it was LEA decisions that were under scrutiny. It suited both government and LEAs and is a striking example of how the balance of power was accepted and used in the days of partnership and condominium between central and local government. At first these reports were confidential, which also re-

The HMI in the 1980s and 1990s 137

fleeted the spirit of the times. But as expenditure policies became more and more restrictive and thus as LEAs felt increasingly like scapegoats for decisions made in Whitehall, so they pressed for their publication. This was eventually agreed, and the first published report appeared for the financial year 1980/81. The series continued annually, usually published in the spring of each year, until in July 1987 the Secretary of State announced that they would be 'superseded by an annual report from the Senior Chief Inspector. Unlike its predecessor, which was based on one term's inspection only, the new report would comment on the state of the education service in England on the basis of the findings of a full year's inspection by HMI' (DES, 1989, Annual Report for 198 7-88, 'Introduction'). The series has continued since that time, and the latest example is Standards and Quality in Education 1992-93, the first annual report made by Professor Stewart Sutherland as HMCI (OFSTED, 1993a). The decade from 1980 included other examples of the influence and visibility of HMI growing and being encouraged by government. Sir Keith Joseph as Secretary of State decided that HMI reports should be published and the first appeared in early 1983. Despite perturbations beforehand in many parts of the service, including HM Inspectorate itself, nothing exceptional resulted. The reports became a little more guarded, as had been predicted, but their prose style had always required a good deal of insight in the reader. Parents did not rush to extirpate teachers who seemed connected with weaknesses in schools; and though the press often reported selectively, no cause cSlebre erupted to compare with, say, the Tyndale schools affair in the mid-1970s. In the same period HMI began to inspect and report on the work of a whole LEA. This precedent was discussed in advance with representatives of Chief Education Officers and there was broad support for a process which would reveal the intricacies, diverse responsibilities and conflict of priorities inherent in the duties of LEAs and their officers. The outcome did indeed justify this view while importantly contributing to greater national coherence and comparability in the approach of LEAs to their tasks. It can be seen as part of the movement to reduce the

degree of 'unacceptable diversity' in the experiences of pupils and students in differing parts of England and Wales, which was a feature of the period and supported increasingly by the leading professionals in LEAs and teachers' associations. It was cognate with the first steps towards a national agreement about the curriculum, visible in the work of the Schools Council, government and HMI in the early 1980s and with approaches to the management of contracting school rolls, the distribution of Rate Support Grant and the training of teachers, all of which were on tracks of convergence from the 'Great Debate' of 1976-77 to the end of Sir Keith Joseph's period of office in 1985. In sum, the period from the early 1970s to the mid-1980s can be characterized as one in which HMI became more assertive and critical, partly as a result of their own internal interpretations of the needs of the service and of government, partly at the encouragement of DES and ministers. Their method was to collect and analyse, often for the first time, data which were the result of inspections and surveys but patient of interpretation on a national scale. The results were often uncomfortable and raised insistent questions for both policymakers and practitioners, yet held HMI themselves apart. As Sheila Browne memorably observed in an address to the Council of Local Educational Authorities (CLEA) in 1977, which she subtitled 'The Secret Garden as seen by the Secret Service', 'by right and by obligation, HMI does walk in the garden of the curriculum and passes comment upon it: but, contrary to the assertions of some critics - critics that is, of either the garden of the curriculum or of HMI — he does not personally plan it or plant it, still less strew it with weeds' (Browne, 1977). It was this mixture of disinterested independence yet positive impact on the system that had been the historic hallmark of HM Inspectorate and contributed critically to its survival following the first major review by the new Conservative government after 1979. This was one of the reviews scrutinies - carried out in most departments of government under the direction of Sir Derek Rayner, attached to the Cabinet Office on secondment from Marks and Spencer. It represented the spirit of bringing the 'real world' of commerce to bear on

138 John Tomlinson

the 'cloistered world' of Whitehall. It was carried through in the DES by Nick Stuart, then an Undersecretary and published in 1982 (DES, 1982). The review commissioned a good deal of new enquiry and also had to hand the detailed work of the Management Review of DES which had looked at the Inspectorate in England in 1978 and had been published in March 1979. The review published in 1982 is the most objective yet discerning study of HM Inspectorate made in recent years. It convinced government that HMI were industrious, independent and valuable. It secured their survival in the traditional form for a decade and thus provided the basis for the extension and consolidation of their work and influence in the 1980s which is one theme of this chapter. And this was achieved principally by resisting the trends proposed in the Select Committee Report of 1968 and reinforcing instead those inherent in the leadership of HMI in the late 1970s and early 1980s. It also strengthened still further the ties between HMI and DES officials in policy analysis and formation. As we have seen already, a notable example of this was the Yellow Book of 1976, the DES reply to Downing Street's expressed concerns about the effectiveness of the education service, which became the basis for the Ruskin Speech of Prime Minister Callaghan in October 1976. It is worth quoting at some length the Secretary of State's statement to Parliament following the HMI Review of 1982, as a counterpoint to the arguments which will next be considered and which emanated in the late 1980s from right-wing 'think-tank' groups, the government's promotion of the Citizen's Charter and other circumstances. The 1982 DES/Rayner review of HMI ran to 116 published pages. Sir Keith Joseph's published statement contained 27 paragraphs which completely reflected the spirit and the conclusions of the review, and his Parliamentary Answer of 24 March 1983 consisted of seven brief paragraphs which boiled down and punched home the arguments still more succinctly, while placing the role of HMI in the context of the government's policies (DES, 1983a). The opening section of the published statement stands as a record of the extraordinary range of the work of HMI up to 1982. It covered every aspect of

education except for the universities (and included adult education and teacher training in these). The statement also acknowledged that, beyond the scope of the Rayner review, was work undertaken in European schools abroad or in the Channel Islands and the Isle of Man, and in establishments or services which were the responsibility of the Home Office, the Ministry of Defence, the Department of Health and Social Security and the Department of Employment. Having established the range of HMI's work and their 'unfettered right of access to any institution which it may inspect', paragraphs 4 and 5 detail the functions of HMI: 4. Thus the Inspectorate's work derives from the service it gives to the Secretary of State in connection with his statutory responsibilities for the education system. On the basis of inspection throughout the system by Inspectors each working across the whole country the Inspectorate: (a) assesses standards and trends and advises the Secretary of State on the performance of the system nationally; (b) identifies and makes known more widely good practice and promising developments and draws attention to weaknesses requiring attention; (c) provides advice and assistance to those with responsibilities for or in the institutions in the system through its day-to-day contacts, its contributions to training and its publications. The informed and independent evidence and judgments arising from these activities form a basis for the policies and decisions of the Secretary of State, LEAs, teachers, governors and teacher trainers. The Inspectorate pays special attention to the teacher training system since the Secretary of State has a statutory responsibility for the supply of an adequate teaching force. 5. Less directly, but increasingly, the public availability of HMI reports enables parents and others in society at large to become better informed about the education system and its institutions and provides an independent body of information and judgment upon which they too can draw when faced with the need for action and decision about educational issues, whether these relate to national, local or family questions.

The statement then faced the crucial issue of the independence of HMI and what that actually meant in practice. The formulation at the end of paragraph 7 was as recommended in the Review

The HMI in the 1980s and 1990s 139

Report and represented the hard-fought concordat struck between HMI and DES officials: 7. The Management Review of the Department of Education and Science, published in 1979, noted the importance attached throughout the education system to the independence of the Inspectorate; and the extent to which its effectiveness was bound up with this. The Scrutiny recommended that the Inspectorate's professional independence of judgment was essential and must be preserved and protected. The Secretaries of State endorse this recommendation and the present arrangements for securing the independence of the Inspectorate. The Senior Chief Inspector and the Chief Inspector for Wales will continue to have the right to direct access to their respective Secretaries of State. While the decision to publish what HM Inspectors write rests with the Secretaries of State, any of their work which the Secretaries of State decide should be published is published as the Inspectorate wrote it.

The statement continued by admitting that the actual number of HMI in post was much fewer than the approved establishment of 430. During the period of the two reviews since 1978 and the policy of continuing retrenchment, HMI had not been replaced as they moved on or retired and the feeling was abroad that they were being slimmed down for slaughter. The statement reversed this process: 'the present complement of 430 should be sustained. Numbers in post will be brought up to complement as a matter of urgency' (para. 8). The importance of inspection in providing a national view of the system was emphasized, underlining again the recent policy of the Inspectorate (para. 9). How might this be done, given the numbers of HMI and institutions (32,000 schools, 580 further and higher education establishments as well as thousands of adult education courses)? The building up of the Inspectorate's audit function in recent years has led to a scale of inspection visits which, with the present complement, enables onefifth of maintained primary schools, four-fifths of maintained secondary schools and one-fifth of independent schools to be visited in the course of a year; and the great majority of FHE institutions and all initial teacher training establishments to be visited each year. (para. 10)

In other words, primary schools could be visited on a five-year cycle, as could independent secondary schools; and maintained secondary schools

approximately every 18 months. Further and higher education institutions could be visited annually. Formal reports had been issued in 1981 on some 200 schools and This level of productivity is planned to continue.' A distinction was thus drawn between visiting (relatively frequent) and formal reporting to the Secretary of State. These figures need to be borne in mind when, later in this chapter, we consider some of the stated reasons for radically changing and 'privatizing' the service of inspection in the 1992 Education Act, so as to achieve a four-yearly cycle of inspections for both primary and secondary schools. The statement ended by noting the recent development of reports on 'all aspects of education' in an LEA and said that the choice of LEAs in future would be based on the same criteria as in the case of inspection leading to formal reports on institutions, that is to say 'on a basis of perceived need or exemplification' (para. 12). Never have the reasons for selecting the locus of an inspection been more pointedly expressed. The statement of 1983 ends with a flourish: The policy set out in this statement preserves the essential attributes of the Inspectorate which have stood the test of time but strengthens and sharpens its capacity to serve the cause of quality in the education system' (para. 27). That reads ironically now, for within a decade the Inspectorate had been splintered and reduced to a rump concerned only with schools and teacher training, while inspections themselves were to be almost entirely carried out not by HMI themselves but by independent contractors under the surveillance of HMI. The Conservative victory at the general election of 1987, the third successive occasion on which a 'New Right' government was put into power, ushered in a triumphalist phase in which much more radical policies towards education were pursued. During the next five years a national curriculum was introduced, school governors were given extensive new powers, new forms of school government directly funded by central government were introduced and encouraged, further education was removed from LEA control and funded centrally and the binary line in higher education removed. In all of this the LEA was much dimin-

140 John Tomlinson

ished in function and status and the idea of competition and a market in education given salience as the best animator of quality and costeffectiveness, superior by far to central or local planning. An underlying attitude which had been present in Conservative thinking throughout the 1980s took on new forms towards the end of the period. This attitude was that the ills of education were mainly the result of'progressive' ideas which were deeply rooted in teachers and in particular in the leadership of the education service, the socalled (but rarely defined) 'education establishment'. This distrust of those working in the service was cognate with another deeply held New Right belief in the malign effects of professionals and the idea of professionalism which, it was asserted, merely served to work in restraint of trade and frustrate the real wishes and needs of the consumer and the market at large. From time to time HMI were identified with both this malign professionalism (were they not the archprofessionals, the corps d'^litel] and the promotion of progressive, child-centred ideas of education. An assessment of the truth of these suspicions, so far as it could ever be evaluated, would form a fascinating subject for another essay. What can be discerned is the skilful and pragmatic way in which HMI managed to move just a little ahead of the times, as has already been suggested. The difference in the titles of two key documents which lie only a decade apart illustrates the point. The Plowden Report, 1967, was called Children and their Primary Schools. The HMI survey of 1978, which I have suggested was the first published evidence of the more stringent, nationwide and analytical approach, was called Primary Education in England. HMI were enormously influential in the Plowden Committee; and the 1978 survey was entirely their responsibility. The vocabulary changes from 'children', 'their' and 'schools' to the more technical and impersonal 'primary education'. Any deeper consideration of the accusation that HMI were a salient part of the 'progressive establishment' would have to take account of a range of other evidence, for example, the analysis made by Campbell that, in the period 1977-86 at least, 'the policy gap at primary level has been plugged... by

the intervention of HMF. Notwithstanding the convention, reiterated in the Rayner/DES Report of 1982, that HMI constitutionally speaking does not make policy, but only provides information and recommendations, Campbell shows that the three dominant strands of primary policy, namely 'subject specialisation', 'differentiation' and 'breadth' were all 'floated' in the primary survey of 1978, and 'bobbed about' in subsequent DES documents in the early 1980s and were given political legitimacy in Keith Joseph's speech to the North of England Conference (1984) and the White Paper Better Schools (1985) (Campbell, 1986). These three themes are hardly the stuff of the sloppy progressivism of right-wing demonology. They remained salient during the period of radical reform after 1988 and still are. Thus both Campbell and I, on the basis of bodies of different but overlapping evidence, see HMI in the period of the 1970s and 1980s as having a clear agenda - promoting critical though constructive approaches to the education system in all its parts, derived from carefully devised surveys and scrupulous use of both quantitative and qualitative data. None the less, as recently as 1993, Sheila Lawlor, in a paper published by the Centre for Policy Studies entitled Inspecting the School Inspectors: New Plans Old Ills, wrote: In fact, though more moderate than many educational theorists, HMI had by the 1990s become the central - and powerful - protagonist of progressive doctrines ... Instead of gathering objective evidence about schools and reporting on their failings, the inspectors tended towards more impressionistic comments, shaped by the particular theories they happened to hold and designed to induce doctrinal conformity. (Lawlor, 1993, my emphasis)

That was written after the Education Act of 1992 which radically altered the size and role of the Inspectorate, in a pamphlet mainly directed towards reducing still further the perceived influence of OFSTED (that is HMI) in the new arrangements for inspecting schools. It may also therefore plausibly be regarded as indicating some of the attitudes which underlay the reforms of 1992. Those reforms had been trailed with significant accuracy in another CPS pamphlet, published in

The HMI in the 1980s and 1990s 141

1991, Inspecting Schools: Breaking the Monopoly (Burchill, 1991). This paper suggests that no single inspectorate, either LEA or HMI, should have a monopoly of inspection over any given school... An alternative is to have a series of competing inspectorates, operating as consultants, licensed and empowered to inspect schools according to clear criteria... This paper suggests that regulations requiring schools to submit to inspection, and criteria for inspecting schools could be issued centrally, possibly by a reformed and streamlined national inspectorate, a successor to HMI. (Burchill, 1991, p.6)

Substantially, that is what did happen. In 1991 the Secretary of State announced a review of HMI. It has been calculated that it was the twelfth in 15 years. The ostensible reason was the hoped-for increase in the number of grantmaintained schools. Such schools could not be inspected by LEA inspectors and there were too few HMI to service a large GM sector, should one arise. One solution would be to increase the number of HMI. Burchill argued, 'Expansion, however, is not an attractive solution, if only on the grounds of doubts about the independence and objectivity of HMI; there is not much confidence in their reports as a basis for improving schools. So [sic] the dangers are obvious in strengthening one central, all-powerful body enjoying a monopoly on national monitoring' (Burchill, 1991, p. 7). The Education Acts of 1992 removed further education from the purview of HMI. The Further Education Funding Council would be required to set up its own Inspectorate. HMI were reduced in complement from 430 to some 245 and local offices reduced from 37 to 14. HMI's chief function now with regard to schools is to train registered inspectors in the use of a schedule for inspection devised by OFSTED. The RIs then lead independent 'privatized' teams to inspect schools on the basis of contracts scrutinized and let by OFSTED. HMI may still in exceptional circumstances inspect some schools, and do inspect all courses of initial teacher training. A striking but little mentioned aspect of the new arrangements is the removal of HMI as providers of in-service training for teachers, advisers, administrators and teacher-trainers. In the post-war

period 1945-90, courses run by HMI had come to be regarded by the education service as a valuable resource because they could focus the findings and thinking derived from inspections and surveys of many kinds and from differing contexts. The Annual Report by SCI for 1988-89, for example reported that, HMI planned and conducted; 74 short INSET courses attended by about 4990 people 66 invitation conferences attended by about 4480 people 12 hospitality conferences attended by about 300 people.

This rich strand of development in the education system was ended unceremoniously. In December 1992 OFSTED issued an announcement which was undated and not signed. It simply stated that HMI would no longer run short courses for teachers. Contemplating the range of work and role of HMI in 1994, it is difficult to avoid the conclusion that the country has given up a capacity to look at the whole education system, from nursery education to adult and higher education, and substituted a fragmented set of arrangements no longer informed by an ethos of disinterestedness or independence or capable of taking thought about the education of every age and stage of the population. HM Chief Inspector spoke in 1994 of a valuable and unprecedented database that would slowly be accumulated, but it remains unclear how this may be used, and by whom, to improve policy and practice at either the micro- or the macro-level. The new scene must please those who do not see the public provision of education as a whole system to be governed so that the parts beneficially interact. That view, that there is a public good to be pursued by publicly accountable and disinterested servants of the state, has become deeply unfashionable, even repugnant, to those holding formal power over the last two decades. They prefer, as Keith Joseph put it in 1976, The blind, unplanned, unco-ordinated wisdom of the market' which 'is overwhelmingly superior to the wellresearched, rational, systematic, well-meaning, co-operative, science-based, forward-looking, statistically respectable plans of Government'

142 John Tomlinson

(Joseph, 1976). It is all the more remarkable that Sir Keith Joseph agreed to 'save' HMI in 1983; but his successors preferred his earlier doctrine. In 1989 HMI Inspectorate celebrated their 150th anniversary. It was linked with the 150th anniversary of the founding of the Committee of the Privy Council for Education, of which DES deemed itself to be the lineal successor (or 'present incarnation' as John Caines, the Permanent Secretary, put it). DES and HMI jointly arranged a series of celebratory events during 1989, notable among which were three public lectures. John MacGregor, then Secretary of State, wrote in the Foreword to the published collection (DES/HMI, 1990): This publication records the 150 years of service given between 1839 and 1989 by my Department and its predecessors, and by HM Inspectorate of Schools. Their roles in the public provision of education are major and continuing ones. I am confident that they will continue to perform them to the benefit of the education service, and of the country as a whole.

Historians will no doubt recognize the irony and significance of the anniversary's falling during the brief reign of the only non-dogmatic Secretary of State since 1986. In his lecture in that celebration series Sir William Taylor lamented the relative dearth of writing about HMI and the complete absence of an official history, although one had been contemplated in 1948. Taylor noted that in the 1960s 'the emphasis was on influence and consultation, more or less sharply distinguished from direction and control' and dated the change from the post-Rayner (1982) policy statement which spoke of 'assessing standards and trends, identifying and making known good practice, and providing advice and assistance' (Taylor, 1990, p. 73). It will be evident that one of my arguments in this chapter is that the shift in emphasis to 'assessing standards and trends' dates from at least 1974, ten years earlier. The 1982 Scrutiny Report was a confirmation, not a departure. Taylor went on to ask the crucial question, 'Through what channels do HMI affect what happens in schools, colleges, administrative offices and government?' His answers, reinterpreted for

the current situation, throw light on the diminished position of HMI. First, influence was mediated through day-today contact that individual HMI had with teachers, heads, local advisers and education officers. To the extent that HMI now undertake very few inspections or visits, and none at all in further education, this conduit of influence is much narrower and the flow diminished. 'A second mode of influence is through fullscale and modified general inspections ... by teams of HMI.' The same comment applies. 'Third, HMI serve or act as assessors on the boards and committees of many hundreds of educational organisations ... ' This role too is much diminished and, where it remains, the knowledge and insights offered by HMI must be largely second-hand. 'Fourth, HMI contribute directly to the inservice education and training of teachers and lecturers . . . ' It has been shown that this work was abruptly brought to a complete close in 1992. Fifth, Taylor argued, the information gathered by HMI in the course of inspections, surveys and research studies is used to inform the whole service. Again, it has been noted that while much information, of a particular kind, may be gathered over time by OFSTED, how it will be made available, and how useful the formats will be, cannot yet be known. Sixth and last, Taylor attributed the influence of HMI in part to the way some, especially those based in the HQ of the DES, participated in 'the formulation, enactment, implementation and evaluation of public policy in education, working closely with departmental officers and, in the case of the most senior inspectors, with ministers' (Taylor, 1990, p. 74). It is the continuity or otherwise of this mode of influence which it is hardest to assess so soon into the new arrangements. That DFE officials now refer to the separation and independence of OFSTED in meetings about policy with representatives from other sectors of education is indisputable. That HMI still appear at some of those meetings is also the case. Much may come to depend on the disposition of future ministers and HMCIs since liaison and consultation will have to be more con-

The HMI in the 1980s and 1990s 143

sciously planned because of the physical separation of DFE and OFSTED: it is no longer feasible for the Chief Inspector to come into the Secretary of State's office at a moment's notice to join a meeting with DFE officials. Thus, those not from DFE who take part in policy discussions can currently discern a different atmosphere; what will eventually ensue is not yet clear. In his 1969 lecture Sir William Taylor ended by speculating that the next 150 years would bring about unforeseeable political, social and economic changes, but that governments would always need 'interpretations and judgments based on the experience and understanding of independent observers in direct contact with teachers and with institutions' (Taylor, 1990, p. 78). That so perceptive an insider could not in 1989 foresee what would be proposed only two years later and enacted within three years is evidence of the speed and determination of the following Secretary of State and those who were 'advising' him. We shall not know for many years the balance of forces which led to the radical changes of HMI perpetrated in the 1992 Education Acts. There was an element of general election fever. Probably that made ministers keen to press on with new policies. The Citizen's Charter idea had not been well received in the private sector. It was therefore pushed even more vigorously in the public services, notably health, education, social services and transport. The idea of regular, published reports on schools, driven by market forces, to provide information to parents as consumers must have seemed very attractive. In addition, as we have seen, right-wing think-tanks were urging a radical change. In the event the think-tank writers were dismayed by the outcome, and the system of inspections we have put in place may so encourage convergence of judgement, as to stifle risk and innovation — two valuable characteristics of markets as well as of successful education systems. It seems most improbable that OFSTED in its present configuration is stable or will survive. At the start of this chapter I suggested that the experience of HM Inspectorate in the 1980s was emblematic of that of the whole education service. Having traced the story and revealed more about both the key events and the telling detail, I am

inclined to see the changes forced upon HM Inspectorate as a metaphor for those visited upon British society during the Thatcher era. A broadlybased professional cadre, progressive but disinterested and critical in its demeanour, has been replaced by a small, central, non-accountable elite whose chief task is to manipulate a putative market and, potentially at least, to pursue a political agenda.

Author's note This chapter was written in late 1994, before some of the major changes arising out of OFSTED began to be felt.

Referencess Browne, S. (1977) Curriculum: an HMI view. Address to CLEA, July 1977 in Trends, Autumn 1977, pp. 37-43. London: HMSO. Burchill, J. (1991) Inspecting Schools: Breaking the Monopoly. London: Centre for Policy Studies. Campbell, R. J. (1986) HM Inspectorate and aspects of public policy for the primary school curriculum. Paper read to the BERA Conference 1986 and published in D. Reynolds and A. Hargreaves (eds) (1987) Educational Policy and Practice. London: Palmer. DES (1970) HMI Today and Tomorrow. London: DES. DBS (1978) Primary Education in England: A Survey by HM Inspectors of Schools. London: HMSO. DES (1979) Aspects of Secondary Education in England: A Survey by HM Inspectors of Schools. London: HMSO. DES (1981-86) Report by Her Majesty's Inspectors on the Effects of Local Authority Expenditure Policies on the Education Service in England. Reports published each year 1981-86, DES. DES (1982) Study of HM Inspectorate in England and Wales. London: HMSO. DES (1983a) The Work of HM Inspectorate in England and Wales. A policy statement by the Secretary of State for Education and Science and the Secretary of State for Wales. London: DES. DES (1983b) HM Inspectors Today: Standards in Education. London: HMSO. DES (1986) Reporting Inspections: HMI Methods and Procedures - Maintained Schools. London: DES.

144 John Tomlinson DES (1987) Report by Her Majesty's Inspectors on LEA Provision for Education and the Quality of Response in Schools and Colleges in England, 1986. London: DES. DES (1989) Annual Report of HM Senior Chief Inspector 1987-88. London: HMSO. DES/HMI (1990) 1839-1989 Public Education in England 150th Anniversary. London: HMSO. Dunford, J. E. (1980) HM Inspectors of Schools in England and Wales 1860-1870. Museum of the History of Education, University of Leeds. Dunford, J. E. (1992) The modern Inspectorate: a study of HMI in England and Wales 1944-91. Doctoral dissertation, University of Durham. House of Commons Select Committee on Education and Science (1968). HM Inspectorate (England and Wales), 2 vols. London: HMSO. Joseph, Sir Keith (1976) Stranded on theMiddle Ground. London: Centre for Policy Studies. Lawlor, S. (1993) Inspecting the School Inspectors. New Plans Old Ills. London: Centre for Policy Studies. Lawton, D. and Gordon, P. (1987) HMI. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. OFSTED (1993a) Standards and Quality in Education 1992-93. London: HMSO. OFSTED (1993b) The New Teacher in School. London: HMSO.

Open University (1982) Educational Studies: a Third Level Course, Curriculum Evaluation and Assessment in Educational Institutions; Part 3, Inspections, Reading 1. Milton Keynes: Open University Press. Pearce, John (1991) The nitty-gritty. Education, Oct. 1991. Ranson, S. and Tomlinson, J. (1986) The Changing Government of Education. London: Allen & Unwin. Salter, Michael (1991) A matter of judgement. Education, 4 Oct. 1991. Secretary of State for Education and Science (1976) School Education in England. Problems and Initiatives (The Yellow Book). London: DES. Taylor, W. (1990) Continuity and change. HMI 1945-1989. In DES/HMI, 1839-1989 Public Education in England 150th Anniversary. London: HMSO, pp. 59-78. Thomas, N. (1986) The inspectors. In S. Ranson and J. Tomlinson (eds), The Changing Government of Education. London: Allen & Unwin. Tomlinson, John (1993) The Control of Education. London: Cassell. Watson, J. K. P. (1994) School inspectors and supervision. In International Encyclopaedia of Education. Oxford: Pergamon, pp. 5247-51. Williams, R., Reid, I. and Rayner, M. (1991) HMI in the 1980s. Research in Education, No. 45, May 1991, 13-22.

Mike Wallace Responds to John Tomlinson

Why was HMI so emasculated in 1992, and inspection of schools and colleges privatized, after 15 years of government scrutiny of the service? As John Tomlinson states, the inside story is unlikely to enter the public domain for some years. It is nevertheless possible to hazard a guess as to why central government ministers made such a radical policy change and to point to the mounting policy dilemma they created for themselves. There can be little doubt that the policy initiative was ideologically driven. Evidence simply did not exist to guide a more pragmatic decision, since Kenneth Clarke was set to boldly go where no Secretary of State had been before. Moreover, the days of ministers looking before leaping into new education policies through pilot schemes or the commissioning of research had enjoyed their swan-song with the introduction of teacher appraisal in the mid-1980s. The Thatcher years had witnessed a policy thrust to wrest power from local government, giving it with one hand to the school or college level, while taking it away with the other by creating a small, strong state with enhanced regulatory powers. An inspectorate which was both national and independent of government did not square well with the brave new world so strongly advocated by New Right ideologues. The public sector was to be turned into a market-place and its institutions increasingly held accountable to its consumers, while kept within parameters set by central government through such means as the National Curriculum for schools. Was HMI's role in inspection, policy advice and in-service training to be part of the central government regulatory apparatus, in

which case ministers would wish HMI to be 'one of us', in Thatcher's memorable phrase, or out in the market-place, when it need not be a national body anyway? But HMI were not one of us. The Inspectorate constituted an influential interest group with a moderately progressive educational ideology of its own which did not match the nostalgic traditionalism of so many among government ministers, New Right thinkers, and the Conservative Party rank and file. The HMI ideology was evident enough in the implicit criteria for judging the quality of curriculum, teaching and management reflected in inspection reports of individual institutions (which the government, ironically, had required to be made public for the last decade), national surveys and other documents. It was also expressed through the provision of in-service training which carried high prestige within the teaching profession. An educational ideology which conflicted with that of ministers, independence which enabled HMI to resist pressure to toe the Conservative Party line and opportunities to express that ideology through inspection reports, other publications and in-service training, would together have spelled trouble for central government. The solution was to bring a rump of HMI into the central regulatory fold as members of OFSTED while curtailing their independence through a more tightly bounded brief: contributing to a government-approved inspection schedule; training registered inspectors; inspecting schools in exceptional cases; and inspecting initial teacher training courses. Out went most inspection work

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(and all connection with further education), inservice training and the independence of policy advice. Out, too, went the rest of HMI (including the Senior Chief Inspector), some of whom have taken the opportunity to put themselves on the market as leaders and members of inspection teams. What are the consequences of clipping the wings of HMI and creating a market-place for inspection? First, in the old days HMI were often criticized as the 'bland leading the blind'. Criteria for judging the quality of education were never fully defined and critical feedback given in the headteacher's office was sometimes watered down into what one inspector termed 'HMI blandese' in written reports. Now such criteria have been made explicit, and for that we should be thankful. However, government ministers are fast becoming the 'blind leading the blind': they have forfeited the possibility of being informed by the party politically free overview of a national body of independent experts. Second, there is plenty of research evidence to show that inspection alone is a very weak route to the improvement of education - surely the point of the whole exercise. A combination is needed of pressure for improvement that inspection may bring and support for a sustained improvement effort. Yet inspection and support for such a response are being divorced through abolition of inservice training provided by HMI, coupled with the consequences of other central government education policies: the drastic reduction in LEA advisory services resulting from devolution of money to schools under the Local Management of Schools initiative; an unregulated cadre of consultants and trainers who may or may not deliver the in-service goods; and an in-service training budget for each school which government finance restrictions have rendered too small for the scale of support that is likely to be effective in promoting lasting improvement. Third, the market ideology turns out to be a poor template for the public sector where the money to drive the system comes from central government -

especially when it is committed to keeping down public expenditure. What we have now is the worst of both worlds: an impoverished quasimarket. The technology for effective support for school and college improvement exists, but potential consumers among staff in inspected schools cannot afford to purchase much of it. The quasi-market for inspection has unleashed market forces which now inhibit its implementation. There is not enough cash on offer from OFSTED to make inspecting schools an attractive proposition for sufficient inspectors. The anticipated involvement of the large management consultancy firms never materialized because, once the rate of pay was announced, they deemed it commercially unviable. At the time of writing, OFSTED is trying to cope with a severe shortfall in the number of registered inspectors who are actually tendering for contracts to inspect primary schools. Government ministers have been hoist with their own petard: the market cannot operate when demand created by inspection contracts is not accompanied by sufficient cash incentives for inspectors to supply the service, especially where the market enables them to choose not to take part. The accumulated expertise of HMI is rapidly being dissipated and so lost to the education service where ex-inspectors turn to other things. The government is faced with a major policy dilemma: whether to continue along this ideologically driven policy route and run the risk of collapse of the inspection system or failure to impact on the quality of education, or to run the gauntlet of a U-turn by going for pragmatism, as it did with the National Curriculum. Might we see yet another review and a reincarnation of HMI rising, phoenix-like, from the ashes of the marketplace? Could it turn out to be part, to follow John Tomlinson's line of thought, of a larger pendulum swing away from the cult of the market-place and the individual consumer towards a notion of society based on an ideology favouring service and community?

14

Guided by an Unseen Hand: The Mass Media and Education Policy

MIKE WALLACE Introductionn Who controls education? Few, I suspect, would place the mass media centre stage. Yet the pervasive and often strident outpourings of the press, television and radio on education matters convey messages between policy-makers, teachers or others responsible for implementing policies, and the voters to whom these policies must ultimately be rendered acceptable. The media inform public opinion about the policies and concerns of central government politicians and, conversely, inform politicians about public perceptions of existing policies or demands for change. Do media professionals such as journalists and producers act merely as a conduit conveying others' messages, or do they act as a gatekeeper governing which messages are conveyed? Do they, even, represent a distinctive interest group with their own messages which contribute to the form that education policies may take? The purpose of this chapter is to assert that the mass media in Britain are both an integral part of the process of formulating and implementing education policies and a significant contributor to setting the policy agenda, shaping the content of policies and keeping certain educational issues out of the public eye. While the media are implicated in the full range of policy arenas, the focus here is on the role of the media as a hitherto largely unseen hand behind some of the twists and turns of education policy and issues that never see the light of day. The media are not simply the mouthpiece of the state: media professionals act according to values

which do not fully coincide with those of politicians or education professionals. Yet the way in which the media operate is constrained, in turn, by their location within a capitalist economy. Survival for media professionals depends on income from advertising, the purchase of their output or a licence fee allocated by central government. Despite the ability of media professionals to investigate and comment critically on education policymakers and their policies, freedom for the media to manoeuvre is bounded by the often unseen hands of the economy and the state. The following sections will consider how media professionals constitute an interest group competing with others seeking an impact on education policy in a context where no interest group has total control; how media professionals and other interest groups interact within the policy process; and how the discourse of media output supports the struggle between political ideologies and its bias may constitute a conservative influence inhibiting the search for radical alternatives to the present range of education policies. The argument will be illustrated with findings from exploratory research funded by the Leverhulme Trust.

Out of control? The process of formulating and implementing education policies involves groups at central, local and institutional levels within the education system. Members of these groups use such resources as are available to them to realize their

148 Mike Wallace

perceived interests. Major interest groups include politicians, teachers, parents and students in postcompulsory education. Each group may be subdivided where interests differ, as in the case of politicians from opposing parties who promote contradictory policies. The output of the mass media is a key resource which enables interest groups to try to persuade others to accept what they want or to criticize opposing views. Each interest group courts media coverage which both favours its perspective and supports it in knocking the opposition. Media professionals, however, have interests of their own. They must secure an audience, and so hold a varied range of'news values' (Barrat, 1986) governing the selection and interpretation of policy related statements and events. A different mix of these values informs the reporting of news, the production of current affairs programmes and the writing of feature articles. The following examples of the expression of news values are taken from television broadcasts of the BBC Nine O'clock News and ITV News at Ten between December 1993 and October 1994. They included a focus on: •

the central government education agenda most items related to its policies. The opposition parties were represented primarily in terms of their response to government announcements. Only the very occasional launch of opposition policy statements attracted equivalent coverage of the opposition; • problems with government policy - a report generalized from the ballot in a Scottish school rejecting the opportunity to become grant maintained to claim that this policy was a failure throughout Scotland; • personalities - in July 1994 the Secretary of State for Education was dismissed from the Cabinet of central government and a new one appointed. Coverage relating to the new incumbent included a focus on her family background, past employment, experience as a local councillor and aspirations; • incompetence and failure - coverage at this time also highlighted the follies and gaffes of the outgoing Secretary of State, judging that he

had become too much of a liability to be retained in government; • novelty — the first two schools judged by new inspection arrangements to be failing their pupils made the national headlines. Those schools identified subsequently did not; • conflict - reports on these two schools included interviews with parents who disagreed with the inspectors' judgement (but no indication was given of whether any parents agreed with it); • sensationalism - the murder of a schoolgirl by an intruder into a secondary school classroom was given top billing, and a minister was asked if the government was going to adopt a policy of tightening up security. The profile of news values expressed in the presentation of education stories varies with the political values of individual journalists and programme makers, the dominant values underpinning editorial policy and the legal framework within which they operate. In Britain, the laws of press ownership allow for political allegiance, which is mostly to the Conservative Party (Baker, 1994), and also for critique of politicians in government or opposition. Television and radio are required to be politically impartial, widely interpreted as meaning that a balance between opposing views must be provided. Members of interest groups other than the media cannot ensure that their message will actually be conveyed or that they will be presented in a favourable light by the media except through such means as the political broadcasts allocated to parties, press advertisements or articles commissioned by the press. Since media professionals can subscribe to values which are not necessarily aligned with those of education policy-makers or people on the receiving end of their policies, they appear to form a key interest group with considerable power to convey, reinterpret or withhold messages of other groups. There is an oligarchic tendency in the interaction between interest groups, some (such as government politicians, right-wing policy advocates and industrialists) having disproportionate influence while others (like students, researchers and minority ethnic groups) have little impact on

The Mass Media and Education Policy 149

policy. The media help to empower or to marginalize other groups. There is a striking contrast between the amount of media coverage of central government's grant-maintained schools policy and the lack of media attention to changes in 'Section 11' funding and its consequences for the education of minority ethnic groups and the jobs of thousands of support staff employed via this source. Control of education entails a shifting balance of power within the network of interest groups which include the media. No group has absolute control. Rather, groups interact within a 'dialectic of control' (Giddens, 1984), each group having relative autonomy in so far as each is partially autonomous and partly dependent on the others. Politicians depend on teachers to implement policies in state schools; teachers depend on politicians to allocate resources. There is a unique relationship of 'mutual parasitism' between media professionals and other groups, most especially politicians and education professionals, each leaning on the other to pursue its own (often incompatible) ends. Media professionals depend on politicians and education professionals as a source of education stories and a significant part of their audience, yet they also have a 'licence to thrill': they can bite the hand that feeds through critical coverage or exposure of the negative consequences of policies, in order to inform and, ultimately, entertain the wider public audience on whom their survival depends. In line with the news value of sensationalism, there was extensive media coverage of a sex education lesson in a primary school where a nurse was asked questions about oral sex by pupils whose older siblings had put them up to it. Tabloid newspapers claimed that the nurse was teaching oral sex to children who should not know about it at such a tender age, as opposed to merely responding to their questions. It was implied that present sex education policy allowed such practices; the central government response was to make policy amendments. Conversely, the other groups seek to benefit from favourable media exposure which will assist in gaining acceptance of their view (and, equally, attempt to avoid critical media coverage). Repre-

sentatives of the National Union of Teachers made a sustained effort during most of 1994 to make their case via the media for continuing to boycott national tests which central government ministers were trying to persuade teachers to implement. Mutual dependency means that control of education is loose: an interest group may delimit the actions of another group, prescribing the boundaries of possible action, but considerable room for manoeuvre remains within these limits. One group does not have sufficient power simply to direct the actions of others. To the extent that media professionals are empowered to act within the dialectic of control according to their own values, they may be typified as a 'loose cannon', capable of creating education stories that favour or damn any other group and able to ignore issues they do not wish to publicize. The media are not entirely uncontrollable, however, because of their dependence on securing an audience and the potential of politicians to curb their activities by recourse to legislation - the media may operate as a loose cannon, but not as a free agent.

Discourse of derision There is considerable overlap between the ways of thinking and communicating employed by politicians and media professionals, even though they are driven by different imperatives. Political discourse is designed to convince voters and secure compliance of those who have to implement policies. It tends to proceed by simple assertion and generalization, often with little evidential backing, which supports the policies of one party while being antagonistic to those of the opposition. Political points may often be scored more safely by deriding opposing views than by offering positive policies which then become a hostage to fortune as they are prey to opposition attack. Media professionals tend also to communicate through a language and imagery which simplify social reality, since they must attract, entertain and retain a mass audience with limited specialized knowledge of the policy area in question. The interests of politicians and media professionals converge where they both employ a largely

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one-way form of communication based on simple messages, exemplified in the use of short 'soundbites' and slogans which are the diet of television and tabloid newspapers - the media that reach parts of the voting population that the other media don't reach. To an increasing extent, politicians are required to think soundbite if their views are to be relayed by the media. Spin doctors and speech writers concentrate on producing aphorisms that will capture media attention. Early in 1994, the Prime Minister adopted a 'back to basics' theme as the umbrella for a range of policies. Launching new guidelines on pupil discipline, the Secretary of State for Education claimed that they were part of the 'back to basics' thrust. The media therefore influence the form that education policy discourse takes. This discourse of derision may be conceived, following Bailey (1977), as a contest between myths and countermyths. He defined myth as 'an oversimplified representation of a more complex reality'. Myths are the currency for advancing one view in the face of an opposing perspective. Bailey argued that 'politics is the art of bringing unacceptable myths into, and preserving one's own myths from derision'. The more public the debate, suggested Bailey, the simpler and less reconcilable become the myths and counter-myths. There is ample evidence that the larger the projected audience of much media output, the simpler the political messages conveyed. Treatment of educational issues by television news broadcasts and investigative programmes tends to be more superficial than the BBC radio equivalents; television attracts much the larger audience. Similarly, coverage by the high circulation tabloid press tends to be more simplistic and sensational than that of the lower circulation broadsheet newspapers.

The media contribution Recent studies of the education policy process have highlighted the elasticity of linkages between interest groups within and between levels of the education system (Ball, 1990; Boyd, 1988; Fullan,

1991; Wallace, 1991) resulting in considerable 'mutual adaptation' between policy as formulated and its implementation. In a context of multiple education reform, where policies interact and frequent readjustments have to be made, the policy process resembles more a continuous dialectic among interest groups and interacting policies than a linear sequence of policy generation followed by implementation. Bowe and Ball (1992) suggest that policy formulation and implementation interpenetrate, and separate out two elements of the arena in which education policy is generated. Their process model consists of three mutually influential contexts: •

the context of influence, within and around central government, where interest groups such as politicians and their political advisers may debate fundamental purposes and broad policy ideas. Much of this context lies outside the public domain. The media are seen to play a supporting or challenging role within such of the context that is public; • the context of policy text production, where civil servants including inspectors, government quango officials and sometimes education professionals engage in negotiation that often produces official policy texts diverging from their initiators' intent; • the context of practice, at the more local level, where policy texts are reinterpreted as they are adapted to meet the interests of implementers such as teachers. Policies are continually in flux; evaluation of their impact, frequently while they are still being introduced, may stimulate interest groups within the context of influence to modify the original policy or develop something new. National testing arrangements, some of which had not got beyond the pilot stage, underwent drastic modification as a consequence of a boycott by teaching unions beginning in 1993. Research on the media suggests that there is a missing ingredient: the media context (see Figure 14.1). This context may be placed in the middle of the triangle formed by the contexts of influence,

The Mass Media and Education Policy 151

Figure 14.1

Location of the media within the education policy process

text production and practice. It consists of the media process: •

the selection of issues, according to news and other media professional values, from material sought or received from interest groups in the other three contexts; • production of myth and counter-myth whose characteristics vary according to the intended mass audience; • output which may be received by interest groups in the other three contexts and by the wider public. Of course interest groups in these three contexts communicate without the media, whether through circulars from the Department for Education and Employment or publications from quangos sent to schools, through returns from schools to the DFEE

and quangos, or through directives from ministers to quangos and reports from quangos to ministers. However, media professionals monitor such communications (indicated by the dotted lines in the diagram) as a source of stories; and politicians and education professionals take steps to inform the media through such means as the lobby system within the House of Commons for informing journalists, press releases, the open circulation or leaking of documents and events like photo opportunities. Party political broadcasts or advertisements in the press enable politicians to bypass selection of material by media professionals. Not surprisingly, much information received in the three contexts other than the media - especially within the context of practice and among the wider public - is gleaned from media output. The specialist education press reaches school or col-

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lege staffrooms. Many policy shifts are heralded on television and radio before reaching newspapers the following day, and government documents often arrive in schools or colleges long after media interpretations and comment have reached the target audience. Civil servants, other officials and politicians are likely to read quality newspapers and the specialist education press, and to follow the broadcast news. The media are themselves monitored by politicians and many education professionals: the Information Branch at the Department for Education and Employment keeps a constant watch on media output, informing government ministers of reactions to their policy changes and alerting them to issues unearthed by the media to which they may have to respond; the office of a teachers' union employs a press cuttings agency to keep track of education stories. The media are evidently part and parcel of the education policy process, but is their contribution all froth and no substance?

Ideology rules The centrality of the media in the education policy process creates conditions where the selection and 'angle' (or bias) of media output may influence policy intentions, the form taken by official texts and the practices of those who are required to implement policies. On the surface, it appears that the media contribution is mostly froth but also a bit of substance. It is possible to identify instances where media coverage has helped shape the policy agenda (as in the case of the sex education scandal); where interest groups have been marginalized through negative coverage; or where its silence on issues (like the demise of Section 11 funding) contributes to their repression. Yet there is more to media froth than meets the eye: it both creates and constrains the way we perceive the social world and so may influence how we act. The myths and counter-myths of media discourse amount to ideology where they both represent an incomplete view of social reality and support partisan political interests. In relay-

ing others' messages, we would expect media discourse to reflect the clash between politicians' ideologies. Media influence on the content of education policy relates to which ideologies receive an airing and which are repressed, depending on the prevailing mix of news and other media values, their impact on the mass audience and the significance of this impact for government politicians. On specific policy issues the ideological underpinnings of media accounts are often clear, as where prior to the last general election national newspapers aligned with the Conservative Party supported its education policies and attacked those of the opposition. However, the very froth of media discourse may also make a significant subliminal contribution which is consequently more difficult to demonstrate, so here I am being more speculative. The licence to thrill leads to presentation of the world of education as both theatre and comedy. First, the media make a drama out of crisis: emphasis on the central government agenda, conflict and failure portrays an image of education as perennially turbulent. Over time, the consistent reporting of educational problems may support politicians in engendering a sense of 'moral panic' (Cohen, 1972) among voters: the impression that there is something wrong with education, which politicians are here to put right. How far is this topsy-turvy world real? Significantly, a recent opinion poll of parents conducted by MORI (1994) found that 83 per cent of parents with children at state secondary schools were satisfied with the education their children were receiving, as against only 74 per cent when the question was asked in a similar survey conducted in 1987, prior to implementation of the central government's reform agenda. Satisfaction with primary schools was rated even higher at 86 per cent. A positive mark for the reforms? Apparently not: almost half (48 per cent) disagreed that recent changes in the education system had improved the standard of education in this country and only a quarter (24 per cent) agreed that they had improved standards. It seems that parents were increasingly satisfied with their children's schooling, where they had the evidence of their own eyes. Their less positive impression of the

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national picture with regard to impact of the reforms could only have been gained at second hand: through the media. We may conjecture that, for perhaps a majority of parents, their own children's schooling was perceived as an exception to the media-induced rule that reform had not brought improvement in educational standards! Second, the realm of theatre is actually quite narrowly defined. The ideologies over which conflict rages are restricted, ranging from those of the political centre left to the right wing (Jones, 1991) and represent only those interest groups to which the media give a voice. Arguably, the conservative press did a very effective hatchet job on left-wing radicals during the 1980s, branding them as the 'loony left', so inviting readers not to take their ideas seriously. The way media professionals operate is also quite self-regulating: they monitor each other's output assiduously, ensuring that they learn about any story that has been covered by rivals, often deciding to follow their lead. It is plausible that the consensual view of the world which emerges amounts to a conservative media ideology in its own right, assisting in keeping the permanent crisis of education within familiar horizons that do not address enduring social inequalities in which education is implicated. Third, a consensual view is reinforced by the form of most media discourse as a trade in more or less simplistic myth and counter-myth. The lowest common denominator of a mass audience is the stock of existing assumptions which make up 'common sense*. Media output that sticks with the categories of common sense is likely to be understood by the maximum number of people. Radical ideas challenge common sense and employ unfamiliar language, running the risk of being difficult to grasp and so becoming a turn-off for a mass audience seeking entertainment, not challenge. Fourth, since so much media discourse is about derision (especially in the tabloid press and on television) the focus on personalities, incompetence and failure, novelty and sensation fosters an image of the education policy process as farce: it belittles the protagonists and so trivializes the substantive policy issues at stake. A question arises over how far this image engenders cynicism about the integrity of politicians and the ability of

their policies to make a difference, and hence helps to reinforce the status quo. The need for media professionals to avoid their policy-related output being perceived as boring, and so not worth watching, hearing or reading may have the unintended consequence of promoting a media ideology where education is presented as a bit of a joke. Members of the audience are kept happy while attention is deflected from the implications of education policy for their own life chances and those of their children. A conservative media ideology has greater affinity with the appeal to tradition and common sense of the Conservative Party than with the more radical ideas of opposition groups. The media loose cannon may therefore be directed more often at the political left than at the right.

Conclusion: the thesis of relative autonomy Why do media professionals operate as a loose cannon - independent commentators and critics who, nevertheless, may also be subtle promoters of a conservative ideology? They work within one of four social institutions (or patterns of relationships between interest groups) which are intimately connected with the dialectic of control over education: the media, education, the capitalist economy and the state (central government and its agencies, including schools). The relationship between each may be conceived as one of relative autonomy, implying an elastic linkage which allows considerable independence within the limits imposed by mutual dependence (Figure 14.2). Formal education exists in part to supply the compliant and skilled workforce of the future to a capitalist economy. The state is dependent on the economy as the source of income via taxation and borrowing, but a range of policies may be followed within broad limits imposed by the need for financing. Dale (1986) has argued that relative autonomy between the economy and the state enables a variety of interest groups to influence education policy, but a small number have great-

154 Mike Wallace

Figure 14.2 Relative autonomy between institutions affecting education policy

est control over the education policy process. Education policy contributes to creating conditions which are not inimical to capitalism, legitimating capitalism, and in most cases actually assisting in capital accumulation. In recent years central government education policy has become more explicitly linked to the aim of enhancing wealth creation, even extending to enterprise initiatives in primary schools. Coverage by the media contributes both to the formulation of education policy and to the creation of conditions where it will be accepted by education professionals and the general public. We have seen how media output attends closely to central government policy but can also challenge it. Similarly, analysts of the media such as Murdoch and Golding (1977) have argued that, more generally, there is relative autonomy between the media and the state since the government can be criticized. However, we have already noted the limits imposed by the mutual parasitism between media professionals and politicians which leads media professionals to be wary of steering so close to the wind as to invite censure.

The interrelationship between these institutions is evident in the policy area of pre-school education in Britain. Throughout 1994, the media reported how representatives of various interest groups (first the Prime Minister, followed swiftly by members of opposition parties and other groups) were advocating an increase in the provision of pre-school education. A widely articulated reason was to render Britain economically more competitive. The major constraint was reported as its cost. Conservative politicians argued that the state should not take responsibility for (and therefore finance) the whole of any expansion, but should also create favourable conditions for private sector provision. Central government, which initiated much media coverage, appears to have used the media as a means of testing public reaction before committing ministers to a policy which could have expensive consequences for their economic thrust of keeping down state expenditure. In sum, the media contribution to the education policy process is affected by the considerable degree of autonomy media professionals enjoy, giving them licence to thrill by expressing their news

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values, to interpret, to generalize and to decide whether to relay other interest groups' messages. This contribution is, equally, limited by constraints on media freedom imposed by dependence on other interest groups and institutions. Output and its underlying conservative ideology is moulded by editorial policy reflecting the ownership of the press and much of broadcasting by a small number of multinational conglomerates, themselves capitalist enterprises; by the stateimposed legal framework which sets boundaries over what may be said or shown; by the need of media professionals to keep their sources of stories reasonably sweet; and by the necessity of entertaining a mass audience in order to secure income. There is little evidence to support a conspiracy theory of collusion between media professionals, government ministers or businesspeople achieving tight control over the arena of education debate and policy. Neither media professionals nor any other single group control education. Rather, the relationship of relative autonomy between the media, education, the state and the economy appears to constitute an unseen hand which guides the interaction between interest groups which are involved or marginalized, resulting in a media contribution which is critical within limits, but also fundamentally conservative. Is such a contribution desirable in a democracy where one should be entitled to hear the full range of views?

References Bailey, F. G. (1977) Morality and Expediency. Oxford: Blackwell. Baker, M. (1994) Media coverage of education. British Journal of Educational Studies, 32(3), 286-97. Ball, S. (1990) Politics and Policy Making in Education. London: Routledge. Barrat, B. (1986) Media Sociology. London: Tavistock. Bowe, R. and Ball, S. with Gold, A. (1992) Reforming Education and Changing Schools. London: Routledge. Boyd, W. (1988) Policy analysis, educational policy and management: through a glass darkly? In N. Boyan (ed.), Handbook of Research on Educational Administration. New York: Longman. Cohen, S. (1972) Folk Devils and Moral Panics. London: Paladin. Dale, R. (1986) Perspectives on policy making. Part 2 of Module 1 of Open University course E333. Policy Making in Education. Milton Keynes: Open University Press. Fullan, M. with Stiegelbauer, S. (1991) The New Meaning of Educational Change. London: Cassell. Giddens, A. (1984) The Constitution of Society. Cambridge: Polity Press. lones, B. (1991) The mass media and politics. In B. Jones (ed.), Politics UK. London: Harvester Wheatsheaf/ Philip Allen. Market and Opinion Research International (MORI) (1994) State Education - What Parents Want. Research study conducted for Reader's Digest Magazine, June-July 1994. London: MORI. Murdoch, G. and Golding, P. (1977) Capitalism, communication and class relations. In J. Curran, M. Gurevitch and J. Woollacott (eds), Mass Communication and Society. London: Edward Arnold. Wallace, M. (1991) Contradictory interests in policy implementation: the case of school development plans. Journal of Education Policy, 6(4), 385-99.

John Tomlinson Responds to Mike Wallace

Mike Wallace draws attention to a force in education policy-making that is all too often neglected or ignored by analysts simply because it is a medium - an intermediary - and not, apparently, a prime mover; and yet, he argues, the media do play a direct and detectable role: hence his soubriquet, The Unseen Hand'. As an echo of the unseen hand regulating economic activity so beloved of classical economists, it is a nice conceit for a period in which the dominant political ideology placed so much faith in the automatic benignancy of markets. Wallace's theoretical standpoint is pluralist. His analysis of the role and influence of the media depends upon a theory of the distribution of influence over decision-making among interest groups of more or less power, more or less formal legitimacy. Within this 'dialectic of control' proposed by Giddens, he argues for the 'relative autonomy' of the media among three others - state, economy and education - who have similar autonomy and are in an 'elastic' relationship over time. Within this model, one of the interesting features of the media is that they sometimes behave like 'loose cannons', biting the hand that feeds them or turning upon some policy hitherto reported with approval. However, during the 1980s and early 1990s they were largely quiescent or overtly supportive of conservative values. I find the standpoint and analysis a valuable contribution to the notions of control and policymaking in the education system. The interesting question is whether the media behaved in a qualitatively different way during the period of New Right hegemony after 1979. It would need a

scholar in the field of media studies to attempt an answer. I therefore propose to raise observations and questions to suggest that the media did indeed change their behaviour significantly, which others may pursue. Many in the press, radio and TV accepted the new hailstorm of DES/DFE press releases and ministerial statements uncritically and to that extent they became an extension of the government's propaganda machine. They were also uncritical of the fundamental shift in the selection and presentation of government statistics after the Rayner Review of 1980. The recent head of the Government Statistical Service, William McLennan, has been allowed to set in hand some reversal of policy so that official statistics may begin once again to serve the nation rather than only the government. But, in the intervening period, a report by Professor Bernard Benjamin, which found that the quality of official statistics had declined, was not published and the Royal Statistical Society was moved to set up an inquiry into the loss of confidence in official statistics. The trend changed only when economists and business figures complained that the unreliability of statistics was harming economic performance. There is an instructive comparison to be made between HM Inspectorate and the government statistical office in the context of media attention. HMI managed to retain a good measure of independence until 1992 and continued to publish reports uncomfortable for government - for example the very critical account of the first stages of the implementation of the National Curriculum (HMI, 1992). They stood in a different relationship to government from that of the statistical service. But

A Response to Mike Wallace

their realignment, when it came, was more thoroughgoing. Since the arrival of OFSTED we have seen the suppression of a report on teacher training in France which would have demonstrated the force of policies contrary to those being pursued in England, and a public lecture by the current head of OFSTED which suggests an ideological attachment to government assertions about educational practice rather than a careful building of argument upon the findings of school inspections and from research evidence. The link between government information, HMI and the media is deprofessionalization. One of the objects of derision and attack in the New Right project was the notion of professionalism. Far from being the disinterested and knowledgeable worker in the interests of the client, the professional was characterized as self-seeking individually and collectively self-protecting. Professional groupings were among those who stood between a direct relationship of the state with the individual. So, like that of trades unions and local government, their power must be reduced. To the extent that journalists in any medium merit a claim to professionalism it must rest upon the integrity of their work and that in turn, upon an informed, open and critical mind. The behaviour of the media in promoting as well as reporting uncritically the New Right programme suggests that they can be seen as one of the groups that were deprofessionalized in the period, alongside some public aspects of the work of senior local government officers (gagged by law from any statement that might be political) and those civil servants who offered only comfortable advice. The difference with HM Inspectorate was that it took an Act of Parliament to change the culture of 150 years as it had also in the case of Chief Education Officers, though their traditions were less venerable.

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Is there a policy dilemma? Democratic political theory requires the existence of centres of independent, critical enquiry and the opportunity to speak out without fear of reprisal by the state. 'Freedom of the Press' has been a pillar of Western democracies because it was thought to promote one such constituency. To the extent that many in the media committed a trahison des clercs along with some civil servants and some in other positions of public trust, that confidence has been shaken. So also has confidence in the quality of a privatized and palpably less independent schools inspection service. I would suggest that the policy dilemma is whether the essential independent critical commentary can be re-established best by a 'return to basics' in the expectations of public life - that is, whether OFSTED can grow to be as respected as HMI were, the civil service recover its image, politicians be 'de-sleazed' and the media realize that in making a joke of education (Wallace) they have made pantaloons of themselves; or whether some new kind of institutions are needed as public guardians of the integrity of government because the New Right project of the 1980s was not an episode but a transition and our public life, our civil society, will never be quite the same again. If that is so, inquiries such as Lord Nolan's must propose radical solutions not placebos, and professional cadres and the media must find new ways to achieve public respect and trust.

Reference HMI (1992) The Implementation of the Curriculum Requirements of ERA-an Overview by HM Inspectorate of the Second Year, 1990-91. London: HMSO.

15

Markets or Democracy for Education1

STEWART RANSON Chubb and Moe on markets and democratic control By removing the local education authority from its constitutional role and by abolishing the requirement to establish an education committee, the 1993 Education Act brings into question the role of local democracy in education.2 If the reason for this strategy has been left implicit by our legislators, it is revealed in Chubb and Moe (1989) whose advocacy of markets against direct democratic control has purportly been made prescribed reading by Ministers of Education for their civil servants.3 Chubb and Moe argue that a generation of reforms to American schools failed because the underlying cause — the institutions of direct democratic control - were not identified. Schools fail because the 'game of local democracy' constitutes a perpetual struggle for power that creates winners and losers with the victors imposing their higher order values ('sex education', 'socialization of immigrants', 'the mainstreaming of the handicapped', 'bilingual education', 'what history to teach') on schools by bureaucratizing control. Democracy is coercive, stifling the autonomy of schools and demotivates the teachers. Institutions work when people choose them. The key to better schools lies, thus, in institutional reform creating markets in which consumers influence schools by their choices. Markets promote autonomy by enabling all participants to make decisions for themselves; markets are myopic, offering what people want. Because markets also select and sort, if

schools are to be successful they will need to find a niche - a specialized segment of the market to which they can appeal and attract support targeting particular values and learning - discipline, religion, socio-economic and ethnic make-up of students. Although markets have imperfections, these are preferable to those of local democracy. Thus the institutional conditions for effective schools require the de-democratization of institutional settings and the creation of market settings entailing decentralization, competition, choice, autonomy, clarity of mission, strong leadership, teacher professionalism and team co-operation. This belief that strong markets, together with increased internal professional control, will secure improved schooling finds its expression in this country in the writing of Tooley (1992a, 1992b and 1993).

The machinery of the market: an interpretive analysis The Conservative Government in the UK has over time introduced complex administrative regulations designed to create a highly structured market of educational choice. In this section an interpretive analysis is developed4 which argues that the mechanism of the market is intrinsically flawed as a vehicle for improving educational opportunities: it can only radically contract them. Rules and relationships within education markets develop with inexorable force to erode local de-

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mocracy and to reinforce a segmented social structure. So, while appearing to liberate consumers, the education market in fact entrenches most in a deeper and less accountable structure of control.

An atrophied psychology of possessive individualism The organizing principles of the market make assumptions about the public, about their orientation, capacities and resources. When individuals pursue their own interests, it is claimed, they will benefit society as much as themselves: 'I have never known much good done by those who affected to trade for the public good' (Adam Smith, in Pack, 1991, p. 34). Conceiving the public alone as self-interested consumers or 'possessive individuals' (Macpherson, 1973) presents, however, a degraded and distorted psychology of human nature. Not only does it mistake the diversity of qualities which inform individual motivation (making unintelligible Titmuss' (1971) illustration of blood doning as the paradigm of civic virtue), it also misconstrues the nature of individuality itself. It is to assume that my purposes, my development, must always be at the expense of someone else's. It is to make every interaction and relationship a 'zero-sum' game: my success depends upon your defeat. The point is not that individuals are by nature possessively self-interested, but that the institutions of the market make them so. The institution of the market demands a singular currency of transaction.

The institutionalizing of instrumental rationality The market normally assumes that all goods and services are unchanging products. My purchase of a cassette has no effect on the product although pressure may be placed upon production or deliv-

ery. But in education the market has chameleonlike qualities which can actually change the characteristics of the goods being purchased. My preference for a school, privately expressed, together with the unwitting choices of others can transform the product. A small school grows in scale with inevitable consequences for learning style and administrative process. The distinctive ethos which was the reason for the choice may be altered by the choice. These seemingly unpredictable collective outcomes of private choice can create for any individual the disturbing effect of bringing into question the very rationality of action in the education market place. Rational agency implies that an actor is able to calculate the means necessary to realize defined purposes. The actor is able to formulate intentions ex ante with the reasonable expectation that preferences can, other things being equal, translate into actions. But in markets like education 'things' are not equal. The unintended consequences of multiple and independent transactions leaves any and every actor completely in the dark about what it is rational to believe is being chosen. In principle, therefore, outcomes are chronically unpredictable, literally out of anybody's control. This anarchic quality of markets is one of the characteristics which critics emphasize (Callinicos, 1993). Markets can thus appear to be beyond rational decision and influence. Markets also leave actors having to base their actions on extrinsic considerations, on judgements about the context they are in, or the outcome of others' transactions, rather than considerations that are internal to their own value-informed purposes. The actor is continually constrained to react, to judge ex post what it is best to do. For example, a number of schools have not wished to opt out and seek grant-maintained status, disagreeing with the assumptions on which that policy is based. Yet a moment can arrive when the governors and the headteacher feel constrained to judge, in a context of changing admissions and resources, that if the interests of the institution (to survive) are clarified then a conclusion to opt out is inescapable. Yet this begins to illustrate the underlying rationality of market

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transactions. If exchange drives out values based on purposive action, it nevertheless reinforces instrumental rationality. Action in the market is driven by a single common currency: the pursuit of material interests. The only effective means upon which to base action is the calculation of personal advantage: clout in the market derives from the power of superior resources to subordinate others in competitive exchange. The paradox of this process is that consumer choice empowers the producers. The evidence grows in education, as much as in other competitive markets, that producers select consumers or, more subtly, some producers and consumers search each other out in a progressive segmentation of the market. Schools begin to differentiate themselves to fit specific niches in the educational market - perhaps as an 'academic' school, or a 'technology' school. The institutions begin to market what they believe to be their distinctive image, qualities and achievements. A hierarchy of distinction and public esteem emerges (Tomlinson, 1988). It is likely in an education market, therefore, that the intention of increasing choice results not only in the product being altered but choice itself being reduced or eliminated. This paradox does not emerge by chance but from the principles which emerge to govern interaction in the market. The search by each individual to advance his or her interests in competition with others causes those who win to secure their relative advantage by restricting supply or scope of access to privileged goods and resources. This results in a hierarchy of esteem which reduces the choice and opportunity of many (cf. Echols et al (1990) in Scotland where choice leads to re-elevation of the traditionally privileged schools).

The commodification of education Because education is an institution which society may use to 'screen' or 'filter' individuals into privileged occupations, competition intensifies as individuals aspire to acquire qualifications with the

highest exchange value. Education, like original works of art or a house by the sea, can become a 'positional good' (Hirsch, 1977), by definition in scarce supply. Where the good, like education, is subject to congestion or crowding, it is relative advantage for which each strives, necessarily at the expense of others (Jonathan, 1990). When competition intensifies for positional goods with limited supply their price rises relative to other goods thus choking off any excess demand: 'the price mechanism is the basic regulator containing demand within the limits of inherently restricted supply. Allocation proceeds in effect, through the auction of a restricted set of objects to the highest bidder' (Hirsch, 1977, p. 28). The currency of this commodity market is unmistakably social status: the search on the part of schools and parents to enter into the mutual creation of an exclusive institution. The price paid by consumers for entry into privileged market niches is one manifestation of cultural capital.

Reinforcing a class divided society Species of institutions survive according to their capacity to discover and adapt to their distinctive social environments, most notably social class settings. The educational market becomes the social manifestation of Darwinian natural selection. The cultural capital required to exercise the dispositions of possessive individualism implies ownership of distinctive capacities, resources, power and influence (Ball, 1992a). It is assumed that all parents have the resources available to them to facilitate choice: the time to travel in search of a school and in transporting a child over any distance; the availability of cars, childcare support and, in the last resort, the capacity to move house. Choice imposes costs which are likely to be prohibitive for many families. As emerging evidence indicates, for many families, certainly in rural areas, the promise of choice is regarded cynically as empty rhetoric. To lack resources is to be disenfranchised from the polity of the market.

Markets or Democracy for Education

Thus, whatever commodities are exchanged, it is the unique social functions of the market which are of fundamental importance. The market is formally neutral but substantively interested. Individuals come together in competitive exchange to acquire possession of scarce goods and services. Within the market place all are free and equal, only differentiated by their capacity to calculate their self-interest. Yet, of course, the market masks its social bias. It elides, but reproduces, the inequalities which consumers bring to the market place. Under the guise of neutrality, the institution of the market actively confirms and reinforces the pre-existing social class order of wealth and privilege. The market is a crude mechanism of social selection. It can provide a more effective social engineering than anything we have previously witnessed in the post-war period. Why is it that individuals are trapped into acting within the rules of a game which they did not produce, which they cannot influence, and even though enacting the rules can only disadvantage them? A system of spiralling disadvantage and advantage ensues which contracts the extent and scope of choice and opportunity. What is an anarchy for all but a few individuals necessarily becomes a certainty for just those few: for only those with accumulated 'capital' can succeed. The paradox of a system designed to enhance choice yet producing constraint derives, so it is argued, from the internal contradictions of the education market: its institutional and social limits create a 'prisoners' dilemma' for its participants (Jonathan, 1990; Miliband, 1991).5 Individuals are trapped into diminishing their own welfare because the mechanism prevents them from purposively coordinating their preferences to mutual advantage. Self-interest is self-defeating, and private choice irredeemably diminishes public welfare. Does the institutional mechanism of market competition interact with the purported nature of education as a positional good - to create a social system beyond repair? The institutional and social characteristics of markets are, on the contrary, not fixed and unalterable but chosen to serve social and political purposes. The market is not a neutral mechanism but constituted to alter the relations of power in order to change society.

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The polity, the market and civil society The market is a political creation, designed for political purposes, in this case to redistribute power in order to redirect society away from social democracy and towards a neo-liberal order. The market in education is not the classical market of perfect competition but an administered market carefully regulated with stringent controls. It is an institution constituted by government and underwritten by legislation to define the relative powers and contractual responsibilities of participants. Thus the administered market in education seeks to fetter local elected representatives and professionals, as the bearers of the old order, and emancipate the middle class as the bearers of the new. While some of the intended changes result directly from introducing market procedures within the public domain of education, other purposes emerge indirectly as a consequence of the unfolding interactions of competition. As power shifts and relationships alter the old polity becomes unrecognizable and a distinctively different political order emerges. 'Exit' replaces 'voice' as the mechanism by which a society takes allocative decisions (Hirschmann, 1970). Collective 'choices' arise from the aggregation of emergent private choices. Exit becomes, by implication, a form of political choice. The market, by determining the distribution of winners and losers in exchange, is in effect making policy decisions about the allocation of resources, services and power through uncoordinated, piecemeal decisions of private individuals. Policy is whatever people do, how they behave. If consumers dislike something their views can only be expressed implicitly but unmistakably through exit and an alternative purchase — if such is available or accessible. The market as a result places public policy and collective welfare beyond the reach of public deliberation, choice and action: in other words, democracy. It uses exit to hold voice at bay, substituting the power of resources in exchange for the power of better reasons in public discourse. In principle, a community is denied the possibility of clarifying its needs and priorities through the processes of practical reason, in which judgements

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are formed about what is in the public good based on reasoned argument that leads towards practical collective choices that are monitored, revisable and accountable to the public. In particular, the disadvantaged are denied the possibility of deliberating upon and determining their life chances. By removing the pattern of social relationships and the emergent structures of power and wealth from the possibility of critical scrutiny, civil society is separated from the polity. The market entrenches the powerful beyond control. A community, therefore, which inserts exit in place of voice in the public domain and so narrows the scope of its democratic discourse to the negative freedoms of the market place is more truly, pace Hayek, on 'the road to serfdom'. Markets institutionalize an unequal game of winning and losing, with the winners imposing their power on the losers without redress because of the structure of social selection. Markets produce survivals and extinctions in a Darwinian zero-sum game of social class and 'natural' selection (Sen, 1992). Markets are politics: that is, a way of making decisions about power in society, and they ensure that the already powerful win decisively, empowering the middle class to escape whatever public voice emerges from an attenuated democratic process. The market polity colludes in promoting the agency and choice of the public while actually extinguishing it. While indicating radical change, it actually entrenches a traditional order of authority and power. Why does the public appear to collude in its own downfall? The answer seems to be that the market can parade under the guise of neutrality while any ensuing inequality can hide beneath the illusion that, because the agents have acted, they must also have assented (Jonathan, 1990). The market polity, by reinforcing only the interests of a minority, rests on a limited and thus vulnerable legitimacy. The emphasis upon rights and an ensuing order of natural selection reveals the struggle to clothe the polity with a legitimating moral authority while removing the social order from democratic scrutiny (Hayek, 1944; Oakeshott, 1962; Anderson, 1992). The New Right in espousing these organizing principles of competitive exchange is, therefore,

either naive or dishonest. Either it is ignorant of all the evidence that markets inescapably create inequality or understands perfectly the effects of competition and has developed a rhetoric of choice to bamboozle a supposedly unwitting public. In a more open moral order there would be debate about the possibility of reconciling the purported virtues of the market - in its responsiveness, flexibility, decentralized knowledge - with the recognition of its vices in creating inequality. Moral philosophers such as Dworkin (1985) acknowledge the dilemma by arguing the case for markets but also for redistribution to place limits upon inequality: 'market allocations must be corrected in order to bring some people closer to the share of resources they would have had but for ... various differences of initial advantage, luck and inherent capacity' (p. 207). Markets, however, cannot resolve the predicaments we face: indeed they ensure that we stand no chance of solving them. Those problems - the restructuring of work; environmental erosion; the fragmentation of society - present issues of identity, well-being, rights, liberty, opportunity, and justice which cannot be resolved by individuals acting in isolation, nor by 'exit' because we cannot stand outside them. Markets merely exacerbate these problems which are public in nature and, because they confront the whole community, we all have a right to contribute to their analysis and resolution. Deliberation, judgement and public choice are inescapable. Only the democratic processes of the public domain can enable members of a locality to articulate and reconcile the different values and needs which they believe to be central to the welfare of the communities in which they live. Given this understanding, local democracy, far from being a burden upon a community, is the only institution which can provide it with the freedom and justice to flourish. As Dunn (1992) argues: 'In the face of the obscure and extravagantly complicated challenges of the human future, our most urgent common need at present is to learn how to act together more effectively' (p. vii). The challenge for our time is to reconstitute the conditions for a learning society in which all are empowered to develop and contribute their capacities.

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Towards education for democracy: the learning society This theory of the learning society builds upon three axes: of presupposition, principles and purposes and conditions. The presupposition establishes an overarching proposition about the need for and purpose of the learning society; the principles establish the primary organizing characteristics of the theory; while purposes and conditions establish the agenda for change that can create the values and conditions for a learning society.

Presupposition There is a need for the creation of a learning society as the constitutive condition of a new moral and political order. It is only when the values and processes of learning are placed at the centre of the polity that the conditions can be established for all individuals to develop their capacities, and that institutions can respond openly and imaginatively to a period of rapid and radical change. A learning society, therefore, needs to celebrate the qualities of being open to new ideas, listening to as well as expressing perspectives, reflecting on and inquiring into solutions to new dilemmas, co-operating in the practice of change and critically reviewing it.

Principles Two organizing principles provide the framework for the learning society: that its essential structure of citizenship should be developed through the processes of practical reason. Citizenship establishes the ontology, the mode of being, in the learning society. The notion of being a citizen ideally expresses our inescapably dual identity as autonomous individuals and responsible members of the public domain. Citizenship establishes the right to the conditions for self-development

but also a responsibility that the emerging powers should serve the well-being of the commonwealth. Citizenship involves membership of national and local communities which thereby bestow upon all individuals equally reciprocal rights and duties, liberties and constraints, powers and responsibilities (Held, 1989). Citizens express the right as well as the obligation to participate in determining the purposes and form of community and thus the conditions of their own association. Practical reason, on the other hand, establishes the epistemology, mode of knowing and acting of the citizen in the learning society. Practical wisdom (or what Aristotle called 'phronesis') describes a number of qualities which enable us to understand the duality of citizenship in the learning society: knowing what is required and how to judge or act in particular situations; of knowing which virtues should be called upon. Practical reason, therefore, presents a comprehensive moral capacity because it involves seeing the particular in the light of the universal, of a general understanding of what good is required as well as what proper ends might be pursued in the particular circumstances. Practical reason, thus, involves deliberation, judgement and action: deliberation upon experience to develop understanding of the situation, or the other person; judgement to determine the appropriate ends and course of action, which presupposes a community based upon sensitivity and tact; and learning through action to realize the good in practice.

Purposes and conditions To provide such purposes and conditions, new values and conceptions of learning are valued within the public domain at the level of the self (a quest of self-discovery), at the level of society (in the learning of mutuality within a moral order), and at the level of the polity (in learning the qualities of a participative democracy). These conditions for learning within the self, society and the polity are discussed in turn.

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Conditions for a learning self At the centre of educational reform within the inner city as well as debate on policy within the polity itself is a belief in the power of agency: only an active self or an active public provides the purposes and condition for learning and development. Three conditions are proposed for developing purpose within the self: a sense of agency; a revived conception of discovery through a life perceived as a unity; and an acknowledgement of the self in relation to others.

The self as agent Learning requires individuals to progress from the post-war tradition of passivity, of the self as spectator of action on a distant stage, to a conception of the self as agent both in personal development and active participation within the public domain. Such a transformation requires a new understanding from self-development for occupation to selfdevelopment for autonomy, choice and responsibility across all spheres of experience. The change also presupposes moving from our prevailing preoccupation with cognitive growth to a proper concern for development of the person as a whole — feeling, imagination and practical/social skills as much as the life of the mind. An empowering of the image of the self presupposes unfolding capacities over (a life) time. This implies something deeper than mere 'lifelong education or training'. Rather, it suggests an essential belief that an individual is to develop comprehensively throughout his or her lifetime and that this should be accorded value and supported.

(Maclntyre, 1981).6 This has a number of constituent developments. First, perceiving life as a whole and the self as developing over a lifetime. Second, therefore, a conception of being as developing over time: life as a quest with learning at the centre of the quest to discover the identity which defines the self. Third, seeing the unity of a life as consisting in the quest for value, each person seeking to reach beyond the self to create something of value, which is valued. Fourth, developing as a person towards the excellences; perfecting a life which is inescapably a struggle, an experience of failure as well as success. Fifth, accepting that the struggle needs to be guided by virtues and valued dispositions which support the development of the self. Lastly, acknowledging that the most important virtue is that of deliberation, a life of questioning and enquiry committed to revising both beliefs and action; learning from being a means becomes the end in itself, the defining purpose creatively shaping the whole of a life.

The self as persons in relation We can only develop as persons with and through others; the conception of the self presupposes an understanding of how we live a life with each other, of the relationship of the self to others; the conditions in which the self develops and flourishes are social and political. The self can only find its moral identity in and through others and membership of communities. Self-learning needs to be confirmed, given meaning by others, the wider community; what is of value will be contested; therefore we need to agree with others what is to be considered valuable; to deliberate, argue, provide reasons.

The unity of a life

The social conditions for learning

We need to recover the Aristotelian conception of what it is to be and to develop as a person over the whole of a life and of a life as it can be led

The unfolding of the self depends upon developing the necessary social conditions which can provide a sense of purpose within society both for the

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self and others. These conditions are civitas, active participation in creating the moral and social order, and a capacity for interpretive understanding.

Virtues of civitas: the civic virtues of recognizing and valuing others, of friendshipp The conditions for the unfolding self are social and political: my space requires your recognition and your capacities demand my support (and vice versa). Jordan (1989) emphasizes the importance of mutual responsibility in developing conditions for all individuals to develop their unique qualities. It recalls Aristotle's celebration of civic friendship — of sharing a life in common — as being the only possible route for creating and sustaining life in the city. Such values, arguably, are now only to be found within feminist literature which emphasizes an ethic of caring and responsibility in the family and community, and the dissolution of the public as a separate (male) sphere (Gilligan, 1986; Pateman, 1987; Okin, 1991). It is only in the context of such understanding and support that mutual identities can be formed and the distinctive qualities of each person can be nurtured and asserted with confidence.

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The values of caring or responsibility upon which can depend the confidence to learn derive any influence they may have from the authority of an underlying moral and social order. The civic virtues, as Maclntyre (1981) analyses, establish standards against which individuals can evaluate their actions (as well as their longer 'quest'): yet particular virtues derive meaning and force from their location within an overall moral framework (what Maclntyre calls a 'tradition'). A moral framework is needed to order relationships because it is the standards accepted by the moral community which provide the values by which each person is enabled to develop. Yet a moral order is a public creation and requires to be lived and recreated by all members of the community. Each person depends upon the quality of the moral order for the quality of his or her personal development and the vitality of that order depends upon the vitality of the public life of the community. For the Athenian, the virtuous person and the good citizen were the same because the goods which inform a life were public virtues. But the authority of a moral order for the modern world will grow if it is an open morality rather than a socialization into a tradition. The development of a moral community has to be a creative and collaborative process of agreeing the values of learning which are to guide and sustain life in the community. Simey (1985) and Titmuss (1971) have recorded the emergence of communal virtues which reflect the process of citizens taking ownership and responsibility for their lives.

Creating a moral community The post-war world was silent about the good, holding it to be a matter for private discretion rather than public discourse. But the unfolding of a learning society will depend upon the creation of a more strenuous moral order. The values of learning (understanding) as much as the values which provide the conditions for learning (according dignity and respecting capacity) are actually moral values that express a set of virtues required of the self but also of others in relationship with the self.

Interpretive understanding: learning to widen horizons Taylor (1985) has argued that the forms of knowing and understanding, as much as or at least as part of, a shared moral order are the necessary basis of civic virtue. Historically conditioned prejudices about capacity, reinforced by institutions of discrimination, set the present context for the learning society. The possibility of mutuality in

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support of personal development will depend upon generating interpretive understanding, that is, on hermeneutic skills which can create the conditions for learning in society: in relationships within the family, in the community and at work. In society we are confronted by different perspectives, alternative life-forms and views of the world. The key to the transformation of prejudice lies in what Gadamer (1975) calls 'the dialogic character of understanding'. Through genuine conversation the participants are led beyond their initial positions, to take account of others, and move towards a richer, more comprehensive view, a 'fusion of horizons', a shared understanding of what is true or valid. Conversation lies at the heart of learning: learners are listeners as well as speakers. The presupposition of such agreement is openness. We have to learn to be open to difference, to allow our pre-judgements to be challenged; in so doing we learn how to amend our assumptions, and develop an enriched understanding of others. It is precisely in confronting other beliefs and presuppositions that we are led to see the inadequacies of our own and transcend them. Rationality, in this perspective, is the willingness to admit the existence of better options, to be aware that one's knowledge is always open to refutation or modification from the vantage point of a different perspective. For Gadamer, the concept of 'bildung' describes the process through which individuals and communities enter a more and more widely defined community - they learn through dialogue to take a wider, more differentiated, view and thus acquire sensitivity, subtlety and capacity for judgement. Reason emerges through dialogue with others through which we learn not necessarily 'facts' but rather a capacity for learning, new ways of thinking, speaking, and acting. It is Habermas (1984) who articulates the conditions for such communicative rationality as being, 'ideal speech contexts' in which the participants feel able to speak freely, truly, sincerely. The conditions for this depend upon the creation of arenas for public discourse - the final and most significant condition for the creation of the learning society.

Conditions in the polity The conditions for a learning society are, in the last resort, fundamentally political, requiring the creation of a polity which provides the foundation for personal and collective empowerment. The personal and social conditions, described above, will be hollow unless bedded in a conception of a reformed, more accountable, and thus more legitimate, political order. The connection between individual well-being and the vitality of the moral community is made in the public domain of the polity: the good (learning) person is a good citizen. Without political structures which bring together communities of discourse, the conditions for learning will not exist, for it is not possible to create the virtues of learning without the forms of life and institutions which sustain them. The preconditions of the good polity are as follows.

Justice: a contract for the basic structuree The conditions for agency of self and society depend upon agreement about its value as well as about allocating the means for private and public self-determination. Freedom rests upon justice, as Rawls (1971, 1993) and Barry (1989) argue. But this makes the most rigorous demands upon the polity which has to determine the very conditions on which life can be lived at all: membership, the distribution of rights and duties, the allocation of scarce resources, the ends to be pursued. The good polity must strive to establish the conditions for virtue in all its citizens. These issues are intrinsically political and will be intensely contested, especially in a period of transformation that disturbs traditions and conventions. If decisions about such fundamental issues are to acquire the consent of the public then the procedures for arriving at those decisions will be considered of the greatest significance for legitimate authority of the polity. The process of making the decisions - who is to be involved and how the disagreements that

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will inexorably arise are to be resolved - will be as important as the content of decisions themselves.

Participative democracy Basing the new order upon the presupposition of agency leads to the principle of the equal rights of citizens both to participate in determining what conditions the expansion of their powers and to share responsibility for the common good. The political task of our time is to develop the polity as a vehicle for the active involvement of its citizens enabling them to make their contribution to the development of the learning society. There is a need, in this age of transition, to fashion a stronger, more active democracy than the post-war period has allowed. The post-war polity specialized politics and held the public at bay except periodically and passively. The constitutive conditions for citizenship within a more active democracy is a polity that enables the public to participate and express their voice about the issues of the transition, but also a polity that will permit public choice and government (Ranson and Stewart, 1994). The politics of public expression, but also the government of choice and action, is the challenge for the new polity. Within such a polity the procedures for involving the public and for negotiating decisions will be important. Even so, it is through the prerequisites of procedural justice (Habermas, 1984; Haydon, 1985; Gould, 1988; Hampshire, 1989) that an educated public of citizens can emerge. Citizens need to acquire the dispositions of listening and taking into account as well as asserting their view. The deliberative process of democratic decisionmaking requires that each participant not only permit the others to express their views and offer their judgements but take others' views seriously into account in arriving at his or her own judgement. Clearly this does not require agreement with the views of others, but rather serious attention to, and respect for, their views. Such reciprocal respect also presupposes that disagreements be tolerated and not suppressed. (Gould, 1988, p. 88)

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By providing forums for participation the new polity can create the conditions for public discourse and for mutual accountability so that citizens can take each other's needs and claims into account and learn to create the conditions for each other's development. Learning as discourse must underpin the learning society as the defining condition of the public domain.

Public action A more active citizenship, Mill believed, would be a civilizing force in society. Through participation citizens would be educated in intellect, in virtue and in practical activity. The upshot of participation should now be public action based upon deeper consent than that obtained from earlier generations. For Sen (1990; Dreze and Sen, 1989) the possibility of producing a fairer world, one which will enrich the capacities and entitlements of all citizens, depends upon the vitality of public, democratic action. The creation of a learning society expresses a belief in the virtue of the public domain and will depend upon the vitality of public action for its realization. If these principles of local participation and responsive action in the learning society are to be firmly established then reforms will be needed to the local governance of education. In addition to a strategic, enabling local education authority and strong institutions, three mechanisms could be developed to strengthen the 'periphery' of local education by identifying local needs, facilitating participation and supporting the co-ordination of schools and colleges in a new community perspective. These are: (a) Community forums: some schools have in the past introduced such forums to extend community participation, and in some authorities forums have been established for specific purposes, for example to review proposals for school reorganization or, more generally, to consider educational issues. A stronger democracy suggests the need for community forums with a wider remit to cover all services

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enabling parents, employers and community groups to express local needs and share in decision-making about provision to meet them. (b) Grant-giving capacity, public dialogue about change in the community is properly a primary responsibility of local forums but they should be able to exert influence. This could be achieved by a limited resource giving capacity (delegated by the local authority) to support the learning needs of individuals and groups within the community. This would be an important strategy in enfranchising and empowering community education and would reinforce service providers' responsiveness to local needs. (c) The enabling role of an area officer, mutual co-operation in services will sometimes happen spontaneously. It is likely to be accelerated with the support of an area officer or adviser who encourages parental and group involvement in identifying learning needs and in deciding upon and organizing appropriate development projects. Monitoring and evaluating progress, enabling the dialogue of accountability are crucial activities in the role. It is a networking role, in which the officer, or local community representative, works to link up the parts of the service so that the LEA and its institutions can make an integrated response to the needs of parents and the community. The role becomes the 'animateur' of the community as an educational campus.

and political order can provide the foundation for sustaining the personal development of all. It will encourage individuals to value their active role as citizens and thus their shared responsibility for the commonwealth. Active learning in the classroom needs, therefore, to be informed by and lead towards active citizenship within a participative democracy. The learning society thus can only be sustained by a strong system of reformed local democracy. For learning is inescapably a process which cannot be contained within the boundaries of any one institution. Discovery and understanding occur at home, in the community, on a scheme of work experience as well as in college or school. Education needs to be a local system of management so as to ensure understanding of local needs, responsiveness to changing circumstances, and efficiency in the management of resources within geographic boundaries consistent with identifiable historical traditions. Such local systems need to be properly accountable and this requires location within a local democratic system. Education needs to be a local democratic system because it must be a public service responsive and accountable to the community as a whole in which local people express their views and participate actively in developing its purposes and processes. A participatory model of governing local education rather than a market model can establish the democratic foundations for the learning society.7

Notes Conclusion An internal educational market will ensure selection to match a pyramidal, hierarchical society (the hidden curriculum of which is learned very early by young people). It is underpinned by a political system which encourages passive rather than active participation in the public domain. A different polity, enabling all people to make a purpose of their lives, will create the conditions for motivation in the classroom. Only a new moral

1 This paper was part of a larger contribution to the IPPRGoldsmiths' Conference on Alternative Education Polcies, 25-26 March 1993. It also draws directly upon my inaugural lecture (Ranson, 1992a). 2 During the passage of this Act a new clause 1 was introduced which removes the reference in S.I of the 1944 Education Act to national policy being secured by LEAs under the 'control and direction' of the Secretary of State for Education. In so doing the 1993 Act not only withdraws the LEA from its pre-eminent position in the provision of state education, it terminates what was, in its introduction, a constitutional settlement between central and local government of education (cf. Morris and Fowler, 1993). 3 As reported by a senior civil servant at a public seminar in Birmingham.

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4 This analysis builds upon: Dworkin, 1983; Sen, 1985, 1990; Ranson, 1988; Jonathan, 1990; Whitty, 1990; Levacic, 1991; Miliband, 1991; Ball, 1992a, 1992b; Bowe and Ball, 1992; Edwards and Whitty, 1992; Walford, 1992). 5 Although Tooley (1992) argues that some educational contexts cannot be modelled using the Prisoner's Dilemma game, his many reconstructions fail, in my view, to model the precise dilemmas described by Jonathan, the point of which can be illustrated using a number of metaphors (see Parfit, 1984). 6 Compare Archbishop Temple's speech in 1942 (' ... are you going to treat a man as what he is or what he might be? That is the whole work of education') quoted in Butler (1982). 7 See also: Ranson, 1992b and 1993b.

References Anderson, P. (1992) The intransigent Right at the end of the century. London Review of Books, 24 September. Ball, S. J. (1990) Politics and Policy Making in Education: Explorations in Policy Sociology. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Ball, S. J. (1992a) Schooling, enterprise and the market. American Education Research Association symposium paper, San Francisco, April. Ball, S. J. (1992b) Keynote address to BEMAS Research Conference, University of Nottingham, April. Barber, B. (1984) Strong Democracy: Participatory Politics for a New Age. Berkeley: University of California Press. Barry, B. (1989) Theories of Justice: Volume 1: A Treatise on Social Justice. London: Harvester Wheatsheaf. Bowe, R. and Ball, S. J. with Gold, A. (1992) Reforming Education and Changing Schools. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Butler, R. A. (1982) The Art of Memory. London: Hodder & Stoughton. Callinicos, A. (1993) Socialism and democracy. In D. Held (ed.), Prospects for Democracy. Oxford: Polity. Chubb, J. and Moe, T. (1989) Politics, Markets and America's Schools. Washington: Brookings Institution. Dreze, J. and Sen, A. (1989) Hunger and Public Action. Oxford: Clarendon. Dunn, J. (ed.) (1992) Democracy: The Unfinished Journey: 508 BC to AD 1993. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Dworkin, R. (1985) A Matter of Principle. Oxford: Clarendon. Echols, F., McPherson, A. and Willms, D. (1990) Parental choice in Scotland. Journal of Education Policy, 5(3), 207-22.

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Edwards, T. and Whitty, G. (1992) Parental choice and educational reform in Britain and the United States. British Journal of Educational Studies, 40(2), 101-17. Elster, J. (1979) Ulysses and the Sirens. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Elster, J. (1983) Sour Grapes. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Elster, J. (1992) Local Justice: How Institutions Allocate Scarce Goods and Necessary Burdens. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Gadamer, H. G. (1975) Truth and Method. London: Sheed & Ward. Gilligan, C. (1986) Remapping the moral domain. In T. Heller, M. Sosna and D. Wellbury (eds), Reconstructing Individualism: Autonomy, Individuality and the Self in Western Thought. Standford: University Press. Gould, C. (1988) Rethinking Democracy. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Habermas, J. (1984) The Theory of Communicative Action: Volume One: Reason and the Rationalization of Society. London: Heinemann. Hampshire, J. (1989) Innocence and Experience. London: Allen & Unwin. Haydon, G. (1985) Towards a framework of commonly accepted values. In G. Haydon (ed.), Education for a Pluralist Society. London: University of London Institute of Education. Hayek, F. A. (1944) The Road to Serfdom. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Held, D. (1989) Political Theory and the Modern State. Oxford: Polity. Hirsch, F. (1977) The Social Limits to Growth. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Hirschmann, A. O. (1970) Exit, Voice and Loyalty: Responses to Decline in Firms, Organisations and States. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Jonathan, R. (1990) State education service or prisoner's dilemma: the 'hidden hand' as a source of education policy. Educational Philosophy and Theory, 22(1), 16-24. Jordan, B. (1989) The Common Good: Citizenship, Morality and Self-interest. Oxford: Blackwell. Levafiic, R. (1991) Markets and government: an overview. In G. Thompson, J. Francis, R. LevaCic and J. Mitchell (eds), Markets, Hierarchies and Networks: The Coordination of Social Life. London: Sage. Maclntyre, A. (1981) After Virtue: A Study in Moral Theory. London: Duckworth. Macpherson, C. B. (1973) Democratic Theory: Essays in Retrieval. Oxford: Clarendon. Miliband, D. (1991) Markets, Politics and Education: Beyond the Education Reform Act. London: Institute for Public Policy Research.

170 Stewart Hanson Morris, R. and Fowler, J. (1993) Beyond Clause Zero: The Education Bill 1992-93. London: Association of Metropolitan Authorities. Mouffe, C. (1992) Dimensions of Radical Democracy: Pluralism, Citizenship, Community. London: Verso. Oakeshott, M. (1962) Rationalism in Politics and Other Essays. London: Methuen. Okin, S. M. (1991) Gender, the public and the private. In D. Held (ed.), Political Theory Today. Oxford: Polity. Pack, S. (1991) Capitalism as a Moral System: Adam Smith's Critique of the Free Market Economy. Aldershot: Edward Elgar. Parfit, D. (1984) Reasons and Persons. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Pateman, C. (1987) Feminist critiques of the public/ private dichotomy. In A. Phillips (ed.), Feminism and Equality. Oxford: Blackwell. Ranson, S. (1988) From 1944 to 1988: education, citizenship and democracy, Local Government Studies, 14(1), 1-19. Ranson, S. (1992a) Towards the learning society. Educational Management and Administration, 20(2), 68-79. Ranson, S. (1992b) The Role of Local Government in Education: Assuring Quality and Accountability. Harlow: Longman. Ranson, S. (1993a) Publication and local democracy. In H. Tomlinson (ed.), Education and Training: Continuity and Diversity in the Curriculum. Harlow: Longman. Ranson, S. (1993b) Local Democracy in the Learning Society: A Briefing Paper. London: National Commission on Education. Ranson, S. (1994) Towards the Learning Society. London: Cassell. Ranson, S. and Stewart, J. (1994) Management for the Public Domain: Enabling the Learning Society. London: Macmillan. Rawls, J. (1971) A Theory of Justice. Oxford: Clarendon.

Rawls, J. (1993) Political Liberalism. New York: Columbia University Press. Sen, A. (1982) Choice, Welfare and Measurement. Oxford: Blackwell. Sen, A. (1985) The moral standing of the market. Social Philosophy and Policy, 2(2), 1-19. Sen, A. (1990) Individual freedom as social commitment. New York Review of Books, 14 June. Sen, A. (1992) On the Darwinian view of progress. London Review of Books, 5 November. Simey, M. (1985) Government by Consent: The Principles and Practice of Accountability in Local Government. London: Bedford Square Press. Taylor, C. (1985) Philosophy and the Human Sciences: Philosophical Papers 2. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Taylor, C. (1991) The Ethics of Authenticity. Cambridge: Mass. Harvard University Press. Taylor, C. (1992) Multiculturalism and 'The Politics of Recognition'. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Titmuss, R. M. (1971) The Gift Relationship: From Human Blood to Social Policy. London: George Allen & Unwin. Tomlinson, J. (1988) Curriculum and the market: are they compatible? In J. Haviland (ed.), Take Care Mr Baker! London: Fourth Estate. Tooley, J. (1992a) The prisoner's dilemma and educational provision: a reply to Ruth Jonathan. British Journal of Educational Studies, 40(2), 118-33. Tooley, J. (1992b) The 'Pink Tank' on the Education Reform Act. British Journal of Educational Studies, 40(4), 335-49. Tooley, J. (1993) A Market-led Alternative for the Curriculum: Breaking the Code. London: The Institute of Education. Walford, G. (1992) Selection for Secondary Schooling. London: National Commission on Education. Whitty, G. (1990) The New Right and the national curriculum: state control or market forces? In M. Flude and M. Hammer (eds), The Education Reform Act 1988: Its Origins and Implications. London: Falmer.

Markets or Democracy for Education? A Reply to Stewart Ranson by James Tooley

Introductionn Ranson (1993) makes an important contribution to the recent debate about the role of markets in education. In this reply, I take issue with his conclusion that the 'mechanism of the market is intrinsically flawed as a vehicle for improving educational opportunities' (Ranson, 1993, p. 334). I suggest that if Ranson had defined his terms carefully, seriously addressed the literature of those he opposes, and made a comparison between markets and democracy as allocative mechanisms for education, then he might well have come up with a more positive assessment of the virtues of markets for education. The structure of Ranson's argument is as follows: first, he points to the work of Chubb and Moe who advocate 'markets against democratic control' (p. 158). Their arguments about the negative effects of actual democracies on education, and how these effects could be mitigated by markets, are briefly outlined. Ranson summarizes their work thus: 'Although markets have imperfections, these are preferable to those of local democracy' (p. 158). Next, Ranson sets out his critique of markets. Finally, he sets out a speculative 'theory of the learning society' based on a vision of a future 'democratic' society under a 'new moral and political order' (p. 168). In this paper I confine my comments, by and large, to Ranson's critique of markets. This narrow scope reflects the structure of Ranson's overall argument, for his 'theory of the learning society' is not used to relate the virtues of his 'democratic' vision to the critique of markets. If the question

'markets or democracy for education' is raised, then one needs to offer a comparison between the two systems. In this paper I raise some questions, within the context of Ranson's critique of markets, which I think such a comparison should have addressed.

Definitions of markets A first problem is that Ranson doesn't explicitly say what he means by markets, or by markets in education. As Ranson is considering 'markets' and 'democracy' as in opposition, perhaps we can assume that he would go along with standard definitions of markets as mechanisms for the registering of preferences and apportioning of resources in society - and these can be contrasted with government planning procedures (including democratic planning procedures) for achieving the same ends. This standard definition of markets then brings in the importance of the relationship of 'demand' and 'supply', and how the price mechanism relates these. What of markets in education? Ranson (1993) first notes that: 'The Conservative Government in the UK has over time introduced complex administrative regulations designed to create a highly structured market of educational choice' (p. 334). However, this 'market in education is not the classical market of perfect competition, but an administered market carefully regulated with stringent controls' (p. 338). But, no actual market is the 'classical market of perfect competition', for the

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latter is a theoretical fiction which has been found to be more or less useful by neo-classical economists. But let us agree with Ranson on the extent of government intervention. This raises the question of why we would wish to call this 'a market' when there is no price mechanism operating and where there is such heavy regulation through a prescribed National Curriculum, national testing, league tables, etc. The government calls it a 'market', but that is no argument. Many commentators describe such situations as 'internal markets', but the situation in education is not really amenable even to that revised description for, although the demand side has been opened up to a certain extent via per capita funding, the supply-side has hardly been liberated at all. After all, it is very difficult to set up an educational institution, and there remains unfair competition between subsidized state and private schools. My preference is to reserve the term 'market' for something which closely matches the definition outlined above, and not to label the present situation in education as a market at all. But for the purposes of this paper, I will call that situation the 'so-called' market of the Conservatives. What could a more authentic market in education look like? There are three areas in which governments can be involved in education: funding, provision and regulation. At one extreme, a more authentic market could have the government not intervening in funding or provision, and with only fairly minimal regulation. Educational opportunities would be provided by educational entrepreneurs, and consumers would pick and choose between these, and develop loyalties to certain of them, in much the same way that consumers choose food, clothing, or more closely, books and theatre tickets. But note that, as with food and clothing, this sort of market does not rule out possibilities for the government to intervene in some welfare undertakings. Just as, for the poor, it is possible for government to step in and provide food and clothing coupons, so it would be the case that in this education market, it could step in and provide educational coupons or 'vouchers' for those too poor to be able to avail themselves of the educational market (for more details see West,

1970 and Tooley, 1995). But Ranson does not want to countenance such possibilities. Interestingly, though, we find him slipping backwards and forwards between criticizing markets in general and the Conservatives' so-called market in education. This is regrettable, because arguments against the so-called market are not arguments against markets in general, nor can defences of more authentic markets be applied in general to defence of this socalled market.

Ranson's critique of markets We now turn to Ranson's 'interpretative analysis' of markets, to explore his criticisms and raise questions of comparison between markets and democracy. For the sake of convenience, I will structure my discussion using Ranson's headings throughout.

An atrophied psychology of possessive individualismm Ranson argues that markets lead to a distortion of what it is to be human by over-emphasizing selfinterest. He first paraphrases Adam Smith's famous 'invisible hand' argument: 'When individuals pursue their own interests, it is claimed, they will benefit society as much as themselves' (Ranson, 1993, p. 334). He then asserts that this conception of people, 'as self-interested consumers or "possessive individuals" presents, however, a degraded and distorted psychology of human nature' (p. 334). Who could disagree? Certainly not Adam Smith. In The Theory of Moral Sentiments, for example, Smith emphasizes the importance he attaches to altruism: And hence it is, that to feel much for others, and little for ourselves, that to restrain our selfish, and to indulge our benevolent affections, constitutes the perfection of human nature, and can alone produce

A Reply to Stewart Hanson

among mankind that harmony of sentiments and passions in which consists their whole grace and propriety. (Smith, [1759], 1976, p. 25)

It was this moral context which Smith saw as a necessary precondition for the flourishing of the market system enunciated in The Wealth of Nations (Smith [1776], 1976). So Ranson's characterization, if it is intended as a criticism of Smith, is misconstrued. However, it is true that what Smith did suggest was that, under certain conditions, in the economic sphere there could be unforeseen, unplanned outcomes of individuals acting in the pursuit of their own self-interest, where selfinterest is broadly construed as incorporating, at least, the interest of one's family. The baker, butcher and brewer all want to earn a decent living, make enough profit to keep their business going, and to support a reasonable standard of living for themselves and their families. In pursuing these ends, they all provide bread, beef and beer at prices more cheaply and more effectively than if there were alternative allocative mechanisms. Self-interest has this curious property — and for Smith, this was a peculiar 'finding'. It is perhaps one of the most important observations of the classical liberals. Unfortunately, Ranson does not present any argument against it; he simply denies the possibility of self-interest having this effect. The market, he implies, makes 'every interaction and relationship a "zero-sum" game: my success depends upon your defeat' (Ranson, 1993, p. 334). But Smith spent a large part of two closelyargued volumes explaining why he thought this was not the case, and many commentators have elaborated the arguments further (see, for example, Hayek, 1960; Novak [1982], 1991; Seldon, 1990). It is not good enough for Ranson to simply deny it in one sentence. (The mention of'zero-sum game' suggests that Ranson might have in mind the prisoner's dilemma discussion in this regard. He refers to this later, so we discuss it in the same context below.) Ranson offers us his criticisms of markets; but what of a comparison between democracy and markets? There does not seem to be any in this regard. However, it is worth mentioning that there

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is a large body of literature, public choice theory, which sets out to explain democratic behaviour in terms of self-interest; it assumes that, under democracy, neither individual voters nor politicians behave with regard to their communities or nation, and comes up with many plausible theoretical explanations and empirical predictions (see, for example, Downs, 1957; Buchanan and Tullock, 1962; Buchanan and Tollison, 1972). A comparison of the role of self-interest in democracy and markets would have benefited from some consideration of this perspective.

The institutionalizing of instrumental rationality Ranson mentions three criticisms under this heading: first, that markets are not appropriate for education because of the way market choices can change the characteristics of the goods being purchased; second, that the unpredictability of markets makes them undesirable; finally, that markets empower producers not consumers. Of the first point, in one clear sense this is certainly true of markets in general for the market is a mechanism for adjusting the price of a good, so that, roughly, supply relates to demand. Thus, whenever I register my preference through a market transaction, this has an effect on the good, namely on its price. We can also see how this objection would not apply to the so-called market in education, where the price mechanism is not brought into play. Now Ranson does not see this as a positive aspect of markets and gives an example of how it can lead to undesirable outcomes. Because of heavy demand, a 'small school grows in scale with inevitable consequences for learning style and administrative process. The distinctive ethos which was the reason for the choice may be altered by the choice' (Ranson, 1993, p. 335). This example is interesting, first, because it is normally the opposite criticism which is put forward about markets in education - that heavy demand in educational markets will lead to schools imposing

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entry requirements, leading to selective schools (see Miliband, 1991, p. 14, for example). But neither of these possibilities exhausts the options open to schools in more authentic markets. For in these markets, the small school in Ranson's example would not have to grow as he suggests, and hence ruin what is desirable about it, nor would it have to limit entry (as Miliband suggests): the oversubscribed school could open a new branch, or take over another or other schools, thus catering for extra demand without ruining its distinctive ethos. Ranson's example fails to capture a disadvantage of the so-called market in education and ignores the potential of more authentic markets. Turning to the second issue of the unpredictability of markets, Ranson notes: The unintended consequences of multiple and independent transactions leaves any and every actor completely in the dark about what it is rational to believe is being chosen. In principle, therefore, outcomes are chronically unpredictable, literally out of anybody's control' (Ranson, 1993, p. 335). Note first that Ranson is not apparently aiming this criticism at the so-called market in education, for there education is to a very great extent in the hands of the government. So, thinking of this as a criticism of markets in general, we can concede that what he says is in some sense literally true - although it is hardly as pathological as he suggests. For the literal unpredictability of markets does not stop enough producers of, for example, food, clothing, books and other consumer goods from making accurate enough predictions of demand. Nor does it mean that the great majority of consumers do not get the food, clothing and so on they desire. Indeed, it could be argued that it is in part precisely the discipline of the uncertainty of the market that keeps producers 'on their toes' and hence satisfying demand; where markets are not allowed to operate, chronic shortages emerge - the case of the former Soviet Union is the obvious example. Finally, in this section we have the notion that 'consumer choice empowers the producers', not consumers (Ranson, 1993, p. 336). Ranson's argument seems to be that schools seek market niches and a 'hierarchy of distinction and public esteem

emerges'. The higher up the school is in this hierarchy, the more oversubscribed it becomes, and hence it can select the pupils it wants. Consumers then have their choices reduced, and producers are made powerful. I have two objections to this argument. First, it assumes that the supply-side has not been liberated, as noted above, so that popular schools cannot open new branches or franchises to cope with the extra demand. Accordingly, this is a criticism of the so-called market which is not likely to be an objection to a more authentic market. Second, it also assumes that all schools can be grouped under a single hierarchy. I think it more likely that, even in the so-called market, and certainly under a more authentic market, there would be many different types of educational opportunities offered, e.g. of home-tutors for the slow-learner, academic schools, vocational settings, theatre studios, and so on. However, I agree that, within these different types of educational opportunities, hierarchies may emerge. But, again, we must ask: if this is likely to be true of markets, what about under democratic allocation? Again, disappointingly, Ranson does not address this question. But it is fairly easily addressed. Under existing democratic control of education, as for example in Germany and France, we can see clearly that hierarchies of schools have emerged. In Germany, there are three types of school: the grammar, technical and secondary modern, to which children are assigned at age 11. Then, of these schools, it is well known that some are better than others in their respective types, and that, in general, the grammar schools are of higher status than the others. So, hierarchies of schools are not a phenomenon unique to markets, and it is hard to see how Ranson can use this as a criticism of markets, at least without further comparison of how things work under democracy. Any such comparison would have to take into account the feature of a market system noted above that could potentially overcome this problem when the supply-side is liberated. There is something absurd, in general, about a market where great demand for a product leads to a restriction on that product; the same does not seem to be true under democracy.

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The commodification of education In this section of his article, Ranson cites Hirsch on the problem of education becoming a positional good. Interestingly, he does not actually say that this will happen under conditions only of markets in, and not democratic control of, education. Presumably he wants us to assume this in the context of his writing. However, I think in his omission he has raised something important. For other writers have challenged Hirsch, suggesting that the correlation goes precisely in the opposite direction - that the more goods such as education become politicized (e.g. by being subject to democratic control), the more the problem of positionality increases (for example, see Gray, 1983, p. 176 and 1993, p. 85). I have also argued that positionality would not be any worse under markets than under any other government-controlled system (Tooley, 1994, pp. 65-71). Again, Ranson seems to assume that the arguments are all on his side, without looking to challenge those who oppose his position. Ranson also cites Jonathan in this context: 'Where the good, like education, is subject to congestion or crowding, it is relative advantage for which each strives, necessarily at the expense of others' (Ranson, 1993, p. 336). Jonathan's argument relies solely on the 'prisoner's dilemma', an argument to which I have replied elsewhere (Tooley, 1992) and which in this particular context (although not others, see below) Ranson ignores. So, here the objection to Ranson is not that he might have pinpointed something problematic about markets, but that he has failed to address the extent to which the same problem might also apply to democratic control.

Reinforcing a class divided society Ranson claims that the market reinforces inequality: 'Under the guise of neutrality, the institution of the market actively confirms and reinforces the pre-existing social class order of wealth and privilege' (Ranson, 1993, p. 337). First, as Ranson is referring to recent empirical evidence here, we can

assume he is specifically addressing the Conservatives' so-called market in education. This may well have such negative effects, but these could be used as much as criticisms of heavy state control as of markets. Again, we could also point out that social class does not seem to have been eliminated under democratic (or other state) control, either in other countries or in, say, pre-Thatcher Britain. So, again, what is needed is a thorough analysis of why democratic states thus far do not seem to have been able to overcome inequalities and why the welfare state has been condemned as a 'middleclass racket' (Gray, 1993, p. 120) redistributing wealth from the working to the middle classes (Field, 1987). Moreover, referring to markets more generally, it is worth bringing to Ranson's attention that there is much debate among economists and economic historians about the impact of capitalist development on inequality, and the relationship to democracy. First, the Kuznets thesis is that, 'as modern economic growth continues over time, there occurs, first, a sharp rise in inequality and then, later, a levelling effect' (Berger, 1987, p. 44). Interestingly, this seems to have applied to both capitalist and socialist economies, so markets have not been shown to be worse in this respect. But, most importantly, certain recent capitalist development seems to have had the opposite effect of reducing inequality without at first increasing it. For example, Taiwan, Hong Kong, Singapore and, to a lesser extent, South Korea have all exhibited capitalist development taking place where 'the poor were getting richer faster than the rich were getting richer' (Berger, 1987, p. 151). This evidence is at least worth commenting upon. Furthermore, Ranson insists that 'only those with accumulated "capital" can succeed' in the market (Ranson, 1993, p. 337). This is simply not true, as any discussion of social mobility under capitalism would point out (see Berger, 1987, ch. 3, or Bauer, 1981). In his discussion of inequality, Ranson cites the prisoner's dilemma argument, namely that markets lead to individuals being 'trapped into diminishing their own welfare. ... Self-interest is selfdefeating' (Ranson, 1993, p. 338). It is very odd that Ranson cites both Jonathan and Miliband in support here, because Miliband explicitly denies

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that the prisoner's dilemma has any relevance to his discussion (Miliband, 1991, p. 10). In a footnote, Ranson notes my own dissent on the relevance of the prisoner's dilemma to criticisms of markets in education. He says that my 'many reconstructions fail ... to model the precise dilemmas described by Jonathan' (Ranson, 1993, m 5, p. 349). But how do they fail? Nothing is forthcoming from Ranson on this. But, even if my 'reconstructions' did fail to model Jonathan's examples, then the argument in Tooley (1992) did have another strand to it, which Ranson inexplicably ignores. For, let us suppose that Jonathan could show us a genuine prisoner's dilemma. My argument was that, as soon as it is assumed that the players are in some ongoing relationship with one another, whether as neighbours or members of a community or in a producer/consumer relationship, or whatever, then the pathological outcome of the prisoner's dilemma is likely to disappear. In the 'iterated game', it becomes in the players' interests to 'co-operate'rather than 'defect'. Hence, even if Jonathan was correct in her models, her predicted sub-optimal outcome was unlikely to survive. Ranson has ignored this side of my argument completely. Finally, it is worth stressing that many proponents of more authentic markets in education do take issues of equality seriously. For precisely this reason, they propose a voucher-type safety-net for those too poor or otherwise unable to provide educational opportunities for themselves and their children, arguing that, with this in place, concerns about equality of opportunity will be met (see, for example, West, 1970, and Tooley, 1993). All these considerations suggest that Ranson has too easily made assumptions about markets and democracy, and that more thorough investigations might lead him to different conclusions about the respective merits of either in reducing inequality.

The polity, the market and civil society Under this section, Ranson raises two issues concerning markets in general. First, that markets are 'political creations'; secondly, that there is a tradeoff between markets and democracy.

Ranson writes: 'The market is a political creation, designed for political purposes, in this case to redistribute power in order to redirect society away from social democracy and towards a neoliberal order' (Ranson, 1993, p. 338). Few 'neoliberals' would disagree with anything here. In the first half of the sentence, if he means that markets require a complex legal framework in which to operate, he has the backing of Hayek, who argues persuasively that markets are a specific legal construct (Hayek, 1948, pp. 112-13). Hayek is often accused of being in favour of'laissez faire', and for the notion that somehow markets are what are left when all regulations are removed. In fact, Hayek argues that it is precisely one strength of the classical liberal tradition emanating from Adam Smith that it 'was never a complete laissez faire argument'; he contends that the English classical economists 'knew better than most their later critics that it was not some sort of magic but the evolution of "well-constructed institutions" ... that had successfully channelled individual efforts to socially beneficial aims' (Hayek, 1960, p. 60). The second half of Ranson's sentence seems tautologous. Certainly markets have an impact on the power relations in society, and, certainly too, if by a 'neo-liberal order' is meant one where markets have greater, and government intervention less, prominence, market reforms will have the impact he describes. So, there is no additional argument here against markets. But what this brings us to is the various arguments about the trade-off between markets and democracy. This seems to be the crucial strand of Ranson's argument, reiterated several times: markets and democracy are in conflict. Markets, we are told, 'erode local democracy' (Ranson, 1993, p. 334); or again: 'The market . . . places public policy and collective welfare beyond the reach of public deliberation, choice and action: in other words, democracy' (p. 339). But, given our earlier definition of markets, this criticism is also tautologous. For in our definition, markets and democratic control are given as opposed, so strengthening one is bound to 'erode' the other. Hence this is not an argument against markets until it can be shown that democratic control is preferable to markets in educa-

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tion. Ranson's argument to this effect brings in Hirschmann's discussion of 'exit' and 'voice'. Hirschmann's work shows how the management of any organization can discover that its customers are dissatisfied with its performance through one of two ways, through 'exit', where the 'customers stop buying the firm's products or some members leave the organisation' which leads to a decline in revenue and 'management is impelled to search for ways and means to correct whatever faults have led to exit'. The second route is through 'voice', where the customers 'express their dissatisfaction directly to management or to some other authority to which management is subordinate or through general protest addressed to anyone who cares to listen' (Hirschmann, 1970, p. 4). Ranson maintains that under markets: ' "Exit" replaces "voice" as the mechanism by which a society takes allocative decisions' (Ranson, 1993, p. 338). This is not right. The converse is true, that when society rules out market mechanisms, then 'voice' is made to replace 'exit'. However, when market mechanisms are in place, both 'exit' and 'voice' are available options. Under an authentic market system, if I am dissatisfied with my school then I can withdraw my custom ('exit'), or I can complain to the headteacher, newspaper, headteacher's union, or local politician ('voice'). Under a non-market system, I can only complain. However, allowing for this caveat, what precisely is Ranson objecting to with regard to 'exit'? He says that, under markets, policy decisions in effect are made 'through uncoordinated, piecemeal decisions of private individuals. . . . If consumers dislike something their views can . . . be expressed implicitly but unmistakably through exit and an alternative purchase' (pp. 338-9). But, this is precisely one advantage of markets for the disadvantaged pointed out by supporters of markets. It is not very helpful just stating it as an objection. What we need is to know why Ranson disagrees with the arguments. One argument that would need to be addressed is that of Arthur Seldon. He argues that 'exit' is something that is open to all, whereas the 'voice' option is likely to be only accessible to those who are 'politically influential, skilled and adroit' (Seldon, 1990, p. 103),

favouring the 'organized at the expense of the unorganized' (p. 103). Seldon's argument is that: the mass of ordinary people do not wish to engage in preceptoral political argument, or sense that they cannot hold their own against political people richly endowed with political skills in public affairs. ... The power of escape from unacceptable suppliers or purchasers [under markets] has no parallel [without markets]... the precarious power of'voice', the right to 'participate' . . . is inherently unequal and ... usually favours and strengthens the already strong and influential, usually the more articulate middle class endowed with cultural power, (pp. 106-7)

It is the adroitness of the middle classes in using voice which had enabled them to 'get most out of public services by a combination of know-how, self-confidence, persistence and articulacy' (Williams, 1981, p. 36), and to derive more benefit from the welfare state than the working classes (Le Grand and Goodin, 1987, Field, 1987). Hence the argument is that an overemphasis on 'voice' at the expense of 'exit' makes things worse for the already disadvantaged. To read Ranson, it would seem that none of the above debate has ever occurred. He says that: 'The market... uses exit to hold voice at bay, substituting the power of resources in exchange for the power of better reasons in public discourse' (Ranson, 1993, p. 339), without recognizing that this is one of the market's proclaimed advantages, that the power of exit will liberate the disadvantaged from having to always give 'better reasons' when public services fail them. He says that markets will lead to the disadvantaged being 'denied the possibility of deliberating upon and determining their life chances' (p. 339), ignoring the argument that it is the over-emphasis on such deliberation which may be party to their continued disempowerment. He protests that markets will serve to separate civil society from the polity (p. 339), disregarding the arguments that when the welfare-promoting institutions of civil society are politicized, this leads to them being used against the interests of the disadvantaged (see, for example, Green, 1985 and 1993). Finally, on this issue, we could question Ranson's characterization of democracy. Under the democratic process, he writes, 'judgements are

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formed about what is in the public good based on reasoned argument that leads towards practical collective choices that are monitored, revisable and accountable to the public' (Ranson, 1993, p. 339). Anyone familiar with political debates in local or national democracy in Britain, or discussion of politics in the media, would find this characterization hard to equate with reality. What actually goes on in democracies as we know them is best characterized in terms of, say, media manipulation, privilege, rent-seeking, log-rolling, luck, expediency, charisma, ignorance and behind-thescenes corruption. What Ranson refers to is an ideal of what democracy could be - an ideal which he expounds in later parts of his paper. For it is clear there that he does believe present democracies fail to live up to his vision: The post-war polity specialized politics and held the public at bay except periodically and passively' (p. 346). There are two main problems with such an approach. The first is that if he is concerned with improvements to democracy, then again he needs to address the arguments of public choice and social choice theory which argue that likely sought improvements are either logically impossible (because of the limitations on voting systems; see Riker, 1982), or politically unlikely (because of the features of rent-seeking and log-rolling; see Tullock, 1988). Secondly, and this perhaps is the crux of the matter, it brings in an asymmetry in the argument if he is comparing the impure reality of markets with a pure vision of an ideal democracy. It might be argued that it would be fairer to compare a vision of pure free markets with the ideal democracy, or to look at both options 'warts-andall'. Either would be preferable to this cataloguing of purported shortcomings of real markets set against the vision of a perfect future vision of democracy.

Conclusions I have reviewed each of Ranson's arguments against markets, and markets in education, and suggested that they are not as powerful as he might

wish them to be. Some of his criticisms were likely to hold against the so-called market, but then there needs to be discussion of how much this is because of the market features, and how much because of government control. His condemnation of the individualism of the market misconstrues the moral context of Adam Smith's writings. In any case, no argument is offered as to why the 'invisible hand' does not have the outcome of mutual improvement rather than creating a 'zero-sum game'. Ranson's three arguments concerning 'the institutionalizing of instrumental rationality' fail to be convincing, in particular because they do not address relevant shortcomings of education under democratic control. Similarly, his discussion of the positionality of education does not address the extent to which this is a problem for educational provision whether or not markets are involved. The argument concerned with 'reinforcing a class divided society' ignores evidence concerning the impact of capitalist development on inequality, and avoids the objection to the application of the prisoner's dilemma to markets. Finally, Ranson's discussion of the trade-off between markets and democracy does not address the debate about how an over-dependence on 'voice' further disadvantages the already disadvantaged, and that a tilt towards 'exit' could help alleviate that disadvantage. Ranson contends that the 'New Right' is either 'naive or dishonest': 'Either it is ignorant of all the evidence ... or understands perfectly the effects of competition and has developed a rhetoric of choice to bamboozle a supposedly unwitting public' (Ranson, 1993, p. 340). However, there is a third alternative which Ranson overlooks, that some on the 'New Right' have more integrity than he gives them credit for. It is just possible that they have reviewed theoretical literature and empirical evidence, that they have found the arguments for state intervention in, and democratic control of, education unsatisfactory, the arguments against markets inadequate, and the arguments of Smith and Hayek more cogent. Hence they, tentatively and undogmatically, come down on the side of the markets, pleased to review their own positions as and when other arguments persuade. That is my position at least. Ranson's paper, by assuming that

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we had no arguments worth seriously reviewing, has done nothing to shift my stance.

References Bauer, P. T. (1981) Equality, the Third World, and Economic Delusion. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Berger, P. L., (1987) The Capitalist Revolution: Fifty Propositions about Prosperity, Equality and Liberty. Aldershot: Wildwood House. Buchanan, J. M. and Tollison, R. D. (eds) (1972) Theory of Public Choice. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Buchanan, J. M. and Tullock, G. (1962) The Calculus of Consent. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Downs, A. (1957) An Economic Theory of Democracy. London: Harper and Row. Field, F. (1987) Freedom and Wealth in a Socialist Future. London: Constable & Company Ltd. Gray, J. (1983) Classical liberalism, positional goods, and the politicization of poverty. In A. Ellis and K. Kumar (eds), Dilemmas of Liberal Democracies: Studies in Fred Hirsch's Social Limits to Growth. London: Tavistock. Gray,}. (1993) Beyond the New Right: Markets, Government and the Common Environment. London: Routledge. Green, D. G. (1985) Working Class Patients and the Medical Establishment. London: Temple Smith. Green, D. G. (1993) Reinventing Civil Society: The Rediscovery of Welfare Without Politics. London: Institute of Economic Affairs Health & Welfare Unit.

Hayek, F. A. (1948) Individualism and Economic Order. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Hayek, F. A. (1960) The Constitution of Liberty. London: Routledge. Hirschmann, A. O. (1970) Exit, Voice and Loyalty: Responses to Decline in Firms, Organisations and States. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Le Grand, J. and Goodin, R. (1987) Not Only the Poor. London: Allen & Unwin. Miliband, D. (1991) Markets, Politics and Education. London: Institute for Public Policy Research. Novak, M. ([1982] 1991) The Spirit of Democratic Capitalism. London: Institute of Economic Affairs Health & Welfare Unit. Ranson, S. (1993) Markets or democracy for education. British Journal of Educational Studies, 41(4), 333-52. Riker, W. (1982) Liberalism against Populism. San Francisco: W. H. Freeman. Seldon, A. (1990) Capitalism. Oxford: Basil Blackwell. Smith, A. ([1759], 1976) The Theory of Moral Sentiments. Indianapolis: Liberty Classics. Smith, A. ([1776], 1976) The Wealth of Nations. Indianapolis: Liberty Classics. Tooley, J. (1992) The Prisoner's dilemma and educational provision: a reply to Ruth Jonathan. British Journal of Educational Studies, 40(2), 118-33. Tooley, J. (1993) Equality of Educational opportunity without the state? Studies in Philosophy and Education, 12, 153-63. Tooley, J. (1995) Disestablishing the School. Aldershot: Avebury. Tullock, G. (1988) Wealth, Poverty and Politics. Oxford: Basil Blackwell. West, E. G. (1970) Education and the State. London: Institute of Economic Affairs. Williams, S. (1981) Politics is for People. Harmondsworth: Penguin.

Public Institutions for Cooperative Action: A Reply to James Tooley by Stewart Ranson

Introductionn I am grateful to James Tooley for a trenchant critique that reveals omissions and weaknesses in my argument. Yet, at the risk of neglecting some of his detailed comments, I wish to concentrate upon bringing to the surface what I take to be the central issue in the debate he has enjoined (Tooley, 1992a, b; 1995; Jonathan, 1990; Ranson, 1993), namely, the task of theorizing the institutional systems required for co-operative action. Despite his interesting commentaries, I believe he fails to dislodge the conclusion to my argument that the qualities of co-operation and deliberation required by the predicaments of our time can only be realized through democratic, rather than market, institutional forms of the public domain.

Comment First, the detail. While Tooley correctly admonishes the lack of any defining of markets, and is right to insist upon a qualifying term for 'markets' in education because of their distance from their 'pure' form, he is surely mistaken to imply that this erases the subject of analysis. The Government has sought to create, with some success, market-like characteristics - of choice, competition, equity - in the public sector. Arguably, even a 'price mechanism' emerges with the operation of 'relative advantage' as, for example, in the operation of social or intellectual 'selection'. These

characteristics could be further enhanced with the strategies he suggests, but enough of the features exist to name a distinctive system. Calling them 'so-called' markets might properly sharpen the focus, but not alter the terms of debate. Such 'markets' have introduced a distinctive transformation in the post-war governance of education. Nor does it much help to say, as he tends to do elsewhere in his reply, that being under 'democratic control' significantly alters what they are. Although 'markets' in education are within the public domain, the issue remains that, although 'the system' is subject to political choice, the outcome of market interactions is by definition unpredictable. Modifying the name does not remove the need for analysing the distinctive effects of a market-like system. Tooley develops a detailed critique of my interpretive analysis of markets. His helpful discussion, however, does not undermine the argument about the individualism of markets, nor that they are driven by a formal instrumental rationality which turns decision-making into a zero-sum-like game that creates a hierarchy of commodified public goods. True, some democracies choose, as ours did in the past, to create a hierarchical system of educational opportunities. But this understanding precisely reinforces, rather than dissolving, the distinction between markets and democracy: whereas under one system the hierarchy is chosen, and therefore can be removed by political choice, under the other it is an inescapable and unalterable consequence of the unintended actions of traders in the market place. This relationship also holds with 'positionality': whereas poli-

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tics can choose a response to this chronic feature of social reality, markets in their formal neutrality can only lead to an unpredictable response, though actually the operation of instrumental rationality serves to reproduce existing inequalities - only the wealthy can purchase the Rembrandt or a place in a 'privileged' school. Tooley proceeds to try to fend off a number of the most serious conclusions of my argument with the charge of tautology. But in so doing he confuses empirical and definitional questions in a number of odd respects. That markets are institutional creations with political consequences in redistributing power and scarce public resources from the disadvantaged to the middle class was an argument I used against Chubb and Moe's (1990) position that democracy was 'political' while markets were 'neutral'. This argument, however, clearly presents theoretical propositions about markets: whether they are true is an empirical not a logical matter. How markets and democracy, however, are to be defined is an important question, and it was part of my purpose to construct meanings which illustrate that the institutional forms are quite different in kind: markets deny the very processes which are the defining characteristic of democracy. Now I am pleased that Tooley has this understanding, but I am not sure that our shared awareness is widely recognized and that, for example, Ministers would in public speeches acknowledge openly that in promoting markets they were eroding a widely held public value called democracy. In this context Tooley's preference for markets above democracy is courageous, but it follows that his antipathy towards democracy is either patronizing, leaving the middle classes with the only voice in a residual democracy, or disturbing in that he proposes to withdraw democracy altogether. For the argument of my paper is that only a different vision of democracy (a politics of participation rather than aggregation or complaint) can resolve the predicament of constituting public goods such as educational opportunity. While Tooley is right to insist that the complexities of such a vision will have to be confronted as honestly as the purported shortcomings of the market, strategies for addressing the middleclass appropriation of democratic forms are

emerging: for example, 'deliberative opinion polls' (Fishkin, 1991); 'citizen networks' (Putnam, 1993); 'citizen panels' (cf. Ranson and Stewart, 1994).

Analysiss The argument underlying my paper (and Ranson, 1994) is that the predicaments of our time present a number of 'collective action problems' - for example, environmental erosion, the fragmentation of the polity, educational opportunity for all which depend necessarily upon co-operative and deliberative public action for their resolution at a moment when the authority of the public institutions required to enable the appropriate action is being eroded and is in need of radical renewal. The times require public goods and institutions appropriate to the public domain. Institutional systems are thus central. Co-operative action will require the appropriate structural conditions, and these are not provided by markets. Tooley, however, rejects the view that the mechanism of the market is intrinsically flawed and argues, through his analysis of the Prisoner's Dilemma (PD) that this metaphor can be adapted to show that co-operative action can be achieved, without government-sponsored action, and with self-interest in the market. However, I shall contend that analysis of the PD (and other collective action dilemmas (Parfit, 1984; Laver, 1986)) retains its value in modelling the structures of action in markets and thus their inappropriateness to the contemporary needs of co-operation and deliberation in the public domain. Tooley's conclusion derives from substituting a new confusion for an old one.

Institutional constraints upon cooperativee action: the collective action dilemmaa a Tooley's use of the catalytic converter game (whether two motorists should fit the appliance to

182 Stewart Hanson

reduce air pollution) perfectly illustrates the collective action dilemma. The structure of the game is nicely presented by Tooley. The choices presented within 'the game' are the 'temptation' (T) to 'defect' (not to fit while the other fits) at £7 which is greater than the 'reward' (R) to co-operate, at £4. This in turn is greater than the 'punishment' (P) for mutual defection £0, which is greater than the 'sucker's payoff (S) at £3 (fitting while the other does not). This relationship, T > R > P > S, must hold if it is to be a collective action (or prisoner's) dilemma. (An equivalent educational dilemma which Tooley might have explored is institutional competition and whether a school should 'opt out' or remain with the LEA.) Knowing the terms of choice, but not how the other will choose, the presupposition underlying the game is that the players, being (formally) rational (able to calculate the most efficient means of realizing chosen ends) are driven to maximize their utility through self-interest. Given the constraints which deny the opportunity to act cooperatively, and thus uncertainty about how the 'other' will choose, then it appears rational for each to act from self-interest to secure an immediate and larger advantage. The dilemma is that, while choosing to act co-operatively may leave everybody better off, this outcome is more uncertain, given the constraints, than pursuing a more certain outcome delivered by self-interest. The dilemma is that the chance to win a larger short term individual gain overrides the security of a longer term benefit for all. The structure of the choice T > R > P > S follows from: the institutional constraint upon cooperation, rationality dictates self-interest and the temptation to seek relative advantage. The collective outcome is suboptimal for society: worse, that is, than if co-operative action had ensued. Structure constrains action: we must assume if the structure allowed interaction it would have been rational to act collaboratively. To make sense of this game we need to explore its underlying presuppositions which include assumptions about human nature, about social structure, about the moral order and about rationality and institutional systems.

Assumption about human nature Individuals are vulnerable to temptation, the lure of the windfall gain, the bonus, the jackpot winner take all to accrue a privileged relative advantage. Human nature is ostensibly greedy. The structuring of choice in favour of short term self-interest is based upon the lure of free riding, that while I choose to jump the queue nobody else will, thus securing me a windfall in saved time. The temptation is to get something for nothing on the back of others' joint action. The temptation is to turn the game into a zero-sum game where the winner takes all: some must win, most must lose. Individual licence, however, depends upon collective restraint. Assumption about social structure Free riding actually presupposes a distinctive psychology in which an individual believes he or she can only gain by disregarding social rules and conventions because the rest will adhere to social norms. Free riders thus hope they can have it both ways: the benefits of the ordered collective action (that the majority have formed a queue, rather than a scramble) and secure a personal advantage as well. Although the game assumes uncertainty about how others will act, free riding really presupposes an understanding about how others are very likely to act: that is, while the individual breaks the rules, the majority will maintain them (stay in the queue while you break it; remain seated while you stand to get a better view). The relative advantage can only be gained if most can be predicted to act according to the prevailing social norms. Indeed, collective rule adherence is the indispensable basis for individual gain. Assumption about the moral order Describing the relationship in this way suggests an amoral orientation of one 'rule-breaking' actor, although contemporary moral theory might reach different conclusions about the morality of the action. While Aristotelians might point to 'akrasia' and weakness of will to act virtuously within shared moral traditions, or Kantians criticize the inability of the agent to exercise the categorical imperative, Nietzscheans might, conversely, cele-

A Reply to James Tooleyy 183 brate the superhuman capacity to break through conventions rather than meekly conforming. But is it not unlikely that groups over time will allow individuals routinely to break rules which the group believes indispensable for its wellbeing? The possibility of windfall gains are based upon a delusion about social and moral order. Either many, if not all, will seek the same advantage and thus not only cancel the individual advantage but make everybody worse off, or the group, knowing the proclivity of some to predatory accumulation, will act to constrain them in the interests of the well-being of all. Judgements about agency are usually located in a temporal structure: we form a view about interactions and the intentions which inform them over time.

Assumptions about rationality and institutional systems The game assumes, however, that decisionmaking is shaped by a moral order of formal rationality. Agents have acted reasonably because they have acted rationally. Given the structural constraints upon communication, it is only rational to act from self-interest, from instrumental calculation. Yet, this presupposition about rationality is overly narrow and constrained in its own terms, let alone denying an alternative conception of rationality. The conception of rationality is atemporal as well as asocial. In many decision contexts, the agent will want to calculate what to do based upon a judgement of consequences over time as much as upon immediate effects. It is rational to consider the interaction of choices as well as a decision in isolation. Indeed, in most social contexts it would be irrational to do otherwise because individual choices have collective as well as personal consequences. Some (many) choice situations depend upon calculating the likely collective as against the personal outcomes; that the choice necessarily involves comparing the two. One cannot be rational without calculating the likely relationship of the two, of judging the relative advantage, of judging how the other will act over time. It is rational for actors to take into account system level effects as well as intra-system con-

sequences in making their choices. 'It can be better for each if he adds to pollution, uses more energy, jumps queues, and breaks agreements: but if all do these things, that can be worse off for each than if none do. It is very often true that, if each rather than none does what will be better for himself, this will be worse off for everyone' (Parfit, 1984). Self-interest is very often selfdefeating. A longer term view of self-interested rationality is also ruled out of court: given knowledge of the collective outcomes of the game, it may be instrumentally rational to settle for a smaller (and certain) rather than a larger (and uncertain) individual gain. Ironically, selfinterest dictates co-operative action. This is the paradox of public goods. Self-interest appears appealing, and doing what one ought to do appears less attractive. But, while individuals may be tempted to pursue their self-interest alone, only investment in co-operative activity will secure self-interest of all as well as of each. Yet this is to define the orientation of action in the individualist terms of the game. It denies the possibility of a different value-rationality that recognizes the intrinsic value of co-operative action. The collective action (prisoner's) dilemma has placed the most severe institutional constraints upon moral action by placing the actors artificially in the dark, accentuating their solitariness and self-interestedness, and thus denying them the opportunity to deliberate upon the full moral and political choices before them. Different organizing assumptions would place a different moral value upon co-operative action within and for the public domain.

Conclusion Tooley's attempts to correct the PD by advocating an iterated game acknowledges some of the argument above, particularly the temporal nature of much decision-making. By demonstrating that actors co-ordinate their interests over time, Tooley believes he has not only rescued the value of the market, but demonstrated that self-interest leads

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to co-operative action. By so doing he appears to concede that co-operative action is a precondition for preventing the suboptimal outcomes that ensue from actors making decisions in isolation from each other. Tooley's conclusion, however, derives from substituting a new confusion for an old one. The original confusion (Tooley, 1992a) lay in juxtaposing to individual action cooperative action defined as 'government sponsored action': co-operation he implies must mean state command planning. His promotion of the iterated game reveals that co-operation can, of course, derive from alternative conceptions of action in the public domain (Ranson and Stewart, 1994). His new confusion, however, while conceding the necessity of co-operative action, is to presume that an institutional form, which enables cooperation and deliberation, can rescue the market. The iterated game however, points, not to an adaptation of the original game, but to the necessary failure of a game that denies co-operative action and the need for a game that is different in kind. The confusion Tooley makes derives from his holding a mistaken theory of institutional systems which asserts the universal validity of one institutional form (certainly for both private and public sectors). A very different theory, which argues that institutional design must vary significantly if the values, purposes, conditions and tasks of distinctively different domains are to be realized, would prevent the confusions to which Tooley has fallen prey. The institutional system of the market may have its appropriate location, but in the public domain it systematically denies what democracy alone can realize. The co-operative and deliberative action required by the predicaments of the time can only be realized in forums of democratic participation which allow actors to share and ne-

gotiate their intentions. Only then can collective actions' problems be dissolved and public good be secured.

References Chubb, J. and Moe, T. (1990) Politics, Markets and America's Schools. Washington: Brookings Institution. Fishkin, J. (1991) Democracy and Deliberation: New Directions for Democratic Reform. New Haven: Yale University Press. Jonathan, R. (1990) State education service or prisoner's dilemma: the hidden hand as a source of education policy. British Journal of Educational Studies, 22(1), 16-24. Laver, M. (1986) Social Choice and Social Policy. London: Blackwell. Parfit, D. (1984) Reasons and Persons. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Putnam, R. (1993) Making Democracy Work: Civic Traditions in Modern Italy. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Ranson, S. (1993) Markets or democracy for education. British Journal of Educational Studies, 41(4), 333-52. Ranson, S. (1994) Towards the Learning Society. London: Cassell. Ranson, S. and Stewart, J. (1994) Management for the Public Domain: Enabling the Learning Society. London: Macmillan. Tooley, J. (I992a) The prisoner's dilemma and educational provision: a reply to Ruth Jonathan. British Journal of Educational Studies, 40(2), 118-33. Tooley, J. (1992b) The 'pink-tank' on the Education Reform Act. British Journal of Educational Studies, 30(4), 335-49. Tooley, J. (1995) Markets of democracy in education: a reply to Stewart Ranson. British Journal of Educational Studies, 43(1), 21-34.

16

Co-operation without Deliberation: The Market Solution

JAMES TOOLEY Introduction Thomas Sowell, the American economist, once observed that there are better automobiles in the ghettos than schools. But it is not just cars: there are better shops, supermarkets, banks, amusement arcades, fast-food stores and virtually every other private service you can think of. In Brixton, for example, one of the poorer areas of London, a new supermarket has recently opened. It is as fine as any supermarket anywhere. It has the same fine selection of goods, standards of cleanliness and innovative technology - technology that would have been unheard of even ten years ago. Compare the supermarket with the local secondary school. This has dilapidated buildings and uncared for grounds; it is an unpleasant place to be for teachers and pupils alike. Perhaps most significantly, unlike in the supermarket, the technology of the school is virtually the same as it was when it was first opened 100 years ago: one teacher to a large class of children. This contrast, I suggest, is because of the lack of market mechanisms in the education system. That is, I am afraid I still remain unconvinced by Ranson that educational problems require 'democratic, rather than market, institutional forms' (Ranson, 1995, p. 35) for their solution. In this final paper of the four in our discussion, I will pursue further our remaining disagreements. The key issues concern what markets are, the prisoner's dilemma and our different understanding of 'co-operation', and the shortcomings of democracy.

A market revolution versus market tinkering Despite Ranson's easy dismissal of my discussion here, I think there is still mileage in discussing the issue of definitions of markets further. I had suggested that we need to distinguish between what the Conservative government introduced in education, which I dubbed the 'so-called' market, and 'more authentic' markets - labels which I will stay with in this chapter. While I agree that 'Modifying the name does not remove the need for analysing the distinctive effects of a market-like system' (p. 36), that misses my point. By all means analyse the effects of the system that the government has brought in. But don't then assume that the critique you are making is a critique of 'more authentic' markets. At most it is a critique of a governmentfunded, government-provided and heavily regulated system with, as Ranson says, some marketlike characteristics. Let me be very clear why I think there is a need to be so particular here. Indeed, I have some sympathy with those who continually have to stress that the break-up of the Soviet Union did not signal the end of socialism, because that system did not really embody socialist principles; my protest is that the debate about the role of markets in education cannot revolve around the government's reforms, because these do not really embody market principles. Far from showing the inadequacies of markets, my suggestion is that they continue to expose the inadequacies of state intervention in education. Now I outlined this objection in my earlier contribution, but Ranson is still unconvinced; others,

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too, are puzzled as to why this is so important to me. Perhaps it is worth spending more time explaining my position. I will attempt this clarification by way of a parable. Suppose that in the late nineteenth century, it was decided that children need an adequate diet to grow up into good citizens and employees, and it is observed that not all children are getting this. Hence the state, invoking the 'protection of minors' principle, intervenes to ensure an adequate diet for all children. Through a bold series of ever more encompassing reforms, starting with the setting up of a National Bread Board through to the creation of the Department for Nutrition, the system is in place by, say 1970, whereby the vast majority of children attend Local Nutrition Authority (LNA) kitchens for all their eating requirements. Children are directed to their local kitchen by their LNA and neither they nor their parents have any choice in this matter. Food is provided free at the kitchen, and officials strongly warn against provision of food outside of the kitchen. (In any case, as parents would have to pay for such additional food, there is very little motivation for them to do so.) Attendance at the kitchens is compulsory for all children, and they have to eat three meals a day, at set times. All children have the same amount of food and the same amount of time in which to eat it. If they haven't finished one course when the time is up, they have to move on to the next. They eat their meals around tables with 30 other children of the same age, supervised by one member of the Feeding Profession. If they do not eat at the set times, they are punished, often by being served them the meal that children least like when everyone else has gone home. As one of the main motivations of this system is that all children should be healthy for employment, there is a General Certificate of Nutrition, at 'ordinary' and 'advanced' levels. At these examinations, over a period of a couple of weeks in the hottest part of the summer, children are observed on how they eat specially prepared meals, whether they leave any of their greens, how quickly they devour their food, their table manners and much else. The examinations results are then used by employers in job allocation.

The Nutrition System comes under mounting pressures. In many kitchens, it is alleged, food is of poor quality, leading to illness and listlessness. Some of the Feeding Profession cannot control their charges, with consequent riotous mealtimes. Moreover, it is pointed out that because diet is not centrally prescribed, some kitchens are experimenting with different kinds of food, with disastrous consequences for children thus exposed. Samosas served at one school instead of steak and kidney pie create a huge national scandal. Questions are asked in the House of Commons. All this seems grossly unfair, particularly as at other institutions, mealtimes are orderly and the food good, at least in part. Finally, the children of the rich, it is noted, can afford to opt out of the state system, and have food in restaurants or, in rare cases, cooked at home by their own parents. This adds to the inequity of the system, because it is agreed that the quality of private restaurants is better than that of the state kitchens, and because home-cooking clearly deprives children of their national nutritional entitlement. It is apparent that urgent reforms are needed. The party that wins the next election favours 'markets' as a panacea for the country's ills. It introduces market reforms into the public services, including Nutrition. To avoid alienating the Department for Nutrition and the Feeding Profession, the government sets up a National Dietary Division (NDD) and brings out a National Diet (ND). To ensure national accountability - so important in a democracy - the testing regime is enhanced, with more frequent eating examinations and publication of kitchen league tables. But these are not the key market reforms. These, enthuse the politicians, liberate the nutritional demand and supply sides: on the demand side parents are now permitted to choose their preferred kitchen from the two or three in their area. Moreover, whereas previously kitchens had received funding regardless of how many children they had to feed, now they are to be allocated a specific amount for each child. That should keep these kitchens on their toes, and ensure value for money! On the supply side, kitchens are now given control of much of their budgets and a rather small number of brand new kitchens are opened,

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with superb cooking equipment with which children can pretend to make food, if they eat up their meals on time. With these demand and supplyside revolutions in place, the government presents its Nutrition Market. However, it is not long before critics begin condemning the market. Says one professor: Look how markets exacerbate inequality! For it is clear that, under the reforms, some kitchens are far more popular than others. Lo and behold, just as one could have predicted, the popular kitchens are able to choose between parents. Under the guise of consumer choice, the producers are empowered, not the customers. The disadvantaged are relegated to the worst kitchens from which the middle-classes have escaped. The debate rages, and when a new government comes into power, under agitation from the Nutrition pressure groups, the market reforms are curtailed. Let's leave this parable and consider the 'more authentic' market as we know it in Nutrition, or, as we call it, food. The contrast is stark indeed. In the more authentic food market there is incredible choice and diversity. Parents can choose in what ways they wish their children to be fed. They purchase food using their own money, and the myriad of these individual choices have an influence on the final price of the food, giving information to suppliers to act according to demand. They can choose uncooked, cooked or partly cooked food. They choose from a huge range of suppliers, from traditional markets, supermarkets, hypermarkets, late stores, corner shops, wholesalers; some grow food for themselves; some eat out for certain meals at restaurants or fast-food stores, or order take-away food; some eat with friends or extended family. And of course, some do all of the above, depending upon their preferences at particular times. The government is not involved in funding or provision at all. There is some state intervention, however. The food suppliers need to conform to safety and informational requirements. Moreover, there are two 'safety nets' to ensure that children do not suffer. If parents are neglectful, there are mechanisms to ensure children are cared for properly. For poor parents, there are money hand-outs to ensure their children eat properly.

These mechanisms, if working properly, enhance but do not unduly undermine the market. I hope I have written enough to bring out the contrast between a more authentic market and a 'so-called' one. The tiny aspects of markets which were introduced in the parable are largely insignificant, and indeed, as the critics pointed out, are likely to exacerbate the unfairness of the previous system. The moral of this parable is, I hope, that tinkering with heavy state intervention does not bring about a market, even if it introduces some market-like mechanisms. All we have in education is this tinkering; the so-called market is as different from a more authentic market as the reformed Nutrition System is from the real market in food. A more authentic market in education would be revolutionary. We are so caught up in state education, in a system which has for so long stifled innovation and enterprise, that in one sense it is as hard to imagine what such a market would be like, just as it would be for those brought up in the Nutrition System to imagine what a real food market could be like. That said, in another sense, we do have access to some of the possibilities, if, instead of focusing on children's education, we think of the education of adults - although even here, a word of caution is in order. For, just as some libertarian critics of the Nutrition System might have pointed out that the system effectively obliterated any love of food and eating in children - having to eat whether they were hungry or not, eating the same amount of food whatever their appetite, eating always in public, eating bland and unappetizing food, eating for examinations and so on - so it is likely that our education system so effectively stamps out the love of learning in young people that the educational market for adults is nowhere near as diverse as it might otherwise be. That said, as things stand, if I want to learn jazz piano, say, I do go to 'the educational market' and choose between the variety of means on offer, from cassettes, CD-ROMs and books, through college courses, to individual home tuition. Choice and diversity - real choice and real diversity - would be key descriptors of a more authentic educational market. For children these might include a range of small schools, super-

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schools and hyperschools, corner information exchanges, community centres, home tutors, computing networks and so on. So I agree completely with Ranson that the outcomes of markets are 'unpredictable' (p. 36), but see this as one of their virtues, not a complaint. Finally, it must be stressed that the education market could, of course, be supplemented by the same welfare provisions we find in the food market, as noted above for poor or neglectful families. If some people neglect their children's nutrition, this is not the signal for the state to take responsibility for the feeding of all children; the same principle should apply to education. In short, my misgivings about Ranson - and others - using the term 'market' to define the government's reforms were perhaps more radical than he had thought. One objection might be that I have been too cavalier in making the analogy between Nutrition and Education. However, there seem enough similarities to make the comparison productive. An adequately fed population is as much a 'public good' as an adequately educated one. A poor diet or wrongly prepared food is bad for children; so too are poor educational opportunities. Importantly, choosing and preparing an adequate diet needs certain knowledge and skills; in the same way, choosing educational opportunities depends to a certain extent on being already educated. While this has implications for whether young children should be allowed to choose either diet or curriculum, it does not rule out in either case the possibility of parents or older children doing so. No doubt there are differences too, perhaps most significantly, the positionality of education but not of nutrition: people only need an adequate quality and quantity of food in order to flourish; having more than that is unlikely to increase your health. (Indeed, the richer you are, the more likely you are to be tempted by foods which are bad for your health.) In education, it does seem different, that, even if you have an education adequate for citizenship and employment, s?y, then if others have a better, perhaps more expensive education, they may well do better than you in the life stakes. However, as I noted in my previous contribution, it does not seem to be possible to eradicate this positionality whatever you do, unless

you are prepared to sacrifice voluntary childrearing institutions (see Tooley, 1995b, pp. 18-21). A further objection from Ranson might be that this is all very well, but it is not the debate that he is engaged in. But on a trivial level my point remains, that if he and others wish to criticize the government reforms, then they should do so without implicating markets. But, more importantly, the debate about the government reforms is, at least implicitly, about the justified role for the state in education - and one of the options that needs to be considered in this debate is the more authentic withdrawal of the state, in other words, more authentic markets. All good reasons to leave the term 'market' to something like the more authentic markets I have alluded to, and to insist that these are worthwhile objects of reflection and debate in the educational context. If Ranson has spent too little time on the definition of markets, I think he has given too much attention to the discussion of the detailed assumptions of the prisoner's dilemma, to which I turn now.

The prisoner's dilemma and two types of co-operation Ranson says that 'Tooley ... argues, through his analysis of the Prisoner's Dilemma (PD) that this metaphor can be adapted to show that cooperative action can be achieved, without government sponsored action, and with self-interest in the market' (Ranson, 1995, pp. 37-8). Here, one could be forgiven for understanding Ranson as saying that it was my idea to take the debate onto this territory. In fact it was Ruth Jonathan's (1990). Jonathan wished to use the prisoner's dilemma to show that markets were not suitable for education; my reply (1992) challenged her. Jonathan is not alone here for example Joseph Raz (1986) uses a similar argument with respect to collective goods in general, as have many other political philosophers and economists. They brought the debate into this territory, and so it was necessary to respond to them on the

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same territory. Had they not done so, it might not have seemed particularly fruitful to do so. That made clear, we can now explore Ranson's argument. He goes at great lengths (Ranson, 1995, pp. 39-41) to show how my discussion of the prisoner's dilemma is 'confused'. Unfortunately, this discussion misses its mark. He argues: 'The collective action (prisoner's) dilemma has placed the most severe institutional constraints upon moral action by placing the actors artificially in the dark, accentuating their solitariness and selfinterestedness' (p. 41). I absolutely agree -but, to repeat, it was not my idea to debate on this territory! So it is not here that our real disagreement lies. In order to see its fundamental source, let me reiterate my challenge to Jonathan. The implicit prisoner's dilemma model which she used had one crucial shortcoming. It assumed that the players meet only once, play the game and then have no further interaction with each other. However, this, over and above the artificial assumptions of game theory, is not a realistic picture of human interaction. In any market transactions, for example, families are likely to purchase the same goods at regular intervals; one buyer might be a seller in a different context; or finally, buyers and sellers might meet as friends or neighbours in the community. Now, and this was the crux of my argument, game theory is able to take this shortcoming into account, and model the game iteratively, in a 'supergame'. Here something very interesting emerges. In the worst case scenario, when the 'one shot' game was a prisoner's dilemma, in the supergame there is a co-operative solution. The solution is known as the 'tit for tat' strategy, where one player adopts a 'conditional' strategy, of starting the supergame by co-operating and then cooperates in the next game if the other player cooperated in the previous game; if not, the player defects, but then immediately tries to co-operate in the next game (Axelrod, 1984, p. 13; Taylor, 1987, p. 104). It is in our understanding of the significance of this that we differ. For Ranson understands me to be 'conceding] that cooperative action is a precondition for preventing the sub-optimal outcomes that ensue' from the prisoner's dilemma. Here, crucially, he understands co-operation as

deliberative planned action, where actors, inter alia, do not make 'decisions in isolation from each other' (Ranson, 1995, p. 41). But this is not the sense in which co-operation should be understood in this context. The surprising outcome of the prisoner's dilemma supergame is not that cooperative action is a 'pre-condition' of the beneficial outcome, but that it is itself the beneficial, albeit unintended, outcome arising out of selfinterested behaviour. Clearly, the problem here is that we are understanding 'co-operation' in its two distinct senses. My Concise Oxford Dictionary, for example, has 'to co-operate' as meaning either 'to work together', or 'to concur in producing an effect'. Let me call Ranson's sense, similar to the dictionary's first sense, 'deliberative' cooperation, and the game theoretic sense, similar to the second sense, 'epiphenomenal' co-operation. Failure to appreciate that the latter is a valid usage of the term is bound to lead one to underestimate the virtues of markets, and to misunderstand the profound implications of the iterated prisoner's dilemma game outcome. To put this into a concrete context, in the (authentic) food market this form of co-operation is at work continually, bringing about the 'public good' of an adequately fed population. Butchers, bakers, brewers and so on, pursue their own self-interest. But because they are interacting with the community over a period of time, it is in their self-interest, in the language of game theory, to 'co-operate', by provide good quality food at cheap prices. The baker does not 'defect' by mixing sawdust in his flour, because he wants us to come back for bread again, or because we are fellow members of the same church, or whatever. Co-operation without deliberation is the key to the success of these market transactions. This discussion brings us straight to the related issue of'collective action problems'. Ranson lists three important ones, 'environmental erosion, the fragmentation of the polity, [and] educational opportunity for all' (p. 37). He says that these are examples of problems which 'depend necessarily upon cooperative and deliberative public action for their resolution' (p. 37). But why? Just because they are collective action problems, likely to require co-operation for their solution, does not

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mean that only the deliberative form of cooperation can solve them. For example, there is a growing body of literature which points to market solutions to environmental problems (see for example, Anderson and Leal, 1991; Bate and Morris, 1994; and Morris, 1995). Interestingly, the environmental campaigners threatening direct action to 'reclaim the streets' by stopping traffic in British cities (The Times, 11 May 1995) could be interpreted as saying precisely that they want property rights over their streets, and do not want to leave anything as important as the public good of clean air to the vagaries of democracy. Ranson assumes that it is universally accepted that markets cannot solve these problems; that is far from the case. It is also interesting to note examples of collective action problems which Ranson omits to mention. Surely, the provision of adequate food for the population is also a highly important collective action problem, on a par with the provision of adequate educational opportunities? Why did Ranson not mention this? Because we are so familiar with the solution to this problem lying with markets, with epiphenomenal co-operation, that we do not think of it, except in extreme circumstances of famine, as being a collective action problem at all. There seem to be no a priori reasons why educational opportunity should not be the same as food. That is, why educational suppliers would not set themselves up in business, offering a rich diversity of educational opportunities of good quality and reasonable price, and why the great majority (we have already mentioned that there might be a different solution for the minority who are too poor or irresponsible to do this) of people would not be able to choose among and fund these for themselves. Ranson assumes that this would not happen, but this pessimistic assumption is not well grounded. Obviously in the end this is an empirical matter, and we cannot solve the disagreement here. But, in the absence of this evidence, it does not seem that Ranson or anyone else is able to provide theoretical reasons why this could not happen. Those theorists that do try to show this generally rely on the prisoner's dilemma to do the work for them, either implicitly or explicitly. Ranson's argument

notwithstanding, I still assert that the iterative solution to the prisoner's dilemma provides support for markets and the 'epiphenomenal' cooperative solution to collective action problems, rather than support for the deliberative democracy that Ranson seeks. Conveniently, this does bring us to the final issue on which I wish to challenge Ranson.

Three shortcomings of democracy I should clarify one small point straightaway: Ranson suggests that I propose 'to withdraw democracy altogether' (p. 37). No: democracy is probably the least bad of all systems of government - it is better, in Judge Learned Hand's memorable phrase, to 'count heads rather than break heads' to legitimize political succession. But because of its imperfections, the domain of democracy should be limited. It is control of education exercised by a democratic state that I was arguing against, not democracy per se. But it is the problem of the imperfections of democracy, any democracy, which have exercised me, and which I suggested that Ranson needs to consider before propounding his visions for a democratic learning society. As Ranson again simply repeats his claims on behalf of the benefits of democracy without exploring any shortcomings in any detail, it seems worth outlining what I take to be the three main shortcomings of democracy which, if acknowledged, might lead one to look more favourably at markets. The first shortcoming Ranson does mention in passing: this concerns the middle-class appropriation of welfare through democracy. Practical illustrations of this problem are easy to find. For example, the comprehensivization of schools, ostensibly a reform to benefit the most disadvantaged, has been criticized, from an otherwise sympathetic perspective, for making the hierarchies worse, benefiting the middle-classes while pretending to do the opposite (Walford, 1994); the much vaunted expansion of higher education, ostensibly to help the working classes gain access to

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higher education, has increased the proportion of middle-class students at university, while the proportion of working-class students remains the same (The Times, 1 May 1995). Of course these are examples of what Ranson would be entitled to call the failures of'so-called' democracy, and although he does agree that I am right to raise this problem of 'middle-class appropriation of democratic forms' (Ranson, 1995, p. 37), he suggests that there are various ways of overcoming this problem including using 'deliberative opinion polls', 'citizen networks' or 'citizen panels' (p. 37). It is hard to see how such instruments would do anything other than serve the more 'politically influential, skilled and adroit' members of whatever class, not the more disadvantaged. The second major shortcoming of democracy concerns problems raised by public choice and social choice theory on, inter alia, the limitations of voting systems. It might be worthwhile just giving a taste of the sort of problems which arise here. Until one has encountered them it might be assumed that the technical requirements of democracy could be relied upon to deliver the goods, even if other problems such as middle-class appropriation remained more intractable. Suppose that one of Ranson's 'citizen panels' is deliberating on, say, a curriculum for schools in its area. The panel of seven people has reviewed four curriculum proposals put forward by the community. It now moves to the vote. Suppose the preferences of the panel before voting are (most preferred first): A B C D E F G

abed abed abed bcda bcda cdab cdab

The panel uses a voting method which is a favourite for committees, namely the Borda count method. For the first choice of each member, 3 points are awarded, second place, 2 points, and so

on, down to 0 points for last place. This gives c as the winner with 13 points, followed by b with 12 points, a with 11 points and d with only 6 points. Hence c is the preferred curriculum for the community. But is it? As it happens, just before they are about to vote, the promoters of d withdraw their proposal. The panellists simply delete d from their list of preferences, and proceed with the vote. Their preferences are now: A B C D E F G

abc abc abc bca bca cab cab

Now, if we do the Borda count process again, we get a completely different result! Now with only three options, the first choice gains 2 points, the second choice 1 point and the third choice 0 points. The method now produces a as winner, with 8 points, followed by b with 7 points, and c, the previous winner, in last place with only 6 points! There has been a complete reversal of results, although the preferences of those making the decision have not changed in the least. Now, to many this seems extraordinary. We thought that voting systems could be relied upon to aggregate preferences sensibly; now we see an outcome that appears to be arbitrary. But in fact it is even worse than that. If we were to investigate why curriculum d was withdrawn, we find that it is the proposers of curriculum a - adroit political people who have persuaded them. They are aware that a would have come in in third place had d been put forward; with d withdrawn, a is the winner. The voting system is not only arbitrary, it is also open to deliberate and calculating manipulation. On both these counts, the voting system appears unfair. But worse: this is not an isolated incident. These types of problem have been generalized in Arrow's theorem, which suggests that no voting system can simultaneously satisfy five conditions which it is suggested are conditions of fairness.

192 fames Tooley

That is, any voting system whatsoever will fall foul of similar difficulties to those observed above. Taking into account these sorts of problem might lead us to be less optimistic about the potential of democracy. (For further details on these issues see Tooley, 1995b, ch. 5.) The third shortcoming concerns 'the epistemic problem'. To highlight this, let us return to our food example for the final time. Suppose, instead of market mechanisms allocating bread, say, this is instead to be decided by citizen panels. Local and national panels deliberate on the amount of bread required each month, and assign certain members to make the bread, others to buy the ingredients, others to distribute them and so on. No doubt, this is a possible way of doing things, and I am sure it could be done fairly successfully for bread. Although even here, as anyone who has served on small-scale democratic committees will be aware, the allocation of bread would take up considerable time, with much deliberation and frustration. Imagine the lengthy discussions and manoeuvring about whether we should have brown or white bread, or a mixture of both, and then whether it should be granary or wholemeal and so on. But now suppose that these committees have also to make similar decisions regarding all the other foods that people deal with. Now they are likely to come up against the 'epistemic problem' (see Gray, 1992; and Tooley, 1995b, ch. 4) as well as just simple time and energy constraints. The information required to make all these sorts of decisions would simply be too vast, to make pricing decisions, to make allocation decisions, to ensure that ingredients were purchased in the correct quantities, qualities, time and so on. The democratic system just could not cope with the complexities. And why should it? Probably Ranson would say that this is why he is in favour of the mixed economy, precisely because market mechanisms do solve the epistemic problem for goods such as food. But, just as was remarked when we discussed the public goods dilemma earlier, why is education so different from food in this respect too? Is there not just as great an epistemio problem when it comes to deliberating about unique in-

dividuals and their educational needs and requirements, and about unique communities and their needs? Do not the technical requirements of education make decision-making about education best conducted as close to the participants as possible? Why cannot markets - with the sorts of safety nets outlined earlier, to ensure equity deliver the desired outcomes more effectively than democracy? I do not believe Ranson has addressed this question. What each of these shortcomings reinforces, I suggest, is the following: What Ranson and others convey is that markets are inherently flawed, hence that we need democratic control in part to bring order and rationality to our education system. But evidence concerning middle-class appropriation of welfare, social choice and public choice theory, and the epistemic argument, all lead us to realize that democracy too is flawed. So, although it appeared that the pro-democrats were advocating replacing an imperfect system, markets, with something on a different plane altogether, democracy, it now seems that this is not the case. So the upshot of all this is, given that we are talking about two imperfect systems, can we look more dispassionately at what each can offer? With the instant dismissal of markets no longer available - because democracy too has imperfections markets, I suggest, can be more favourably assessed.

Conclusion: in defence of markets Markets get a bad press in educational circfes. I believe that the knee-jerk reaction to them is undeserved. In part, I believe, it arises because of the assumption that what the Conservative government has introduced in education is a market, and that any shortcomings of this system point to defects with markets. This I have argued is misguided. Shortcomings point above all to defects in a state education system. The prisoner's dilemma debate I hope we can put to rest now. The crucial difference between Ranson and myself was in our

The Market Solutionn 193 different appreciation of what co-operation could mean. An understanding of this which included the sort of co-operation that markets can bring leads to a more optimistic appraisal of their benefits. Finally, I still feel Ranson either romanticizes what democracy is capable of, or too easily accepts its shortcomings. But markets offer alternative solutions to educational problems which do not fall foul of the problems of democracy. The main purpose of this essay, and of much of my work, is to shift the terms of the policy debate. The debate is caught up in the parochialism of government policy, and avoids confronting the larger issue of whether governments should be involved in education in the first place. This is the crucial question of education policy for the new millennium. It is the crucial question for those concerned for children stuck in state schools which are failing them in every sense of the term. It is the crucial question for all those who want to see the development of a society where learning is a pleasure, and of life-long duration. The debate about markets is fundamentally about government intervention in education. I hope that this debate does not get so caught up in exposing the many disadvantages of the 'so-called' market - i.e. the heavily interventionist state system with minor market characteristics — that it remains blinded to the potential of the 'more authentic' market solution to educational problems, of co-operation without deliberation.

Referencess Anderson, T. L. and Leal, D. R. (1991) Free Market Environmentalism. Boulder, CO: Westview Press. Axelrod, R. (1984), The Evolution of Cooperation. Harmondsworth: Penguin. Bate, R. and Morris, J. (1994) Global Warming: Apocalypse or Hot Air? London: Institute of Economic Affairs. GrayJ. (1992) The Moral Foundations of Market Institutions. London: Institute of Economic Affairs. Jonathan, R. (1990) State education service or prisoner's dilemma: the 'hidden hand' as source of education policy. British Journal of Educational Studies, 38, 116-32. Morris, J. (1995) The Political Economy of Land Degradation. London Institute of Economic Affairs. Ranson, S. (1993) Markets or democracy for education. British Journal of Educational Studies, 41, 333-52. Ranson, S. (1995) Public institutions for cooperative action: a reply to James Tooley. British Journal of Educational Studies, 43, 35-42. Raz, J. (1986) The Morality of Freedom. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Taylor, M. (1987) The Possibility of Cooperation. Cambridge: Cambridge, University Press. Tooley, J. (1992) The prisoner's dilemma and educational provision: a reply to Ruth Jonathan. British Journal of Educational Studies, 40, 118-33. Tooley, J. (1995a) Markets or democracy for education? A reply to Stewart Ranson. British Journal of Educational Studies, 43, 21-34. Tooley, J. (1995b) Disestablishing the School: Debunking Justifications for State Intervention in Education. Aldershot: Avebury. Walford, G. (1994). Choice and Diversity in Education. London: Cassell.

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Part Four The Control of the Curriculum

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17

Curriculum Control and Responsibility: An International Perspectivee

MICHAEL CROSSLEY AND ROGER GARRETT Introduction The control of the school curriculum re-emerged as a major and controversial issue on the international education agenda during the 1980s - and remains a central and highly charged focus for debate in the 1990s. In the developed countries of the OECD, evidence for this can be seen in the numerous curriculum policy initiatives (reviewed by Skilbeck, 1990) and associated national and international commentaries and critiques (Lawton, 1989, 1992; Ball, 1990; Chitty, 1993). Similarly, many newly industrialized and developing countries have paid increased attention to curriculum reform and to a reassessment of mechanisms for the exercise and demarcation of control and responsibility (Marsh and Morris, 1992; Eshiwani, 1993; Crossley, 1994). The influence of international development agencies, such as the World Bank, upon the nature of curriculum change in developing countries is also increasingly evident (World Bank, 1990; Lockheed and Verspoor, 1991), with critics drawing attention to the implicit international transfer of many principles and policies derived from the West (Jones, 1992; see also Finegold, McFarland and Richardson, 1992). While there remains much diversity of policy and practice across educational systems, it is possible to identify contemporary international trends favouring a reassertment of central control over the school curriculum, the promotion of national or core curricula — and greater use of assess-

ment and examinations to ensure accountability and support policy implementation. To cite Skilbeck, in many countries there is emerging 'a two-way power-shift: concentration of policy and dispersion of responsibility for action... Accountability is the connecting mechanism which is increasingly seen as the means of linking these two ships that might otherwise pass in the night' (1990, p. 18). In many ways, this curriculum debate closely relates to the broader international literature contrasting the relative merits, demerits and complexities of centralization and decentralization trends in educational administration and governance (McGinn, 1990; 1992). Indeed, there is much that curriculum planners and policy-makers can learn from this broader field of enquiry, as we shall indicate later. At the heart of the contemporary debate is the fact that, while policy-makers and planners are increasingly committed to the centralizationn of curriculum control, much of the research and professional literature emphasizes the importance of participatory curriculum change strategies that involve practising teachers in the process of school-based curriculum development (SBCD). In this chapter, we examine the reasons for renewed interest in centralized curriculum control, document past and present international trends in this arena and explore the relative merits of centralized and school-based curriculum change strategies. Reasons for the apparent conflict between policy trends and research findings are examined, while the nature of the debate is clar-

198 Michael Crossley and Roger Garrett

ified and its importance for an international audience in both developed and developing countries is highlighted.

Centralized curriculum control and the ROD model This is not the first time in the post-war era that curriculum reform through centrally directed initiatives has been high on the national and international agendas. The launching by the then USSR in 1957 of Sputnik, the first space satellite, for example, stimulated a modern curriculum reform movement in the USA that was to have a major impact worldwide. Then, as now, the motives for curriculum reform were primarily economic and political in nature. International competition, the space race, and efforts to retain or promote economic growth through better science and technology, inspired generations of curriculum specialists. Not surprisingly, science and mathematics were given priority attention - and, given the optimism of the times, much faith was placed in education as the driving force for social change. From the outset, centrally formulated curriculum projects became the vehicle for reform and these tended to be large in scale and developed externally to the schools. The basic model was what is now widely known as a top-down, centreperiphery, or Research, Development and Diffusion (RDD) strategy (Havelock, 1971). A wide variety of teaching materials was produced and subjected to field trials before mass reproduction and distribution to the schools - often as 'teacherproof packages. Martin and Pinck (1966) document the initial enthusiasm for systematic and centralized curriculum development and the origins of the first major curriculum project - the Physical Science Study Committee (PSSC) - at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT). Significantly for the present analysis, it also went on to claim that the PSSC: worked to develop a new high school physics course which, through its integrity, style and precision of content, created a pattern of educational development subsequently followed by curriculum reform groups throughout the world. (Martin and Pinck, 1966, p. v)

While state and local governments mediated the impact of curriculum reform nationwide in the USA, the application of the RDD change strategy combined most effectively with the centralized administration and control of education that characterized many newly independent developing countries. The influential African Education Programme, for example, was a major initiative promoted by the American Educational Development Center at MIT as: a co-operative program among scientists, mathematicians, school teachers and educators from Africa, the UK and USA, [which] seeks to bring to Africa some of the newer and more effective methods of preparing improved school curricula in maths and the sciences based on American experience in school reform over the past decade. (Martin and Pinck, 1966, p. 237)

From this collaboration emerged a number of distinctive subject-centred curriculum projects, including the African Mathematics, African Primary Science and African Social Studies Programmes. The influence of these projects extended throughout the developing world with initiatives such as the Secondary Social Science Project in Papua New Guinea (Lornie, 1979) replicating African models and the RDD change strategy, and adapting content and pedagogy only minimally to fit new contexts. Indeed, the external influence on this wave of curriculum reform in developing countries is a significant issue in its own right, pointing to what Lillis (1985) refers to as 'curriculum dependency' through the control then exerted by expatriate personnel working within project offices, or acting as curriculum consultants and advisers (see Crossley, 1984,1994; Thaman, 1993). We will return to this dimension of international transfer and curriculum control in our concluding analysis.

Curriculum evaluation and implementation Despite initial enthusiasm for centralized models of curriculum change, evaluations that followed in the train of influential projects began to reveal limited impact upon the curriculum in practice. Research into the effects of the PSSC in the USA,

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for example, revealed that most physics teachers involved failed to change their teaching methods to any significant extent (see Fox, 1972). Similar findings were reported in the UK and elsewhere in Europe (Becher and Maclure, 1975), where researchers noted that, while curriculum policy and materials may have changed under the influence of project initiatives, only superficial changes in school practice were being implemented. Reviewing this experience from a North American perspective, Fullan (1972, p. 1) thus concluded that 'the modal process of change, whereby innovations are developed external to the schools and then transmitted to them, has led to no significant change at the user level'. In developing countries, the pattern was repeated, often revealing a growing hiatus between curriculum policy and practice. The New Mathematics courses developed under the auspices of the African Education Programme illustrate this well, for, despite their rapid and widespread adoption, they were frequently misunderstood and badly taught and, to cite Hawes (1979, p. 38), 'more often than not we ... exchanged old rote learning for new'. With recognition of the fact that the centralized RDD change strategy was often 'blunted at the classroom door', researchers, planners and policy-makers began to turn their attention to the problems and processes of implementation. Husen (1972, p. 134), for example, drew upon the Swedish experience in his search for alternative change strategies and argued persuasively that 'when it comes to change in methods of instruction, no law, force, or decree in the world can secure a more adequate instruction with regard to content and method'. Such thinking underpinned the development and promotion of participatory curriculum change strategies in which the practising teacher was more actively involved. Centrally formulated and imposed projects and change strategies were challenged, and the new rhetoric of school-centred innovation was 'optimistically and zealously advanced as both guardian, if not modern patron, of teacher autonomy and professionalism and as a likely cure for much of the current educational malaise' (Hargreaves, 1982, p. 252). In the light of research on the implementation process (Fullan and Pomfret, 1977; Dalin, 1978; Eggles-

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ton, 1980), it was argued that the involvement of practising teachers in the curriculum development process would increase their understanding of, and commitment to, change - and that this would, in turn, enhance professional competence and lead to improved chances of successful implementation. Increased control over, and responsibility for, the school curriculum was thus advocated for the practising teacher - and, as in previous years, the international transfer of such models was actively pursued by developed and developing countries alike. While many of the basic principles of schoolcentred innovation are important, the wisdom of the movement as a whole was questionable from the outset (Crossley, 1984), and it is to the nature and extent of the shifts from one broad model to the other that we now turn.

Renewed interest in centralized curriculum control In this historical context, it is somewhat ironic to see the re-emergence of attention during the 1980s and 1990s to modes of centralized curriculum control and the promotion of national and core curricula. Now, as before, the motives for government interest in the school curriculum are primarily economic and political in nature. In his OECD review, for example, Skilbeck (1990) argues that these include pressures for increased financial accountability in a protracted worldwide recession, demands for the strengthening of basic skills teaching and calls for training programmes more 'appropriate' for the needs of the modern economy. To this might be added analyses of 'radical right' policies that suggest the state is increasingly concerned to reduce social trends that challenge its legitimacy through policies designed to centralize power and produce a more compliant labour force (Watson, 1993). In England and Wales, for example, the 1988 Education Reform Act (ERA) introduced a new National Curriculum that, because of its rapid imposition, specific characteristics and prescriptiveness, has generated heated

200 Michael Crossley and Roger Garrett

debate and much controversy - with critics fearing the deprofessionalization of the teaching force (Kelly, 1989; 1990). The influence of the ERA on educational policy worldwide is also increasingly evident, and a factor of direct significance for the present debate. Clearly the political dimension of the curriculum, and the curriculum change process, has become increasingly evident in recent decades, and this has attracted the critical attention of the research community (Beyer and Apple, 1988). No longer can curriculum developers realistically see the change process as one in which technical and professional issues command sole attention. As Bacchus (1986) points out with reference to the Caribbean experience, what was taught in the schools throughout the past century: was not the outcome of a rational planning process, but instead reflected a struggle for control between different interest groups. The curriculum at any given time reflected the relative amount of effective power which a particular group - whether it was colonial administrators, planters, missionaries, teachers, or parents - was able to exert.

On the other hand, rational planning processes and professional input remain important if curriculum change is to lead to genuine improvement in the quality of teaching and learning. As with the centralization and decentralization debate referred to earlier, many of the contemporary dilemmas relating to the control of the curriculum stem from the tendency of key players in the debate to polarize issues, to oversimplify reality and to support one strategy, policy stance or proposal, at the expense of all others. This is particularly so at the level of popular discourse - but such public debate plays a significant role, for better or worse, in the formulation of social policy. At the risk of oversimplification, it is therefore argued that much of the public and policy debate relating to curriculum control and responsibility has, for too long, been unhelpfully polarized with those who support a national curriculum and centralized control rejecting teacher involvement, while supporters of decentralization and school-based curriculum development have maintained opposition to forms of central control.

Complicating matters further is the fact that, while not making the same mistakes, much of the contemporary research and professional literature has continued to emphasize the importance of participatory curriculum change, while underplaying the importance of frameworks and mechanisms for national control. Moreover, it is argued that much of the relevant theoretical literature pays insufficient attention to the practicalities of change and the influence that differing sociocultural contexts exert on policy formulation and implementation (Crossley and Broadfoot, 1992). We will return to these analytical themes at a later stage, but, given that the overall rationale for this present volume is to contrast opposing viewpoints relating to specific debates, we first identify and review the arguments marshalled together by the proponents of each basic model in favour of their idealized standpoints. First we look at the arguments for centralized curriculum control; this is followed by the case for school-based curriculum development.

The case for centralized curriculum control Many of the arguments in favour of the centralized control of the school curriculum can be seen in both the contemporary debate and the pressures that inspired the international curriculum reform movement of the 1960s. For the purpose of analysis, these can usefully be considered and classified under the four broad headings of: (1) Coordination and unity; (2) Quality assurance; (3) Cost-effectiveness; and (4) Social control.

Co-ordination and unity At the forefront of the debate is a strong and widely supported argument that central control of the school curriculum is necessary to establish, or maintain, a cohesive national system. Such thinking influenced the architects of the National Cur-

Curriculum Control and Responsibility

riculum for England and Wales where critics of the system prior to 1988 argued that: only in a minority of LEAs and schools was the term 'whole curriculum' sufficiently understood; and for too many pupils, the curriculum on offer was something essentially fragmented or partial; a rather loose collection of subjects lacking either structure or coherence. (Chitty, 1993, p. 107) While the actual form and implementation of the resulting National Curriculum itself was, and remains, the subject of considerable controversy and debate, a common curriculum framework was, for the first time, established for all pupils in maintained statutory schools throughout England and Wales. Reporting the results of recent empirically grounded research in the primary sector, Pollard et al. (1994, p. 239) further underscore the potential advantages of this dramatic strengthening of centralized control and their data demonstrate that: there is currently a broad consensus in English primary schools on the structural benefits of having a national curriculum. It is seen as providing for progression and continuity and, with careful design, it is seen as a potential source of coherence. Organisational benefits for teacher training and supply, continuous professional development, curriculum development, parental participation, teacher accountability and national monitoring of educational standards are accepted. From the co-ordination perspective, the establishment of a standardized curriculum also facilitates pupil and staff mobility from school to school, by reducing the differences between courses offered for the same age-groups nationwide. This is perhaps an increasingly important factor as technological and economic factors encourage mobility in the modern workforce. The co-ordination and unifying role of a national curriculum is seen to have further potential for the strengthening of national culture. While this was not ignored by policy-makers in the British context noted above, the significance of this factor for recently independent developing countries, where national unity itself has yet to be consolidated, is paramount.. This is, for example, a key issue in understanding the commitment given to the national curriculum in the multi-ethnic,

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multi-religious state of Singapore, where 'teachers are required to play their part in an education system which is seeking to establish a national identity' (Harrop, 1994, p. 76). Not surprisingly, a unifying national curriculum also features strongly in emergent policy proposals for the reform of education in post-apartheid South Africa (Perry, Johnson and Crossley, 1995). In this case, central control of the curriculum is seen as important for promoting equity through the removal of divisive and unequal subsystems. A single, unifying, national curriculum, it is argued, has the potential to facilitate more equal and liberating provision for all. Such assumptions have further implications for the quality of education which are more appropriately considered below.

Quality assurance Looking back to the origins of the RDD model of curriculum change in the post-Sputnik era, it is clear that supporters of centre-periphery change strategies aimed to improve quality by harnessing the leading subject specialists and educationalists of the day. This remains an attraction of centralized curriculum control, with proponents arguing that quality can best be assured by the strategic involvement of specialist expertise in national curriculum planning. This may include specialists in subject disciplines, as in the Americaninspired science and mathematics projects of the 1960s and 1970s, and philosophical considerations relating to, for example, the forms of knowledge regarded as essential for intellectual development (Peters, 1965). Reflecting this logic, however, the evolution of mechanisms established for the development of the National Curriculum for England and Wales are again revealing (Graham, 1993). For a professional culture in which practising teachers have a long tradition of involvement in curriculum innovation, it is notable that they did not play a significant role in the initial post1988 reform process (Kelly, 1990, p. 103). Indeed, the influence of the 'educational establishment' was purposefully reduced, but that of other stake-

202 Michael Crossley and Roger Garrett

holders, including political and economic forces, calling for improved basic skills and relevance to the employment market, was increased (Graham, 1993; Lawton, 1993). The prescription of National Curriculum goals and content by central authorities was, nevertheless, seen as the fastest and most efficient way to develop a modern curriculum to meet 'national needs'. Elsewhere, the apparent clarity and efficiency of centralized curriculum change continue to underpin support for prescriptive national curricula. This is particularly so in developing countries lacking a tradition of teacher or school involvement. Certainly, changes in policy, in curriculum content and in classroom materials can be rapidly made within a system characterized by central control. To this can be added the attractions of centrally controlled assessment and examination systems that are relatively inexpensive, and simple to implement and co-ordinate with prespecified curriculum content. Perhaps, above all, centralized control offers the prospect of uniformity, clarity and simplicity of administration - qualities that accord well with modes of formalistic teaching and learning, especially in contexts marked by financial austerity.

tions that can be made to improve the quality of primary education in developing countries (Farrell and Heyneman, 1989; Crossley and Murby, 1994). Not surprisingly, primary sector policy proposals articulated by international development agencies, such as the World Bank, thus support textbook investment, co-ordinated with an emphasis upon basic skills teaching, the more effective use of 'instructional time' and the expert replanning of pre-specified curricula by central authorities. To cite the 1990 World Bank primary sector policy document: Most curriculum reforms have concentrated on redefining the courses to be taught and the number of hours officially allocated to each. Generally, these changes have been ineffective. Successful curriculum reform efforts must tackle the more difficult issue of preparing a coherent, appropriately paced and sequenced instructional program and developing effective instructional materials. (World Bank, 1990, p. 17)

Implicit in much of this analysis is support for a more tightly prescribed role for the practising teacher - but one that may be more achievable, and cheaper to support, if less professionally demanding. The similarities of such proposals with broad policy trends, evident in England and Wales and elsewhere in the industrialized world, underscores the influence of economic and political factors and forces on the direction of change.

Cost-effectivenessss The latter points lead to critical issues of costeffectiveness that have long concerned developing countries, but which have been under-represented in much of the influential professional literature originating in Western industrialized nations. Having said this, the persistence of the international economic recession has now brought costeffectiveness firmly onto the educational agenda worldwide. A centralized curriculum, with prescribed syllabuses, activities, texts and support materials, makes it possible for significant cost savings to be made through the bulk purchase of supplies. Moreover, much contemporary research indicates that investment in the provision of quality textbooks is one of the most cost-effective interven-

Social control As already indicated in much of the above analysis and in the now well-worked theoretical literature relating to cultural reproduction and the legitimation theory (Welch, 1992; 1993), the school curriculum can be a powerful vehicle for social control. A prescriptive national curriculum can centralize power markedly, making such mechanisms attractive to the state intent on bolstering its own legitimacy. More specifically, battles for influence over the nature of that curriculum reflect the political and cultural agendas of the parties involved. Throughout the 1980s, for example, the Confederation of British Industry (CBI) pressed hard for

Curriculum Control and Responsibility

the creation of a national curriculum that would better serve the needs of the economy - and the 'training' emphasis that characterizes much of the contemporary policy debate in the UK clearly reflects this. A national curriculum can, however, serve interests on the left or the right of the political spectrum. Minority cultures, for example, can be suppressed or protected - but the implications of such control are far-reaching, helping to make the centralization and politicization of the school curriculum a particularly seductive policy option.

The case for school-based curriculum development As the historical review at the outset of this chapter demonstrated, many of the arguments for decentralization of curriculum control and responsibility to the school level were generated by criticism of centralized models. These we classify and consider here under the indicative headings of: (1) Ownership, understanding and commitment; (2) Contextual relevance; and (3) Professional development.

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ment of practising teachers in the curriculum development process itself could generate more relevant and realistic initiatives. Furthermore, as noted earlier, it was argued that a degree of ownership would help generate commitment to implement change successfully. In America such developments were first advocated by researchers such as Fullan and Pomfret (1977) and Herriott and Gross (1979), while, in the European context, the work of Stenhouse (1975), Macdonald and Walker (1976) and Dalin (1978) helped to pioneer a shift towards participatory change strategies. In more recent years the same basic principles have continued to receive strong support from the research and professional community (Kelly, 1989); and efforts have been made to transfer school-based curriculum development and process models of curriculum change to developing countries. By way of illustration, a form of school-based curriculum development was the model adopted for the implementation of the Secondary Schools Community Extension Project (SSCEP) in Papua New Guinea when it was recognized that teacher input and creativity were required to better relate the school curriculum to the needs and cultures of the local community (Crossley, 1984; 1994).

Contextual relevance Ownership, understanding and commitment An early, and still influential analysis of the problems of curriculum innovation interpreted the situation as one of resistance and conservatism on the part of the practising teacher - a reluctance to accept change initiated from outside. Although there are important limitations to this analysis, it led many researchers to question the notion of 'teacher-proof materials and drew attention to the fact that while it may be possible to change curriculum policy and materials by fiat, changing the 'actual curriculum' in practice depends on 'people not paper' (Hawes, 1972, p. 21). Change of teaching methods, it was argued, required a thorough understanding of the innovation; and the involve-

The last point helps to draw attention to the fact that it is impossible for a highly prescribed and uniform national curriculum to relate realistically to all local cultures and contexts in a given society. On the other hand, a strength of school-based curriculum development is its potential responsiveness to varied school contexts and to the specific needs and backgrounds of those children enrolled. As the political analyst, Sampson points out in his critique of the 1988 ERA in England and Wales and its attack on the influence of local education authorities: schools still desperately [need] contact with their community and their region, to provide both a counterweight to the centre and an understanding of educational needs - particularly of immigrant, under-

204 Michael Crossley and Roger Garrett privileged, displaced, or disruptive pupils - which cannot be analysed at the centre. (1992, p. 71) This presents a strong and enduring case for the active involvement of the local community and the practising teacher in the curriculum process a rationale that, again, featured prominently in the justification of the SSCEP change strategy, and in countless other international initiatives with their origins in the decentralization debates of the 1970s.

Profession al developm en t Closely aligned to the school-based curriculum movement is support for the strengthening of inservice education and training for the practising teacher. This, it is argued, is essential if the quality of education is to be improved through curriculum innovation. In many theoretical analyses, teacher development is, in fact, equated with curriculum development, and recent decades have seen the emergence of a wide range of innovative in-service programmes introduced in both developed and developing countries. School-based curriculum development can, thus, form an ideal vehicle for staff development activities - and for the strengthening of the professional dimension of the teacher's role. In more recent years, this rationale has helped support the teacher as researcher movement, inspired by Stenhouse and colleagues, the application of action research within school communities (Elliott, 1991), and important contemporary research relating to school effectiveness (see Levin and Lockheed, 1993; Dalin et al., 1994; Reynolds et al., 1994). From the available literature relating to this research and evaluation undertaken within schools, there is clearly much evidence of the positive and valuable impact of teacher collaboration and professional creativity upon the Duality of the school curriculum in practice - and it is surely improvements in practice that should be the ultimate goal of any curriculum innovation.

Conclusions Skilbeck's (1990) review of curriculum policy trends, with which we began this chapter, presents much evidence to suggest that in OECD countries 'school, or teacher-based curriculum development appears to be on the wane ... In every country, the major development initiatives are coming from public authorities operating from key central sites' (Skilbeck, 1990, p. 72). In the light of our historical perspective, this suggests that the 1980s have seen a return to favour of strategies for the central control of the school curriculum, despite the fact that both idealized models have many important and enduring strengths. While this shift is consistent with our critique of the oversimplistic conceptions of the change process that are reflected in much policy debate, we argue that it is both unhelpful and misleading to see centralized and school-based curriculum development strategies as alternative approaches or models. Rather, both approaches have their own strengths and limitations and both can play important and complementary roles as nations strive to improve the quality of education in practice. As Jacques Hallak, the Director of the International Institute of Educational Planning (IIEP), recently acknowledged, 'it is clearly not a simple question of either one or the other, but rather a matter of finding the right balance between what is to be defined centrally and what is to be defined locally' (1991, p. 7). This is an arena where the experience of developing countries with highly prescriptive national curricula can be most informative; for, despite severe resource constraints, many continue to try to inject a greater degree of teacher involvement into their curriculum development processes. What they are not attempting to do, however, is to replace centralized curriculum control with decentralized models. In contexts of financial austerity and limited professional capacity this would not be a viable option, but, more importantly, those genuinely committed to qualitative improvement pragmatically recognize the importance of a realistic balance between central and local control and responsibility. The Papua New

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Guinean experience, noted above, serves as an example, for the SSCEP initiative attempted to promote local curriculum development and creativity within the framework of a prescriptive national curriculum. In so doing, the project pioneered what one of the present writers has elsewhere labelled 'structured school-based curriculum development' (Crossley and Vulliamy, 1986). SSCEP was a relatively successful experiment in adapting a prescriptive and centralized national curriculum to the needs and cultures of specific schools without reducing pupils' chances of success in nationally determined competitive examinations. Details of this pilot project are available elsewhere but, in the light of this, Papua New Guinean planners acknowledge that there are profound limitations in a system dominated by central control and detailed curriculum prescriptions. Nevertheless:

solely upon the perceived deficiencies of the teaching force, but more realistically acknowledges additional systemic factors such as the power of examinations, bureaucratic regulations and resource limitations. These are factors that have too often been under-represented by enthusiasts for school-based curriculum development - but factors that pragmatic planners and policy-makers have increasingly put at the forefront of their decision-making. In searching for a more realistic strategy for England and Wales, Lawton (1989, p. 86) thus advocates a framework for curriculum powersharing, and the division of responsibilities between national, regional, institutional, departmental and individual levels. He writes:

qualitative improvements that will take a system beyond a formalistic framework and limited technical instruction, require support for the development of teachers' professional skills, increased scope for professional autonomy and the training and resources for such development to be realistically translated into practice. (Crossley, 1994)

This means that individual teachers will not simply put into operation a curriculum designed elsewhere; the teacher has limited ownership of the curriculum and is directly responsible for the detailed planning of lessons within national and LEA guidelines, bearing in mind the specific needs of his or her pupils, as well as the local aspects of the curriculum as planned for the school. To do this effectively, teachers will need to be more than transmitters of their own subject. (Lawton, 1989, pp. 86-7)

What can realistically be supported nationwide in Papua New Guinea, however, is carefully debated in the light of the limited human and material resources available. In many developed countries this is a lesson that is still being learned the hard way - and one that has emerged most tangibly in the face of cut-backs in social spending resulting from a protracted economic recession. Indeed, it is often practising teachers, who have tried to play the role of the extended professional, without realistic time and resources being made available, that have paid a heavy price. In theoretical terms this is an issue that still deserves greater attention and one that demonstrates the deficiencies of the 'resistance to change' perspective that critically inspired participatory change strategies. Clearly, individuals (at all levels of a system) may be resistant to change, but there is ample research evidence to suggest that resistance is better viewed as one of many possible 'barriers to change'. A barriers-to-change perspective does not focus

Reflecting similar principles, Garrett (1990) and Lewy (1991) support such a division of responsibilities and argue that developing countries may also find it helpful to limit the extent of schoolbased initiative to 10-25 per cent of the total curriculum, but only where staffing and resources permit. Our own comparative and international experience leads us to emphasize further the importance of contextual factors in determining what the most appropriate balance should be. Returning to the dilemmas of international transfer, in the South Pacific Konai Helu Thaman (1993) is able to advocate Lawton's power-sharing approach because it also emphasizes the importance of cultural analysis in curriculum decisionmaking. The latter process is particularly significant for developing countries engaging in the theoretical debate, but striving to avoid repeated waves of inappropriate curriculum transfer from the West. A similar dilemma faces many East European nations that are currently challenging cen-

206 Michael Crossley and Roger Garrett

tralization imposed by former political regimes. The international influence of less culturally sensitive Western trends nevertheless remains strong. Given the efforts of many developing countries to find ways of strengthening their 'balance' of school and teacher participation in hitherto highly formal and centralized systems, it will be a great irony if the current Western preoccupation with central control, and the associated mechanisms designed to support it, are again enthusiastically exported to contexts and systems more concerned with the limitations of such models. Little (1992, p. 20) adds weight to such concerns by detecting a contemporary trend towards the internationalization of educational assessment in policy and practice, arguing that: If 'international standards' which in many instances means 'external standards' produced in the West, begin to take precedence over national and subnational standards, what are the implications for nationally and culturally prescribed curricula? Will an internationalised education assessment technology begin to drive internationalised curriculum reform? How much wider will become the gap between the culture of those who control education and who design 'international tests' and curricula (ie the supranational educator's) and the culture of the child whose learning is the goal?

Pursuing the cultural and political implications of such developments, and their potential to perpetuate international dependency, Vedder (1994, p. 5) thus fears that 'the resultant global curricula may hamper learning and, as a consequence, will not contribute to a binding of cultures but to isolation and feelings of inferiority.' In concluding, it is thus argued that it is to the political dimension of curriculum control and responsibility that we must return. While our knowledge of the curriculum change process has advanced considerably in recent decades, the tendency for policy to swing from one extreme to another may continue to be perpetuated, contrary to the findings of the best research, as rival pressure groups pursue distinctive political and professional agendas. Improvements to the quality of education for all may not, for instance, be accepted as in the interests of already powerful groups in society. Moreover, although much research indi-

cates it may be impossible to impose quality improvements in the school curriculum, it is easier for central authorities to legislate for what others may perceive as qualitative decline. This may be especially likely in contexts where decisionmakers' own children are educated differently, in separate and independent private sectors as in the English tradition, or elsewhere abroad as is the case in many developing countries. We should not be surprised, therefore, if enthusiasm for a prescriptive national curriculum, relevant to the 'needs' of society, is not reflected in the personal and family aspirations of many decision-makers themselves. It is, therefore, to a complex combination of professional and political factors that we must look if we are to understand fully the reasons for the enduring nature of contemporary dilemmas and debates relating to curriculum control and responsibility. This applies not only to the national context, but also in the international arena where the interplay of global factors adds markedly to the diversity of practice and the complexity of the debate.

Acknowledgement The contribution through discussion and debate from members of the Autumn Term 1994 MEd class in Curriculum Policy and Practice in Developing Countries, at the University of Bristol School of Education, is gratefully acknowledged.

References Bacchus, M. K. (1986) The Myth and Reality of Curriculum Planning. London: University of London Institute of Education. Ball, S. J. (1990) Politics and Policy Making in Education. London: Routledge. Becher, T. and Maclure, S. (1975) The state of the art in curriculum development. In A. Harris, M. Lawn and

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W. Prescott (eds), Curriculum Innovation. London: Groom Helm, pp. 15-29. Beyer, L. E. and Apple, M. W. (1988) (eds) The Curriculum. Problems, Politics and Possibilities. Albany: State University of New York. Chitty, C. (1993) Introduction: international perspectives on the curriculum. Educational Review, 45(2), 107-9. Crossley, M. (1984) Strategies for curriculum change and the question of international transfer. Journal of Curriculum Studies, 16(1), 75-88. Crossley, M. (1994) The organisation and management of curriculum development in Papua New Guinea. International Review of Education, 40(1), 37-57. Crossley, M. and Broadfoot, P. (1992) Comparative and international research in education: scope, problems and potential. British Educational Research Journal, 18(2), 112. Crossley, M. and Murby, M. (1994) Textbook provision and the quality of the school curriculum in developing countries: issues and policy options. Comparative Education, 30(2), 99-114. Crossley, M. and Vulliamy, G. (1986) The Policy of SSCEP. Context and Development. ERU Report 54. Waigani: University of Papua New Guinea. Dalin, P. (1978) Limits to Educational Change. London: Macmillan. Dalin, P., Ajono, T., Biazen, A., Dibaba, B., Jahan, M., Miles, M. and Rojas, C. (1994) How Schools Improve - An International Report. London: Cassell. Eggleston, J. (1980) (ed.) School-Based Curriculum Development in Britain. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul. Elliott, }. (1991) Action Research for Educational Change. Buckingham: Open University Press. Eshiwani, G. (1993) Education in Kenya Since Independence. Nairobi: East African Educational Publishers. Farrell, J. P. and Heyneman, S. P. (1989) (eds) Textbooks in the Developing World. Economic and Educational Choices. Washington DC: World Bank. Finegold, D., McFarland, L. and Richardson, W. (1992) (eds) Something Borrowed, Something Blue? Oxford Studies in Comparative Education, 2(2). Fox, R. S. (1972) Innovation in curriculum: an overview. Interchange, 3(1), 128-39. Fullan, M. (1972) Overview of the innovative process and the user. Interchange, 3(1), 1-35. Fullan, M. and Pomfret, A. (1977) Research on curriculum and instruction implementation. Review of Educational Research, 7, 335-97. Garrett, R. M. (1990) The introduction of school-based curriculum development in a centralised education system: a possible tactic. International Review of Education, 10(4), 303-9.

Graham, D. (1993) The first three national curricula and the millennium. Educational Review, 45(2), 119-24. Hallack, J. (1991) Foreword. In A. Lewy, National and School-Based Curriculum Development. Paris: HEP. Hargreaves, A. (1982) The rhetoric of school centred innovation. Journal of Curriculum Studies, 14(3), 251-68. Harrop. B. (1994) Preparing teachers for autonomy in Singapore. In M. Crossley and V. Hall (eds), Research Training and Educational Management: International Perspectives. Bristol: University of Bristol, School of Education, pp. 75-91. Havelock, R. G. (1971) The utilisation of educational research and development. British Journal of Educational Technology, 2(1), 84-97. Hawes, H. W. R. (1972) Planning the Primary School Curriculum in Developing Countries. Paris: HEP. Hawes, H. W. R. (1979) Curriculum and Reality in African Primary Schools. London: Longman. Herriott, R. E. and Gross, N. (1979) (eds) The Dynamics of Planned Educational Change. Berkeley: McCutchan. Husen, T. (1972) Strategies of educational innovation. Australian Journal of Education, 16(2), 134-45. Jones, P. (1992) World Bank Financing of Education. London: Routledge. Kelly, A. V. (1989) The Curriculum. Theory and Practice. London: Paul Chapman Publishing Ltd (3rd edn). Kelly, A. V. (1990) The National Curriculum. A Critical Review. London: Paul Chapman Publishing Ltd. Lawton, D. (1989) Education, Culture and the National Curriculum. London: Hodder and Stoughton. Lawton, D. (1992) Education and Politics in the 1990s. London: Falmer Press. Lawton, D. (1993) Political parties, ideology and the National Curriculum. Educational Review, 45(2), 111-18. Levin, H. M. and Lockheed, M. E. (1993) (eds) Effective Schools in Developing Countries. London: Falmer. Lewy, A. (1991) National and School-based Curriculum Development. Paris: HEP. Lillis, K. M. (1985) Processes of secondary curriculum innovation in Kenya. Comparative Education Review, 29(1), 80-96. Little, A. (1992) Education and Development. Macro Relationships and Microcultures. Silver Jubilee Paper 4. University of Sussex: Institute of Development Studies. Lockheed, M. E. and Verspoor, A. (1991) Improving Primary Education in Developing Countries. Washington DC: World Bank. Lornie, R. (1979) The design and adoption of curriculum materials for secondary social science in Papua New Guinea. Journal of Curriculum Studies, 11(4), 336-7.

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Macdonald, B. and Walker, R. (1976) Changing the Curriculum. London: Open Books. McGinn, N. F. (1990) Forms of governance. In R. M. Thomas (ed.), International Comparative Education. Practices, Issues and Prospects. Oxford: Pergamon Press, pp. 107-38. McGinn, N. F. (1992) Reforming educational governance: centralisation/decentralisation. In R. F. Arnove, P. G. Altbach and G. P. Kelly (eds), Emergent Issues in Education. Albany: State University of New York Press. Marsh, C. and Morris, P. (1991) (eds) Curriculum Development in East Asia. London: Falmer. Martin, W. T. and Pinck, D. C. (1966) (eds) Curriculum Improvement and Innovation. A Partnership of Students, School Teachers and Research Scholars. Cambridge: Robert Bentley Inc. Perry, H., Johnson, D. and Crossley, M. (1995) World Bank loans for education: possibilities and pitfalls for South Africa. In R. M. Garrett (ed.), Aid and Education: Mending or Spending? Bristol Papers in Education. Comparative and International Studies: 3. Bristol: University of Bristol Centre for International Studies in Education, pp. 29-43. Peters, R. S. (1965) Education as initiation. In R. D. Archambault (ed.), Philosophical Analysis and Education. London: Routledge. Pollard, A., Broadfoot, P., Croll, P., Osborn, M. and Abbott, D. (1994) Changing English Primary Schools? London: Cassell.

Reynolds, D. et al. (1994) Advances in School Effectiveness Research and Practice. Oxford: Pergamon Press. Sampson, A. (1992) The Essential Anatomy of Britain. London: Hodder and Stoughton. Skilbeck, M. (1990) Curriculum Reform. An Overview of Trends. Paris: OECD. Stenhouse, L. (1975) An Introduction to Curriculum Research and Development. London: Heinemann. Thaman, K. M. (1993) Culture and the curriculum. In M. Crossley (ed.), Education in the South Pacific. Special Number of Comparative Education, 29(3), 249-60. Vedder, P. (1994) Global measures of the quality of education. A help to developing countries? International Review of Education, 40(1), 5-17. Watson, K. (1993) UK. The role of the 'Radical Right' in educational reform in England and Wales. Radically Conservative or Conservatively Radical? In J. D. Turner (ed.), The Reform of Educational Systems to Meet Local and National Needs. Manchester: University of Manchester Press, pp. 347-68. Welch, A. R. (1992) Knowledge, culture and legitimation in comparative education. In R. J. Burns and A. R. Welch (eds), Contemporary Perspectives in Comparative Education. New York: Garland, pp. 35-68. Welch, A. R. (1993) Class, culture and the state in comparative education: problems, perspectives and prospects. Comparative Education, 29(1), 7-27. World Bank (1990) Primary Education. A World Bank Policy Paper. Washington DC: The World Bank.

18

Multicultural Curriculum Planning as a Political Activity

R. MURRAY THOMAS As movements to increase the multicultural content of curricula continue to gain momentum, growing concern is expressed about who decides what that content will be and how those decisions are reached. In this chapter, that concern is interpreted in political terms - as a struggle among cultural groups to have their interests represented positively in the schools' curriculum offerings. Two dilemmas that the chapter addresses are reflected in the questions: What kinds of information should be gathered to foster our understanding of multicultural curriculum development as a political process? And what problems for educators arise because of this process? The chapter offers an answer to the first question in the form of an analytical framework designed to enhance one's grasp of any given case of multicultural curriculum planning and implementation. The second question is answered in the final section of the chapter which inspects dilemmas that educators encounter as the multicultural composition of their societies increases. The presentation opens with definitions of several key terms, then proceeds with a description of the analytical framework.

Definitions of key terms At the outset it is important to recognize that the term political is used here to mean pressures exerted by a cultural group to render schools' curricula favourable to the characteristics which the group's members believe exemplify their particular

culture. The word favourable refers to curriculum content that accords (a) more frequent reference to the particular group's culture, (b) greater appreciation of that culture's admirable qualities, (c) greater recognition of contributions the culture has made to society and (d) greater acknowledgement of ill-treatment the group has suffered at the hands of other cultural entities. Two other terms that call for explication are culture and cultural groups. Among the many ways culture is defined in the professional literature, one well suited for the present discussion is the following. In its broadest sense, the word culture refers to the aggregation of knowledge, historical backgrounds, values, laws, habits of communication, technologies, customs, and artistic pursuits shared by a group of people. The phrase cultural group in the present context is limited to mean a collection of people bound together by their common ethnic, religious, gender or socio-economic identification. These four kinds of cultural groups have been selected because they are so often the competitors in disputes over curriculum content. The most publicized and vituperative of the curriculum political battles have been waged over the schools' language of instruction and the cultural content of history and literature curricula. Noticeable, but far less strident, are the voices raised over the arts - drawing, painting, music, drama, dance, print-making, sculpture, textile design, costume and the like. Throughout the following discussion, in order to sharpen the focus of the analysis, the examples are limited to only two areas, instructional language and history curric-

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ula, with the understanding that the struggles over the other curriculum areas assume much the same pattern as the skirmishes over language and history.

The elements of the framework This analytical scheme portrays multicultural curriculum planning as a political contest involving competing cultural constituencies, their participants, their rationales and their strategies. In the following pages, each of these four elements is described in terms of components that influence the success a group may achieve in promoting its interests in the curriculum. The description of each element begins with a guide question that identifies what to look for when attempting to comprehend a particular instance of curriculum development.

Cultural constituencies Guide Question: In a given case of multicultural curriculum planning, what title identifies each competing constituency, and what significant characteristics distinguish one constituency from another?

The term constituency is used here to mean a group of people who share one or more characteristics that influence the kinds of curriculum contents the group seeks to promote. The general nature of a constituency and the likely attitude its members will express on curriculum matters is often implied by the group's official title or by some informal designator applied to the group by its members or by outsiders. Examples of official titles are the Basque Association, Church of England, Arab League and Gay Rights Coalition. Informal designators include such epithets as feminists, East Asians, South African blacks, wealthy conservatives, the radical left and indigenous peoples.

The word racial that was commonly used in the past to denote a class of constituencies has been largely replaced by ethnic because of the unduly broad and imprecise meaning that racial so often implies. However, ethnic itself has proven to be less than perfect. For one thing, there can be multiple levels within a collection of people that are all labelled ethnic. To illustrate, the word Chinese is sometimes used as an ethnic designation. But this broad category is itself composed of a second level containing an estimated 56 groups, among which the Han are numerically predominant, with smaller cultural Chinese entities being the Manchu, Chuang, Hui, Miao, Tibetans and others. This second level of groups can itself consist of subgroups. The Han category is composed of nine major ethnolinguistic types, including the Cantonese, Fujina, Keijia and Wu. The process does not stop at this level but can descend to additional strata of groups whose members exhibit certain cultural traits in common that are referred to as ethnic (Britannica Book of the Year, 1994, p. 584; Thomas, 1994). Another feature of ethnic categories is that frequently they are not 'pure', in the sense of being discretely different from all other categories. Such groupings often bear a hyphenated label Turkish-German in Germany, Asian-French in France and Chinese-Thai in Thailand. Regional groups within a country may also be distinguished by a hyphenated appellation - CatalonianSpanish, Flemish-Belgian, Batak-Indonesian. Ethnicity may be combined with another dimension, such as religion or gender, to define a constituency. Thus we have Irish-Catholic, Muslim-women, and American-Protestant-Blacks movements. Sometimes a constituency first specifies its target competitors (often perceived as 'the enemy'), then defines itself in a residual manner as 'all those not in the target group'. For instance, in North America in recent years certain political groups have identified the enemy as 'Whites of European heritage'. Then their own aggregation consists of everyone else who does not fit such a designation, an aggregation identified by some such designator as 'people of colour' or 'the rainbow coalition'.

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The chief advantage of a coalition when compared to a singular constituency is that a cohesive alliance can mount a more massive campaign to influence curriculum contents. Coalitions enjoy the power of numbers. But such alliances are not always cohesive. The individual groups that make up the union may not be of one mind regarding the amount and kind of attention each member group deserves in the curriculum. This problem of intragroup conflict is illustrated in the effort of a collection of political activists in North America to link women's interests with those of minority ethnic groups. The leadership's attempt simultaneously to concede the contradiction and to dismiss it can lead to an often curious kind of rhetoric: We see clearly that White women function both as women who share certain similar experiences with women of color and as oppressors of women of color. This is one of the most difficult realities to cope with while maintaining viable dialogue among women and conducting scholarship. White women who justifiably see themselves as oppressed by White men find it difficult to separate themselves from the effects of, and shared power of, White men. White women share with White men an ethnicity, an ancestral heritage, a racial dominance, and certain powers and privileges by virtue of class, race, and ethnicity. ... When we study women of color we raise our awareness and understanding of the experiences of all women, either explicitly or implicitly. (Butler, 1991, pp. 69-70)

A constituency's participants Guide Question: In a particular case of curriculum planning, what characteristics do the members of each competing constituency share in common? What types of members make up the group, and how many people are there of each type?

The term participants refers to the members of constituencies. For convenience of analysis, members of a cultural group can be divided into five types - militant advocates, supporters, conciliators, uninvolved bystanders and outsiders.

Militant advocates are in the forefront of the effort to promote their group's representation in the curriculum. Advocates typically play one or both of two roles - planning strategies and implementing the plans. Some advocates design the campaign to influence curriculum contents, but do not assume a leading role in carrying the campaign through. Others are not the designers but, rather, are in the forefront of conducting the campaign. And some play both roles - planning and implementing. Supporters are like the fans or rooters at an athletic contest. While they seldom actively engage in the efforts to further their group's cause, they still help the cause by cheering their leaders on, by providing moral support and by furnishing a measure of concrete assistance in the form of a limited amount of funds, occasional letter writing, voting in elections and the like. Conciliators are group members that seek to achieve a peaceful solution to conflicts with contending cultural groups either (a) by yielding on some demands in order to achieve limited gains on other demands or (b) by recognizing desirable traits among members of rival groups. For instance, consider the conciliatory attitude reflected in this passage from the writings of a leading Black scholar in the multicultural-education movement in the United States. One of the pervasive myths within our society is that Whites are a monolithic group ... Many Whites today, as well as historically, have supported social movements to increase the rights of African Americans and other people of color. Reform-oriented White citizens who are pushing for a more equitable and just society are an important factor that will make it increasingly difficult for the Anglo-Saxon vision to continue to dominate our educational institutions. (Banks, 1994, p. 20)

Uninvolved bystanders are members of the cultural group who witness the contest from a distance, choosing not to express openly any views about the issues being contested. Finally, a cultural group may also include outsiders, that is, people from other constituencies. These individuals who cross the borders between

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groups can be viewed as welcome recruits by the constituency they join but as traitors by their original group. An article entitled 'White racism' written by a white woman professor in North America qualifies the author as a recruit for a people-ofcolour constituency. Here are representative segments of the article: My point is that, in order to collaborate in the work of envisioning and building a just society that includes all of us, we as Whites need to engage in multifaceted and critical analyses of how White racism structures our lives, viewpoints, vested interests, and daily actions ... Further, we have not yet collectively created a compelling self-identity and sense of meaning that does not entail ravenous materialism and acquisition of power over others ... Whites occupy Indian lands ... The most helpful stance Whites could take would be to return large amounts of good land and stop controlling the internal affairs of Indian people. (Sleeter, 1994)

Groups' rationales Guide Question: In a given case of curriculum planning, what rationales are employed by each competing constituency to buttress their cause?

Rationales consist of the line of reasoning that a group's leaders adduce to convince both their members and outsiders that their cause is just. The formulators of rationales usually cite moral, political, or scholarly principles in support of their position. The eight types of rationales reviewed below emphasize societal unity, historical truth, public-versus-private interest, majority rule, firstcomers' rights, deserved compensation, equal rights and proportional representation.

there will be in the society. The curriculum should promote this unifying culture by using a single language of instruction and by providing a consistent historical and sociological conception of that society.

Historical truth This argument is based on the principle of scholarly accuracy. History, as found in the curriculum, should tell what actually happened. Neither by intent nor by accident should it distort reality. Such an argument can be used either by groups seeking to change existing textbooks or by ones defending the books' present condition. The dilemma over whether a historical account is accurate is very difficult to settle because the combatants on both sides of the issue so often fail to agree on which versions are to be trusted or on what constitutes a proper balance among different accounts that might be included in the curriculum. Such conflicts of interpretation can be illustrated with examples from a continuing debate in the United States over history textbooks. By the early 1980s American feminists were complaining loudly that there were not enough women being adequately depicted in textbooks on the Revolutionary War. So they took a woman, Sybil Ludington, who helped warn the Connecticut state militia of an impending British attack on Danbury. As a result, Sybil Ludington became a major figure in the 1985 high school text America: Its People and Its Values [in which Ms. Ludington] is portrayed as important as Paul Revere. No objective historian believes that. (Rudnitsky, 1993)

Societal unity

Public-interest versus special-interest

The societal-unity or national-unity argument is essentially political in nature, asserting that the greater the number of cultural elements that members of a society hold in common, the less conflict

Greater popular endorsement of curriculum content results when the rhetoric employed in support of that content asserts that such a curriculum promotes the common good rather than mainly the

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welfare of a particular subgroup of the society. Banks (1994) has suggested that: Special interest implies an interest that is particularistic and inconsistent with the overarching goals and needs of the nation-state or commonwealth. To be in the public good, interests must extend beyond the needs of a unique or particular group. An important issue is who formulates the criteria for determining what is a special interest. It is the dominant group or groups in power that have already shaped the curriculum ... in their interests. The dominant group views its interests not as special but as identical with the common good. Special interests, in the view of those who control the curriculum, is therefore any interest that challenges their power and dominant ideologies and paradigms, particularly if the interest group demands that the canon, assumptions, and values of the institutions and structures be transformed. (Banks, 1994, p. 23)

Majority rule The principle of majority rule holds that the greatest good for the greatest number is achieved when curriculum content reflects the preferences of the majority of the populace. In multilingual societies, if the majority rule principle were used to determine the schools' medium of instruction, the sole language of textbooks and classroom teaching would likely be English in Canada, Spanish in Spain, Arabic in Egypt, Mandarin in China, Hindi in India, Punjabi in Pakistan, and Nguni in South Africa.

First comers' rights This rationale is sometimes called the indigenouspeople argument. The underlying political/moral principle is that the people who were first on the scene or who founded the society deserve to have the curriculum feature their culture. The case of Malaysia illustrates such a theme. When the nation of Malaysia was created in the early 1960s, the ethnic composition of the country was approximately 50 per cent Malay (including

other indigenous groups), 37 per cent Chinese, 11 per cent Indian and one per cent other racial stock. The Malay designation was applied to residents whose ancestors had lived in the region before labourers from China and India were imported by the British during the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Thus, the Malays (mostly Islamic) and allied tribal groups could identify themselves as first comers, and the Malay-dominated government was able to dictate that: The evolution of a Malaysian national identity will be based on an integration of all the virtues from the various cultures in Malaysia, with the Malay culture forming its core... These qualities (of tolerance, good will, and common sense) have been reinforced by the teachings of Islam and other religions. (Third Malaysia Plan, 1976)

In addition, the government replaced English, Chinese and Tamil with Malay as the principal language of instruction in the schools, thereby enabling the Malay constituency to fashion the schools' language and curriculum contents to its liking.

Deserved compensation The compensatory argument proposes that certain cultural groups, because they suffered neglect or abuse in the past, are now socially and educationally disadvantaged. As a step toward correcting past injustices, society now should furnish them opportunities that hitherto they were denied. Those opportunities should not simply be the same ones available to other constituencies, but should be more generous in order to help members of the disadvantaged group catch up with members of other groups that were favoured in the past. Advocates of compensation contend that special provisions are needed to get the disadvantaged 'up to the starting line' and to ensure them 'a level playing field'. An example from the United States is a secondary-school history textbook whose author, in the book's most recent revision, sought to com-

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pensate for his past 'unconscious neglect' of cultural minorities. The editorial director of the textbook project said he wanted to treat each minority in every era of American history and not relegate them to corners of the book. But a critic assessing the historical balance of the volume notes that: the book never explains why certain groups - basically those covered by affirmative action programs are worth so much more attention than, say, religious minorities or other ethnic minorities. As an IrishItalian-American, I managed to spot pictures of two Irish-American men (one ward boss and Jack Kennedy) and two of Italian descent (Sacco and Vanzetti). But there are 75 to 80 illustrations of Indians and Indian culture, about three times the pictorial treatment given to the Irish, Jews, Swedes, Italians, Poles, Germans and Arabs combined. (Leo, 1994)

Equal rights Applying the principle of equal rights results in giving all of the contending cultural groups identical representation in the curriculum. This means that instruction should be provided in the home language of each group and that the amount of favourable attention in history and literature classes should be the same for all groups. A equal rights policy is illustrated in the way religious denominations in Indonesia are depicted in school textbooks. In religious affiliation, Indonesia's population of more than 180 million is 87.2 per cent Muslim, 6 per cent Protestant Christian, 3.6 per cent Catholic, 1.8 per cent Hindu, 1 per cent Buddhist and less than 1 per cent of other faiths (Britannica Book of the Year, 1994, p. 630). However, in social studies textbooks describing key features of religious denominations, each religion receives a similar amount of space. In North America, an attempt in the state of California to focus equal positive attention on each of a host of different cultural groups has been implemented by means of: a special [textbook] 'compliance commission' that checks for compliance with all the social issues that

are being pursued by special interest groups, including feminists, a black power advocate, environmentalists, family values advocates, and the like. The compliance commission counted how may female lead characters there are in a textbook, how many blacks and Chicanes appear in pictures, and so on. If the head counts didn't come out to [the commissioners'] liking, the textbook had to be rewritten or it would be rejected. (Tyson in Rudnitsky, 1993)

Proportional representation This rationale is based on the belief that the amount of favourable attention accorded a cultural group in the curriculum should approximate the percentage of people that each group represents in the general population. In other words, the ethnic, religious, or social-class quota policies that some school systems adopt for hiring personnel or for admitting students to educational institutions are to be applied as well to curriculum content. Finally, it should be recognized that rationales to buttress a position on language-of-instruction may either be the same as, or different from, rationales to back up recommendations for the contents of history and social studies textbooks.

Political strategies Guide Question: In a given case of curriculum planning, what strategies are used by each competing constituency, and how effectively do different strategies appear to be in achieving each constituency's objectives?

Strategies are the techniques adopted by a group to achieve its ends. The list of 16 strategies reviewed in the following paragraphs is intended to be only illustrative, not definitive. Other types, as well as subvarieties of these 16, are also practised. Cultural groups usually do not limit their efforts to a single strategy but often employ several simultaneously.

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Logically persuading This approach consists of adducing a line of reasoning to convince friend and foe alike that a proposed representation of a cultural group in the curriculum is just and accurate.

ments of both Egypt and Algeria, in response to Islamic fundamentalists' attempts to influence the content of teaching in public institutions, suspended radical Islamic student leaders from university campuses (Bollag, 1994a).

Co-opting Threatening and intimidating Groups sometimes try to achieve their goals by warning their opponents that serious, unpleasant consequences will result if the groups' proposals are rejected.

A different way to cope with people who interfere with a group's curriculum plans is to entice them into the group by offering them such inducements as prestigious, lucrative roles in the group's organization. This strategy was among those used by the Egyptian government to prevent the increased Islamization of the nation's public higher education establishment (Bollag, 1994a).

Demonstrating - peaceful and otherwise Proponents of a given curriculum policy may conduct a public campaign in support of their position or in opposition to positions with which they disagree. Demonstrations typically consist of a crowd of adherents shouting slogans, brandishing placards and giving speeches at the sites of meetings bearing on curriculum matters. Some demonstrators adopt tactics sufficiently unique to attract television crews and newspaper reporters, thereby expanding the audience that will hear their message. For example, during the deliberations of a textbook appraisal commission in California, a Muslim wearing a jellaba unfurled his prayer rug in front of the state department of education and proceeded to perform prayers aimed at blocking the adoption of history books which he said failed to depict Islam in a sufficiently favourable light (Kirp, 1991).

Outlawingg People who obstruct a constituency's plans or who seek to introduce unwanted curricular changes may be expelled from the educational establishment. For example, in the early 1990s the govern -

Bribing In the politics of curriculum planning, bribery consists of secretly and illegally offering money or other inducements to an influential person in exchange for that person's furthering the adoption of curriculum elements that promote a particular cultural group's image and the welfare of its members.

Publicizing Constituencies often go to great lengths to publicize their views as a means of garnering sympathy and support for their position. Publicizing can be aimed at lauding the constituency's proposals, at discrediting opponents or at both. For instance, a Christian Protestant effort to discredit Catholicism and a Catholic response to that effort are reflected in a passage referring to a primary school social studies textbook produced by Bob Jones University Press. The book, titled Heritage Studies for Christian Schools, describes Catholicism as a 'false religion'. The text is required reading at Greenbrier Christian

216 R. Murray Thomas Academy in Cheasapeake, Virginia, whose students include more than 20 Catholics. This negative characterization of Catholicism has prompted a variety of responses. The Catholic League for Religious and Civil Rights has denounced schools' use of the textbook as 'deplorable'. Norfolk Catholic School has canceled sports events with Greenbrier, and a local priest has mailed a letter to more than 1,000 parishioners warning them about the fundamentalist school. (Christian Century, 1993)

trators of a secondary school that planned to switch from English as the medium of instruction decided to compromise their initial plan by teaching less than 40 per cent of lessons in Chinese and by postponing implementation of the plan for at least a year. They compromised out of fear that they might 'lose their brightest pupils to the few remaining English-speaking schools', particularly since 'Hong Kong's universities and polytechnics all use English as their main teaching medium' (Sharma, 1994).

Withdrawing support Electioneering When educational planners either announce a contemplated change, or they actually implement the change, constituencies that object to the innovation may react by withdrawing their support of the educational enterprise. Such a tactic was adopted in Hong Kong in 1994 by an association of parents in response to the announcement that the secondary schools their children were scheduled to attend were going to change the medium of instruction from English to Chinese. The school administrators' purpose had been to start adjusting the language medium to the expected transfer of political control of Hong Kong from Britain to the People's Republic of China in 1997. However, parent groups contended that their children's prospects would be worse if schools switched to Chinese. Consequently, many parents intended to withdraw their children from the affected schools, enrolling the children instead in the colony's remaining English-speaking schools (Sharma, 1994).

An important way for groups to influence what is taught is to have their representatives elected or appointed to agencies that hold the authority to determine the contents of textbooks and syllabi. Christian fundamentalists in the United States, operating through such organizations as Citizens for Excellence in Education (GEE) and the National Association of Christian Educators (NACE), have pursued this strategy with increasing success. CEE has claimed that its chapters helped to elect approximately 2,000 [local] school board members from 1989 to 1991, and the organization's goal was to elect 3,500 members by 1993 CEE and NACE have distributed a book, How to Elect Christians to Public Office, in which Robert Simonds asserts, 'We need strong school board members who know right from wrong. The Bible, being the only true source of right and wrong, should be the guide of board members. Only godly Christians can truly qualify for this critically important position.' (McCarthy, 1993)

Compromising Legislating and regulating Frequently constituencies reduce their demands regarding curriculum contents in order to gain at least a portion of their objectives. They negotiate a compromise rather than requiring that all of their proposals be accepted and thereby risk having none of them granted. In Hong Kong, adminis-

One of the most popular methods cultural groups employ to influence the curriculum in their favour is to have law-makers pass legislation stipulating the ways particular groups are to be portrayed in instructional materials. Or at a lower govern-

Multicultural Curriculum Planning 217

mental level than that of legislative bodies, a group may convince educational administrators to issue regulations specifying how a cultural group will be depicted. A case in point is that of Britain's then education secretary, John Patten, who, in early 1994, issued a circular on religious education reasserting the collective worship provision of the 1944 Education Act: 'Collective worship in county and equivalent grant-maintained schools must be wholly or mainly of a broadly Christian character' (Maxwell and Dean, 1994). School inspectors were empowered to impose sanctions on institutions that did not comply with the regulation.

during the 1930s and 1940s. lenaga refused on the grounds that his account was truthful. He then filed a lawsuit, which slowly moved up the hierarchy of the nation's court structure for 28 years, finally arriving at the Supreme Court which, in 1991::

Stonewallingg

However, what the author's lawsuit failed to accomplish was ultimately achieved by sharp, widely publicized criticism from the governments of South Korea and China. Revised texts in 1993 did indeed include accounts of unsavory events that had been missing from earlier versions of Japanese school books (Burdin and Thomas, 1994).

This strategy involves teachers or administrators either ignoring orders to alter the curriculum or openly rejecting such orders. In the British collective worship case, substantial numbers of schools failed to abide by the Christian worship order. Some adopted a stonewalling strategy by simply refusing to conform. Others rationalized their non-compliance by contending that they lacked an auditorium in which to gather the entire student population or they had been informed by a barrister that the education minister's regulation was contrary to the principle of freedom of religious belief and was therefore illegal. As a result of such resistance and strong objections from nonChristian faiths, the Christian worship order turned out to be non-enforceable.

Litigating Individuals or groups may also appeal to the courts to rectify what they consider distortions of curriculum contents. To illustrate, nearly three decades ago the ministry of education in Japan commissioned Professor Saburo lenaga to write a textbook entitled The New History of Japan. When ministry officials reviewed the completed manuscript, they ordered lenaga to delete all mention of atrocities committed by Japanese military forces

deferred to the increasingly vocal and powerful elements of the Japanese [political] right who maintain that World War II atrocities such as the rape of Nanking, germ warfare experiments on prisoners of war, and the conscription of thousands of Korean and Chinese women as 'comfort girls' simply never happened ... To no one's great surprise, the ministry [was] affirmed in its effort to candycoat Japan's bitter history. (Greenfeld, 1993)

Banning and censoring A further device for influencing what is taught consists of proscribing unacceptable curriculum materials. In mid-1994, a teachers' federation in Australia voted to ban any social science or history syllabus which failed to make clear that Australia was 'invaded' rather than 'settled' by the British in 1788. The general position adopted by today's Australian historians is that Australia originally belonged to the Aborigines and that settlement of the country by Britain represented an invasion. But this also implies that Aborigines were largely dispossessed of their lands and are therefore entitled to compensation. The thought that such ideas are being taught in schools has caused widespread concern among Conservative politicians already alarmed by a decision of the High Court in a land-rights case. The court ruled that the notion of terra nullius, or land of none, as applied to Australia was illegal and that the indigenous people had a prior claim to the land on which they lived. (Maslen, 1994)

218 R. Murray Thomas

The dispute had first surfaced when Conservatives persuaded the New South Wales ministry of education to block the release of a syllabus for primary schools that included the word invasion, but teachers responded by demanding that the syllabus be released for use in the schools as an accurate portrayal of the nation's history.

Screeningg Attempts to control the contents of the curriculum include policies of weeding out personnel who plan curricula, write texts and teach viewpoints contrary to those espoused by influential constituencies. For instance, in the Czech Republic, as in several other Eastern European nations, the demise of Communist rule was followed in the early 1990s with legislation labelled lustration. It provided for the screening of educational personnel to determine whether they had been Communist Party officials or informers. Those judged guilty of such political connections were barred for five years from holding managerial posts in public institutions, including positions related to curriculum content. The intention of the legislation was to eliminate vestiges of Marxist influence in the education system and make way for an evolving democratic political culture (Bollag, 1994b).

Supplemen ting In the decades following the Second World War, a great number of formerly colonized territories in Asia, Africa and the Pacific Islands were able to establish themselves as independent nations. During colonial times, the history as taught in their schools had been presented from the viewpoint of the colonial power rather than from the perspective of the indigenous peoples. Following independence, very few of these new governments were prepared to create textbooks that presented history as seen through indigenous eyes. The difficulty of publishing suitable new texts was partic-

ularly acute in smaller, less prosperous nations that suffered financial constraints and a paucity of well-trained researchers and writers. One technique adopted to cope with this problem was that of preparing low-cost booklets to supplement the existing traditional texts that were often imported from abroad. This supplementary booklet strategy can be illustrated with a former West African British colony, The Gambia. In the early 1980s, an African woman who headed a Gambian secondary school's history department took leave from her post to pursue graduate study in the United States. As her master degree thesis, she wrote a lengthy, detailed history of the ethnic groups of The Gambia and such neighbouring nations as Senegal. Upon returning to her homeland, she transformed the contents of the thesis into a series of booklets that were subsequently used as school text materials in both The Gambia and nearby Senegal (Sonko-Godwin, 1988).

Educational planners' dilemmas The foregoing framework can now serve for identifying problems that confront planners as they seek to devise multicultural curricula that are factually accurate, educationally enlightening and politically acceptable. The following are seven illustrative sets of dilemmas, each phrased as puzzles to be solved. 1

2

Selection criteria. What criteria should be used to determine the amount of positive attention each constituency is accorded in school syllabuses and textbooks, particularly in the fields of history, social studies, literature and the arts? How can the criteria be presented so they are acceptable to contending political groups? Negative attention. The historical roles of certain national, ethnic, religious and socialclass groups have not always been viewed as entirely constructive. In history and social science curricula, should limits be placed on criticism directed at such groups? In descrip-

Multicultural Curriculum Planning 219

tions of individuals who have committed antisocial acts, should their ethnic, religious, or sexual-orientation affiliation be mentioned? 3 Banning materials. What multicultural standards should be adopted for determining which books, magazines, films and videotapes will be permitted in the schools and which will be banned? What agencies or groups should create and ratify those regulations? Who should be authorized to monitor the application of the standards? 4 Soliciting materials. Should constituencies be invited to contribute resource materials (books, magazines, brochures, posters, pictures, videotapes) about their group to use in instruction? If so, should limits be placed on the amounts of materials a group can submit in order to achieve a balance among groups? Should rules be set about the focus of the materials' contents? For example, should literature or films attacking competing constituencies' beliefs or practices be accepted, or should only materials that offer a positive image of the group's own position be allowed? Should the use of any of the submitted resources be required; or should teachers be free to decide which ones they will use? How should school personnel react if representatives of one constituency object to materials contributed by a competing group? 5 Intimidation. What is the best way for educators to respond to either direct or implied threats issued by a constituency that presses for what appears to be unreasonable control over curricula? 6 Societal unity. Critics have claimed that a society becomes increasingly fractured rather than unified when a curriculum stresses the interests of separate groups (ethnic, religious, social-class, sexual-preference). In a multicultural curriculum, what characteristics of the society that serve to consolidate the populace can be featured to promote societal unity and intergroup amity rather than division and intergroup dissension? 7 Litigation. Under what conditions should disputes over multicultural curricula be" taken to the courts for settlement? What will be the

advantages and disadvantages (financial outlay, time, effort, school officials' control of the curriculum, community cohesiveness) of engaging in such litigation?

Conclusion Early in this chapter I suggested that the typical aim of the groups that compete in the multicultural curriculum arena is to have their culture receive favourable treatment in the curriculum, where favourable means: (a) more frequent reference to the particular group's culture, (b) greater appreciation of that culture's admirable qualities, (c) greater recognition of contributions the culture has made to society and (d) greater acknowledgement of ill-treatment the group has suffered at the hands of other cultural entities. How well a constituency accomplishes this aim can be assessed in terms of both immediate and ultimate outcomes. Immediate outcomes are judged by how positively the group's culture is presented in the current curriculum as contrasted to how it was presented in the past. Ultimate outcomes are judged in terms of how positively other people regard and treat members of the particular constituency as compared to how they treated them in the past. It is obvious that immediate outcomes are far easier to assess than are long-term results. The immediate can be judged by (1) analysing textbook contents and learning how widely those texts are used, (2) inspecting syllabuses or courses of study used in the schools and (3) visiting classes or interviewing students about what goes on in their classrooms. In contrast, assessing long-term effects requires, over a period of months or more, (1) obtaining people's opinions about their own group and about other constituencies and (2) observing how people treat members of their own and of other cultural groups. In summary, the purpose of this chapter has been to describe a framework for analysing curriculum development as a political process and to illustrate the application of the framework's com-

220 R. Murray Thomas

ponents with examples from various societies. The overall aim of the chapter has been to render the grasp of that political process somewhat easier.

References Banks, J. A. (1994) An Introduction to Multicultural Education. Boston: Allyn and Bacon, p. 23. Bollag, B. (1994a) Battling fundamentalism. Chronicle of Higher Education, 2 Feb. p. 47. Bollag, B. (1994b) Screening of former communists may end at Czech universities. Chronicle of Higher Education, 4 May p. 47. Britannica Book of the Year (1994) Chicago: Encyclopaedia Britannica. Burdin, J. L. and Thomas, R. M. (1994) Education. Britannica Book of the Year. Chicago: Encyclopaedia Britannica, p. 155. Butler, J. E. (1991) Transforming the curriculum: teaching about women of color. In J. E. Butler and J. C. Walter (eds), Transforming the Curriculum: Ethnic Studies and Women's Studies. Albany: State University of New York Press.

Christian Century (1993) Catholicism 'false' says textbook. 110(15), 480. Greenfeld, K. T. (1993) Erasing history. Nation, 254(15), 508. Kirp, D. L. (1991) The battle of the books. Image, San Francisco Examiner, 24 Feb p. 17. Leo, J. (1994) Affirmative action history. U.S. News and World Report, 28 March. McCarthy, M. M. (1993) Challenges to the public school curriculum: new targets and strategies. Phi Delta Kappan, 75(1), 58. Maslen, G. (1994) The British invaded Australia, says union. Times Educational Supplement, 1 July, p. 1. Maxwell, E. and Dean, C. (1994) Religious inspections under fire. Times Educational Supplement, 17 June p. 10. Rudnitsky, H. (1993) History a la carte. Forbes, 151(4), 44. Sharma, Y. (1994) Parents rebel over lessons in Chinese. Times Educational Supplement, 13 May, p. 18. Sleeter, C. (1994) White racism. Multicultural Education, 1(4), 5-8, 39. Sonko-Godwin, P. (1988) Trade in the Senegambia Region Precolonial Period. Banjul, The Gambia: Shell Marketing Gambia. Third Malaysia Plan 1976-1980 (1976) Kuala Lumpur: Government Press. Thomas, R. Murray (1994) The meaning and significance of Ethnicity in educational discourse. International Review of Education, 40(1), 74-80.

19

Divergent and Convergent Trends in Multicultural Education in Russia and its Neighbouring Countries

WOLFGANG MITTER Introductory remarks Among the paramount issues of 'multiculturalism' (in the widest sense of this term) and their effects on 'multicultural education', problems of ethnic identity have gained recent relevance in many regions of the world which have had to face radical upheavals and transformation processes (Honko, 1995; Linz, 1993; Reiterer, 1992; Varady, 1993). In particular, ethnic identity has become a new value (and challenge] for members of nationalities or ethnic groups which have achieved political independence. Such revolutionary changes are frequently reinforced by the fact that the liberation of one group often results in the loss of dominance for another group. Observing such changes on the political scene leads to identifying a socio-psychological factor which has blown apart many of the accepted views about multicultural education (Mitter, 1993). In certain cases it coincides, moreover, with shifts in the economic structure and the social stratification which can be accelerated through policies of special taxation or even expropriation, exercised by the 'new masters'. The socio-psychological factor plays an important role in the handling of loyalty conflicts. Under crucial political and economic circumstances it grows into a dilemma forcing policy-makers to look for new adjustments in their minority policies. Those who were non-dominant become dominant, whereas those who were dominant find

themselves in the position of a non-dominant group. Nations living under the condition of ethnic homogeneity may consider this criterion irrelevant. History, however, gives multifarious evidence that it is not, because changes of political positions had considerable impacts not only on people's consciousness, but also on their personal identities. In most cases shifts from dominance to non-dominance and vice versa produce feelings of superiority versus inferiority (causing in their turn, compensational reactions). Therefore in interethnic relations, attitudes and manifestations are transformed from 'subjective' to 'objective' forces. It should be added that emerging sociopolitical tensions and aberrations are strongly influenced by elites whose attitudes and actions may cover the wide range between tolerance and chauvinism. This observation, in its turn, should call particular attention again to how and to what degree educators are included in the challenge with special regard to their commitments to multicultural education. The emergence of this problem will be highlighted in the following sections with regard to Russia and its neighbouring countries.

A particular regional case At the end of 1991 it was not only the communist Soviet Union which was extinguished and replaced by 15 republics, 12 of which formed the

222 Wolfgang Mitter

more or less fragmentary 'Commonwealth of Independent States'. The three Baltic Republics decided to go their own way outside this Commonwealth by resuming and continuing their existence which can be traced back to their short period of independence between the two World Wars. However, the radical changes at the beginning of the 1990s, ending up with the period of perestroika and, at the same time, turning it upside down, have not only destroyed the communist Soviet Union; they have also 'revised' the centuries-old history of one of the largest empires, that is Russia, as it had been established and expanded from the fourteenth to the nineteenth centuries. The collapse of the Soviet Union has been accompanied by the revival of ethnicism and nationalism over the whole territory. In this context I want to add that, in a wider sense, the transformation has taken over the whole 'satellite' region of the Central and South-east European countries which had been occupied by the Soviet armies at and after the end of the Second World War (Mitter, 1992b). Mentioning this wider sense seems to be legitimate in this context, because the Soviet Union had always claimed to be the 'fatherland' of all the 'socialist' nations, which had to document this in their constitutions and to take it into account as one of the fundamental principles in their curricular and pedagogic programmes. It is true that both in the Soviet Union and in the 'satellite states' patriotism was conceived and practised as one of the political foundations and educational directions. Yet, its dimension was always considered to be restricted, in so far as 'socialist patriotism' was subordinated to the overarching claim of 'international proletarianism'. The recent history has brought to light that the Soviet dogma of reconciling or even amalgamating national peculiarities and identities Was a dream from the beginning. The 'friendship of nations' within the Communist bloc could only exist under the power of political and ideological totalitarianism, although one has to admit that it prevented the outbreak of conflicts of such violence and brutality which we have been confronted with in recent years.

The former 'satellite' states will remain outside my further consideration. Suffice it to state in this context that the whole region has been stirred up by ethnic and national conflicts. Setting aside the wars in former Yugoslavia, the map shows a wide number of areas of potential unrest. On the other hand the partition of former Czechoslovakia, regrettable though it has been for many of its citizens, gives an example of the fact that solutions need not be linked with military aggression and bloodshed. In all these variations of the crossnational transformation process education plays an important role. It provides the encouragement of tolerance and reconciliation while, at tjie same time, it has proved to be a dangerous component of awakening intolerance and enmity. The following section will only deal with the territory of the former Soviet Union. That means that beside the 12 member states of the Commonwealth of Independent States, the Baltic Republics will be included, because, in contrast to the former genuine 'satellite' states, they share with the member states of the Commonwealth large Russian-speaking minorities. Let me insert a few words about the terminology which I am applying. Should we speak of 'multiculturalism', 'multi-ethnicism' or 'multinationalism'? Even the most sophisticated inquiries give no full clarity in regard to definition and demarcation, since all these terms are embedded in historical and ideological views and interpretations. In this pragmatic approach we should content ourselves with allocating 'ethnicism' to 'objective' features, as they are composed of descent, language and customs, while 'nationalism' underlines the 'subjective' components rooted in volitional decision-making, according to Ernest Renan's famous statement that a nation is 'the referendum of every day'. Multiculturalism, finally, may be considered as the comprehensive term integrating ethnicity and nationality, although we must be aware of the complexity of a term which does not end at the borders of people and nation (Mitter, 1992a, 1994).

Multicultural Education in Russia 223

Multiculturalism in the states of the former Soviet Union The former Soviet Union with its 15 Union Republics and more than 150 ethnic entities has given way to a Commonwealth whose member states have, more or less, inherited multiculturalism from their Soviet past. Even before the victory of Russian imperialism (between the fourteenth and nineteenth centuries) the territories involved had been populated by ethnic groups whose border lines were mostly not clearly drawn, because in most regions there were multi-ethnic communities and regions as well as 'linguistic islands' within 'pure' territories (Kappeler, 1992). The Russian occupation greatly contributed to this complexity, on the one hand by the emigration (sometimes as a result of deportation) of Russians into non-Russian regions, on the other hand by internal migrations (which were also, to a large extent, caused by military or other violent action). In this chapter it is impossible to go into details, but we must take into special consideration the changing Tsarist policies with their wide range between Russification on the one hand and tolerance to non-Russian languages and customs, as well as to non-Christian religions, on the other. In general, the educational norms were set by the Russian culture in linguistic and religious terms. Here one should not forget that knowledge of the Russian language opened the door to contemporary modernism and progress, so that we become aware of a trend which was resumed and expanded by the later Soviet imperialism. Moreover, there is another phenomenon which can be allocated to the pre-Communist period, namely the function of the Russian language as lingua franca in the wide regions of this large country (Kostomarov, 1992,1995; Saleyev, 1992), in particular in the fields of economy and military service. As regards schooling, about 70 per cent of the Russian Empire were illiterate (those older than six years) at the beginning of the twentieth century. On the other hand, the existing selective schools, that is, 'gymnasiums' and advanced technical schools, as well as the universities, were open to non-Russians, as long as they were willing

to accept the norms taught there, including education to obedience to the Tsarist autocracy. One must admit that this openness was not always practised; in particular Jews had to face, within the course of the nineteenth and the beginning of the twentieth century, increasing restrictions concerning admittance to 'gymnasiums' and universities. In this chapter the retrospect of the Soviet period has to be brief, especially as regards the ups and downs of the policies of handling the nationality problem (Kappeler, 1992, pp. 300-18), including its educational implications. In general, one can make out two main periods. The first period was characterized by the acknowledgement of non-Russian languages in administration and education. This process was accompanied by promotion of 'modernization' in so far as even alphabets were newly created, thereby providing many ethnic groups with the medium of reading and writing in their own languages. Furthermore, 'national systems' of education were established, reaching different dimensions from the limitation to primary schools up to the foundation of universities. It is legitimate to state that up to the October Revolution, the Russian language had laid bare the previously monopolized ground to the development of modern elites and opened hitherto 'primitive' cultures to the offers (and dangers) of modernity. The Soviet leaders, however, wanted to extend this range of opportunities to people who had been educated and who socialized through the medium of their own non-Russian languages. It is true that the openness practised by the new Soviet system entailed the emergence (or revival) of non-Russian literatures, on condition that they could be used for the reinforcement of the new political power. Instruction on the basis of nonRussian media was also regarded as an essential means for educating young people to 'Soviet citizenship' (within the patterns already mentioned above). The access to the 'national' heritage was more or less restricted to the specific 'language' subject, sometimes enriched by some history and geography instruction. However, most of the contents (e.g. Lenin's life, but also Russian 'classics', such as Pushkin and Tolstoy) were based on lit-

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Wolfgang Mitter

erature translated from Russian into non-Russian languages. Therefore one could hardly say that non-Russian schools were conceived and formed as 'multicultural' entities in the proper sense. Instead, 'multinationalism' was more or less confined to 'multilingualism'. Summing up, this multilingual education system was primarily oriented to Soviet patriotism, but it also served to provide the Soviet economy with Russian-speaking workers and engineers who were required for the construction of the heavy industries located in longexisting cities or in newly-built areas, including the remote arctic deserts in the high north (Kostomarov, 1992). The second period, overtly starting at the end of the 1950s, was marked by a distinct change into what turned out to be open Russification. Linguistic tolerance was more and more regarded as in disagreement with the target of the formation of a 'Soviet people' resulting from the amalgamation of nations, nationalities and ethnic groups. With hindsight there was some internal logic in the 'new policies'. The 'Sovietization' of the promotion of non-Russian languages had not prevented the emergence of new indigenous elites, even among members of the Communist Party. Manifestation of student protest against Russification, such as those in Georgia during the 1970s, openly signalled, however, that even Russification had not made non-Russian intellectuals immune from 'national revival'. Here we become aware of the present period again (Kostomarov, 1995). The following section will be especially devoted to the Russian Federation, having remained the state with the largest population and, at the same time, the 'centre' of the Commonwealth of Independent States in terms of economic and military power.

Multiculturalism in the Russian Federation In the context of this chapter, the Russian Federation, though having been 'reduced' to 147 million people, mirrors the 'multicultural' pattern of the

former Soviet Union. According to the census of 1989 it covers 128 ethnic groups which, of course, differ greatly with regard to economic standards, political status and the level of education and schooling. According to this census there are 42 ethnic groups provided with 'national schools' (Bacyn and Kuzmin, 1994). The recent development of the independent Russian Federation has been characterized by the expansion of these national schools in two directions. On the one hand, the number of school systems comprising completed primary and secondary courses have significantly increased. This means that in many 'national republics' and 'national districts' children have access to their mother tongues from grade one to grade eleven (in many cases pre-school institutions too). On the other hand, the recent development has been marked by the (re)establishment of schools where the whole curriculum (except Russian as a subject) is taught in the non-Russian native language. Nowadays there are nine school systems which fulfil both conditions of 'completeness', namely Buryat, Tartar, Udmurtian, Chuvashian, Yakutian, Armenian, Georgian, Kazakh and Estonian. In comparison, in the school year of 1987/88, only the Udmurtians and the Estonians (on the territory of the Russian Federation) had schools where their native languages were taught as a subject of instruction (alongside the Russianlanguage curriculum), and the Buryat children were given the opportunity to enjoy 'full' instruction in their mother tongue only during the first two years of primary schooling. Alongside the expansion of the 'full' native language sector, there has been an expansion of schools where the native language is taught as a subject of instruction. In terms of 'multiculturalism' the (re)establishment of non-Russian schools (Bacyn and Kuzmin, 1994; Galskov, 1995; Susokolov, 1994) can be regarded as a component in the process of liberation and self-awareness, since children are (re)-provided with the direct access to their cultural inheritances and value systems. However, the Russian authorities in Moscow look at this new trend with 'mixed feelings', though it has been legitimated by the Education Act of 1992 and

Multicultural Education in Russia 225

the corresponding laws and decrees in the national republics and districts. To give an example, at a recent International Conference in St Petersburg (22-24 February 1995), one of the Vice Ministers of Education of the Russian Federation, M. M. Lazoutova, stated that in previous years the section of'national schools' was shaped 'through the Russian culture'. It was good, she added, that this form of children's alienation had been stopped. However, the new trend included side-effects which seriously challenged the 'normative ideological basis' of the Russian Federation. In detail, the Vice Minister identified the following issues to be solved urgently: -

-

clarifying the organizational and curricula! essentials: length of schooling, length of compulsory and optional instruction time, the interrelation between 'federal' and 'national' requirements with regard to goals and subject matter (e.g. the teaching of history which gives, at present, evidence of decreasing placement of units dealing with universal topics); imparting sufficient competencies in the Russian language to students (in view of the empiric evidence that many applicants for higher education were lacking this prerequisite) which also pertained to 'national' universities, in particular to their science courses. (Mitter, 1995)

When describing the latter issue, the Vice Minister gave special reference to the inquiries which have been conducted (and are being conducted) by the Institute of National Educational Problems, whose Director, M. M. Kuz'min, is a highly competent and internationally reputed historian who has dealt for a long time with problems of multiethnicity and multinationality.

Ethnic identity under pressure In the whole territory of the former Soviet Union which comes into our picture again, problems of 'ethnic identity' have become manifest to an extent which did not exist (or was displaced) in the Soviet period. In this context, the sociopsychological factor of multicultural education which has stimulated the present analysis is being

resumed with reference to our introductory remarks. Members of nationalities or ethnic groups who had been dominated by Russification, are now 'discovering' their new 'freedom' of developing an identity of their own ethnicity; they confess to it and extend it to 'national identity' in connection with the occupancy of political sovereignty in the best cases, as can be particularly related to the citizens (or, to be more precise, the members of the dominant ethnic groups) in the new republics of Central Asia. For other nations, such as the Georgians and Armenians with their ancient cultures, let alone the Estonians, Latvians and Lithuanians (who do not belong to the Commonwealth of Independent States), this trend includes chances to renew their commitments to their past and to articulate perspectives of a 'better future'. In all the independent states outside the Russian Federation the revival of ethnicity is linked with the (re-)emergence of'national identity', explicitly manifested in the form of'national loyalty' to their countries, their government and their histories. Curricula and textbooks give ample evidence of how these new forms of identity, crystallizing into 'patriotism', are emphasized and reinforced. However, this is only one side of the coin. The other side is highlighted by the emergence of chauvinism and xenophobia whose potency is enlarged by fanatical teachers (who, unfortunately, are not rare). Yet, even where there are no such 'slips' into radicalism, one can identify outbreaks of parochialism against the outside world of 'strangers'. Summing up this development, one can identify divergent trends inherent in the new manifestation of 'multiculturalism'. Regardless of such trends per se, the fact that all the new states are more or less inhabited by people of various ethnic (and religious) descent contributes to such divergence. There is a special problem which needs to be mentioned too. It is set by the existence of smaller or larger Russian minorities in the new states. They have lived there for centuries or have been (often by force) integrated in the post-Second World War period. In a good number of regions, e.g. in Estonia and Latvia, they have significantly changed the ethnic pattern and therefore created a 'Russian problem', all the more so as the Russian immigrants have been settled in centres, in partic-

226 Wolfgang Mitter

ular in the big cities (Kallas, 1992; Putrenko, 1992; Rajangu, 1993a, pp. 80-3; Rajangu, 1993b). They had been the dominant masters in the Soviet period; now, however, they recognize themselves to be in the position of a 'minor group', being required to learn the language of the former indigenous nation which had been suppressed and to exercise 'loyalty' to their new state. It is true that discrimination, including certain measures in the school system, has caused many Russians to leave regions which had ended up as their 'homes'. Apart from this recent stream of (re-)migration and the burdens affecting the Russian Federation, even the remaining Russian minorities challenge the coherence of their new 'home countries' and the 'new masters' to come to terms with their, admittedly undesired, Russian minorities. Compared to the situation in the non-Russian member republics of the Commonwealth of Independent States there are no such serious problems in the Russian Federation. However, the aforementioned fears expressed by Vice Minister M. M. Lazoutova indicate that at least tendential similarities are existent, in particular in the bigger 'national republics' of the Russian Federation, such as Tartarstan and Buryatia. On the other hand, warnings must be taken seriously, as regards comparable counter-trends of xenophobia in the 'Russian-dominated' regions (and schools). Apart from the indigenous minorities in those regions, one has to be reminded of the 'immigration policies' of the Tsarist and, above all, the Communist regimes. In this respect the situation in many places can be compared to 'multicultural' set-ups in Western countries, for instance in Germany. To give an example, nowadays we can observe the construction of mosques in Germany as well as in Russia and the increase of claims to religious instruction for Muslim children. Summing up, it is true that the political status of the independent countries on the territory of the former Soviet Union compared to that of the 'national republics' within the Russian Federation, reveals substantial tensions between 'ethnic identity' and 'national loyalty'. Yet, in a wider view, these differences are only of gradual relevance, including the inherent dangers. With regard to the overall scene of the former Soviet Union, it would

be erroneous to assume that divergency explains the whole story of multiculturalism. Up to now in the Russian Federation and her neighbouring countries there have been wide regions which are void of violent actions among the various ethnic or national groups and where one can observe people's readiness to avoid any multiplication of the Chechenia catastrophe (Konflikt v Chechne, 1995). Even in the Baltic countries people and policy-makers seem to be ready to compromise, as has been recently indicated by an agreement between Russia and Estonia with regard to the schooling of the Russian minority within the Estonian school system (Soglashenie, 1994). Such news give rise to the hope that divergency may be balanced by convergency. However, the scales are far from having reached satisfactory balance. This last consideration brings us back to the role educators can play in this crucial situation. Unless they are to be exposed to failure from the beginning, they must not restrict their efforts to the classroom, but also extend their ranges of responsibility to social action. As regards comparative education, the application of the sociopsychological factor to Russia and its neighbouring countries may be seen as a case-study. There are numerous cases waiting for exploration and analysis. South Africa, after the collapse of apartheid, can be seen as a topical analogy. Moreover, the researcher's door is open to all countries, e.g. in Africa and South-east Asia, where shifts from dominance to non-dominance and vice versa have occurred these past decades. Apart from their scientific relevance, comparative studies in this field should help prevent policy-makers and educators from indulging in prejudice and, consequently, enable them to lay the foundations for reasonable and integrative approaches to political and educational strategies. Appendix 19.1 Ethnic schools in the Russian Federation: native language as a medium of instruction Academic years 1987/88 1992/93 Grades Adygh Altai Armenian Avar

1-100

Grades 1-4 1-4 1-111

1-2

1-4

1-3

Multicultural Education in Russia 227 Azeri Balkar Bashkir Buryat Chechen! Chuvashian Circassian Darghin Estonian Evenian Georgian Ingush Kabarda Kazakh Khakassian Kumyk Lakian Lezghin Mari - mountainous - valley Mordovian - Erzya - Moksha Ossetian Tabasarani Tartar Tat Tuvinian Udmurtian Yakutian

1-2 1-10 1-2 1-4 -

1-4 1-4

1-11 1-9 (1-11) 1-4

1-11 1-4 1-4

1-11 1-4

1-10

1-11

1-7 1-2 1-2

1-4 1-4

1-2

1-3 1-3

1-3 1-3 1-2 1-10 1-7 1-7

1-11 1-4 1-4 1-4 1-4 1-4 1-4 1-4 1-4 1-4 1-4

1-11 1-4 1-9

1-11 1-11

Appendix 19 .2 Native language as a subject of instruction (teaching) Academic year 1987/88 1992/93 Abazini Adygh Aguli Altai Armenian Avar Azeri Balkar Bashkir Buryat Checheni Chukchi Chuvashian Circassian Darghin Dolgan Eskimo Estonian Evenian Evenkian Finnish Georgian German Greek

Grades 1-8(9) 1-8(9) 1-8(9) 1-8(9) 1-8(9) 1-8(9) 1-8(9) 1-8(9) 1-8(9) 1-8(9)

Grades

1-8(9) 1-8(9) 1-8(9)

l-ll 1-11 l-ll 1 1-11 1-11 l-ll 1 l-ll 1 l-ll 1 l-ll 1 l-ll11 l-ll 1 1-11 l-ll 1 l-ll 1 1-111 1-11 l-ll 1 l-ll 1 l-ll 1 1-11 1-11 1-11

-

1-9, 5-11

1-3

1-8(9) 1-8(9) 1-8(9) 1-2 1-2

1-8(9) 1-3 1-6

Ingush Itelmenian Jewish - Hebrew - Yiddish Kabarda Kalmyk Karachai Karelian Kazakh Khakassian Khanty Komi Komi-Permian Korean Koryak Kumyk Lakian Lezghin Lithuanian Mansi Mari - mountainous -valley Mordovian - Erzya - Moksha Nanai Neghidali Nenets Nivkhi Nogai Ossetian Polish Rutuli Saami Selkup Shori Tabasarani Tartar Tat Tofalar Tsakhuri Turkmenian Tuvinian Udeghe Udmurtian Vepsian Yakutian (Sakha) Yukagiri

1-8(9) 1-2 1-8(9) 1-10 1-8(9) 1-8(9) 1-8(9) 1-3 1-8(9) 1-8(9) 1-3 1-8(9) 1-8(9) 1-8(9) 1-3 1-8(9) 1-8(9) 1-8(9) 1-8(9) 1-3 1-5 1-2 1-8(9) 1-8(9) 1 1 1-8(9) 1-8(9) 1-8(9) 1-8(9) 1-8(9) 1

1-11 1—4 1-9 1-4 1-11 1-11 1-11 1-9 1-11 1-11 1-9 1-11 1-11 1-11 1-11 1-11 1-11 1-11 1-4 1-9 1-11 1-11 1-11 1-11 1-11 1-4 1-9 1-9 1-11 1-11 1-4 1-4 1-4 1-4 1-4 1-9 1-11 1-11 1-9 1-9 1-9 5-11 1-4 1-11 1-9 1-11 1-11

Appendix 19.3 List of minorities: small aboriginal ethnic groups of the Russian Federation Abazins Aguls Aleutians Andians Bessermyans Bezhtins Botlikhs Chamalins Chelkhanss Chukchis

Chulimians Chuvans Dolgans Entsis Eskimos (Yupik) Evenkis Evens Ghinukhs Godoberinianss Gunzibians

Itelmens Izhors Kaitags Karatins Kereks Kets Khantys Khvarshins Koryaks Kubachis

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Wolfgang Mitter

Kumandinians Kwanadins (Bagulals) Mansis Mountainous Jews and Tats1 Nagaibaks Nanais Negidalis Nenets

Ngahasans Nivkhs Orochis Orokis (Ulta) Ruthuls Saami Selkups Shapsughs Shors Tazians

Teleuts Tindinians Tofalars Tsakhurs Tsesians Tubalars Udeghe Ulchis Vepsians Vodians Yukagirs

1. Mountainous Jews and Russian (Daghestani) Tats belong in fact to the same ethnic group. Source: Galskov, 1995, pp. 3-7.

References Bacyn, V. K. and Kuzmin, M. N. (1994) Natsionalnye problemy obrazovaniya v Russkoy Federacii (National problems of education in the Russian Federation). Moscow: Institut Natsionalnych Problem Obrazovanya Galskov, E. S. (1995) Present-day Situation and Perspectives of Education of Ethnic and Linguistic Groups in Russia. Strasbourg: Council of Europe (doc. DECS/Rech 94/79). Honko, Lauri (1995) Tradition in the construction of cultural identity and strategies of ethnic survival. European Review, 3 (1995), 131-46. Kallas, Teet (1992) Uchite yazyk - bolshe nichevo! (Learn the language - that's it!). Gazeta, 24/5401,10 June p. 12. Kappeler, Andreas (1992) Rufiland als Vielvolkerreich. Entstehung - Geschichte - Zufall (Russia As Multicultural Empire. Emergence - History - Decay). Munich: C. H. Beck. Konflikt v Chechne - venets nevezhestva (1995) (Conflict in Chechenia - circle of ignorance). Uchitelskaya gazeta,5,2Feb., 10. Kostomarov, Vitaliy (1992) Sprachen und Kulturen in der Sowjetunion (Languages and Cultures in the Soviet Union). Frankfurt am Main: Deutsches Institut fur Internationale Padagogische Forschung. Kostomarov, Vitaliy (1995) Die Perspektiven der russischen Sprache nach dem Zusammenbruch der Sowjetunion (The Perspectives of the Russian Language After the Collapse of the Soviet Union). Frankfurt am Main: Deutsches Institut fur Internationale Padagogische Forschung. Linz, Juan J. (1993) State building and nation building. European Review, 1(4), 355-69.

Mitter, Wolfgang (1992a) Multicultural education. Basic considerations in an interdisciplinary approach. Prospects, 81, 22/1, 31-40. Mitter, Wolfgang (1992b) Education in Eastern Europe and the former Soviet Union in a period of revolutionary change: an approach to comparative analysis. In D. Phillips and M. Maser, Education and Economic Change in Eastern Europe and the Former Soviet Union. Wallingford: Triangle Books, pp. 15-28. (Oxford Studies in Comparative Education, 2(1).) Mitter, Wolfgang (1993) Das Bildungswesen im Loyalitatskonflikt in historisch-vergleichender Sicht (The education system in loyalty conflict in view of historical comparison). Bildung und Erziehung, 46(4), 375-91. Mitter, Wolfgang (1994) Basic Issues Concerning Education of Minorities. Strasbourg: Council of Europe (doc. DESC/Rech). Mitter, Wolfgang (1995) International conference on 'Sharing of responsibilities and training of administrators in education'. Report for the Council of Europe (unpublished manuscript). Putrenko, Tatyana (1992) I vse-taki russkim v Estonii neuyutno (The Russians in Estonia do not feel well nevertheless). Literaturnaya gazeta, 24/5401, 10 June, p. 12. Rajangu, Vaino (1993a) Das Bildungswesen in Estland. Grundlagen - Tendenzen - Probleme (Education in Estonia. Foundations-Trends-Problems). Cologne/ Weimar/Vienna: Bb'hlau. Rajangu, Vaino (1993b) Dostupnost vysshego obrazovaniya diya russkoyazychnogo naseleniya Estonii (The Accessibility of Higher Education for the RussianSpeaking Population of Estonia). Moscow: Nauchnoissledovatelskiy Institut Problem Vysshey Shkoly. Reiterer, Albert F. (1992) Die politische Konstitution von Ethnizitat (The political constitution of ethnicity). In G. Seewann (ed.), Minderheitenfragen in Sildosteuropa (Minority issues in south-east Europe). Munich: R. Oldenbourg, pp. 37-52. Saleyev, V. A. (1992) Yazyk vnatsionalnoy kulture (The Language in the National Culture). Minsk: Ministerstvo Obrazovaniya Respubliki Belarus/Belorusskiy Nauchnoissledovatelskiy Institut Obrazovaniya. Soglashenie s Estoniey (1994) (Agreement with Estonia). In Pervoye sentyabrya, 108, 22 Oct., p. 1. Susokolov, A. A. (1994) Ustoychivost etnosa i kontseptsii natsionalnych shkol Rossii (The Stability of Ethnicity and Conceptions of the National Schools in Russia). Moscow: Ministerstvo Obrazovaniya Rossiyskoy Federacii/Institut Natsionalnych Problem Obrazovaniya. Varady, Tibor (1993) Collective minority. Rights and problems in their legal protection: the example of Yugoslavia. European Review, 1(4), 371-83.

20

Is the National Curriculum an Exercise in De-skilling? A Critique of UK Curriculum Development in Relation to Future Needs

PAUL GANDERTON No education institution today can set sensible goals or do an effective job until its members ... subject their own assumptions about tomorrow to critical analysis ... There are no certainties, and any picture of a foreseeable society that depicts it as static or stable is probably delusory. Thus to design educational systems for tomorrow (or even for today) we need not images of a future frozen in amber, as it were, but something far more complicated: sets of images of successive and alternative futures, each one tentative and different from the next. (Toffler, 1974, p. 5)

Here, Toffler is writing about a vision of the future modelled some 20 years ago and yet his words still have a freshness about them. His focus on that occasion was the way in which we teach about the future but his writings could apply equally to the way in which we design our curriculum. Taking this perspective we could ask if we have 'progressed' in the intervening time? Have we started to produce students with 'future-proof educations or are we still wedded to models of the past? If we are to compete in the markets of the future then it is imperative that we investigate the curriculum that is produced today. Given the recent upheavals in the British education system it is reasonable to ask if the new 'National Curriculum' is a move in this direction. The role of this chapter is to add to this debate. Let us assume that one of the roles of the curriculum is to act as a guide for the future. It is the nearest that we, as educators, can get to influencing future events. It contains those aspects of knowledge which a current generation will take

forward in its future training. It is therefore vitally important that the construction of this curriculum takes future as well as present needs into account. In the educational reforms of the late 1980s the English/Welsh National Curriculum (NC) stands out as a major change in direction. No other educational reform has attempted so bold a step nor generated so much argument. Rather than tackle the entire spectrum of debate this chapter concentrates on one area - its 'fitness for purpose'. Is it fit to produce an education that allows the UK to compete in the emerging politico-economic paradigms of'structural adjustment' (lion, 1994). From this single strand emerges a range of implications which challenge the National Curriculum's dominance as an educational model.

Introduction - the needs of the curriculum and the needs of society Toffler considered it important to have a curriculum that reflected not just the present but the future. His argument, although seemingly simple, is deceptively profound. Given a time of little change it made sense to train people in the ways of the past: an apprenticeship made educational sense. At a time of increasing change the past can no longer serve as a model for the present: by definition it is not fitted. Devising a curriculum for

230 Paul Ganderton

such purposes is far more difficult. Clearly the idea of an apprenticeship is no longer tenable and yet there is no clear idea of what replaces it. Toffler would appear to be calling for a new perspective along these lines: i. the need for a futurist philosophy; ii. the need for a rigorous analysis of curriculum to assess its ability to respond to future needs; iii. the construction of pre-conditions under which such an analysis is to be run. The future is unknown but at least one can argue for a series of parameters. The analysis presented here follows this line of reasoning. First, the roots of the curriculum must be examined. What paradigms has it developed from and what can we learn from this? Where are the limitations in this model? Second, one must set up a twofold framework for analysis. The first element needs a rigorous methodology (in this case textual analysis) while the second element must parameterize those conditions under which the analysis is to take place. Thus we have both a method and a predetermined set of conditions to see if the NC is 'fit for purpose'. Thirdly, a portion of the NC (in this case geography) must be selected for analysis - the 'evidence' from which is weighed against the parameters. Finally, the 'verdict' and implications - can we rely upon our NC for future generations and, if not, what can we do and how does it affect us? Thus, in summary, this chapter argues for the following points: i.

that the current National Curriculum can be seen to be a logical development of past curriculum 'megaparadigms' (to use Doll's expression (Doll, 1993); ii. that its development is actually a retrograde step because it focuses on the testable rather than on knowledge development; iii. that its development is actually a deskilling process for both staff and student; iv. that what is needed for the future is not a subject-based but a process-based curriculum.

Past curriculum paradigms Curricula are founded upon the prevailing philosophical paradigms. Thus it is important to know how paradigms change because then one can chart the development of curricula more easily. Whereas it is not the intention to do more than outline some of the key changes, it is necessary to mention them because they are the foundation stones of the National Curriculum. Doll (1993) provides a particularly good focus on this issue. He argues for 'megaparadigms', i.e. fundamental mind-sets so powerful that they last for centuries. He identifies three - pre-modern, modern and post-modern. Pre-modern thought, with a span up to the nineteenth century, could be characterized as having a unified world view. Although there were differences between, say, the Greek idea of cosmology and that of Galileo, they both considered there to be an overall plan. The modern view was a radical break. Encompassing the nineteenth century to late twentieth century, it sought to put a mechanistic perspective forward. According to Doll it represented a 'closed' system; to others who see the notion of systems as an oversimplifying idea, the modern paradigm is 'technocentrist' (O'Riordan, 1981). The effect on curriculum design is profound. If one views the world as a mechanical system then it is possible to produce a curriculum which sees knowledge as a series of ideas to be learnt and reproduced. Even Stenhouse's classic (Stenhouse, 1975) sees the world in input/output terms: [the aim of the teacher] ... is to help his pupils gain entry into a commonwealth of knowledge and skills, to hand on to them something which others already possess. (Stenhouse, 1975, p.6)

Today, there is an increasing call for a new paradigm to be used - post-modernism. One interesting aspect, germane to this study, is to suggest that pupils can be both receivers and producers of knowledge (Cornbleth, 1990). While it is no part of this chapter to argue for a paradigm change, it is crucial to be aware of the philosophical antecedents of curriculum, something which is not always made explicit. Given the nature of the NC, it

UK Curriculum Development and Future Needs

would be reasonable to argue that it is founded upon a modernist paradigm. The case being argued therefore is whether modernism is a more fitting vehicle for education in the future than the 'O' level it replaced, i.e. does it increase or decrease student choice, outcomes and perception? Further, given the increasing evidence for the need for a paradigm shift one must ask if it can be satisfactorily translated to the new setting.

Methodology Past curricula have been based on past paradigms: an understanding of the ways in which these paradigms have been constructed will give us an insight into the construction of curricula. As was shown above, there has been, in the UK at least, a broad move towards a technocratic paradigm one where education is mediated through a, broadly, empiricist/positivist philosophical critique. The argument here is to what extent geography curricula mirror such a background and the applicability of such a perspective for education in the future. In attempting this analysis, three cases have been taken from three different systems - a current 'Ordinary' level geography syllabus from the London Board, the National Curriculum for geography for England and Wales in which attention is paid to the GCSE years and a mandatory geography syllabus from New South Wales, Australia, which covers Years 7-10 (i.e. ages 12-16 years) and includes the School Certificate (an O/GCSE equivalent). (For the purposes of this analysis alone the terms curriculum and syllabus will be assumed to be synonymous.) In the introduction it was stated that the key method was to be textual analysis and that this was to be backed with participant-observer analysis. This now demands further scrutiny. Textual analysis was based on a careful reading of the three documents. Three aspects were extracted from each case: content, interpretation and implication. Content consists of key headings/phrases/words (referred to below as 'key headings') taken verba-

231

tim and given a taken-for-granted status in that they are assumed to mean just what standard understanding of the words would mean - neither more nor less (no hidden meaning or agenda is assumed). Interpretation is a reading of those key words which illuminate the precise meaning of the text. This has been done in two ways: first, by choosing other phrases from the texts which describe in more detail the key headings and thus give clearer meaning to the work; second, by paraphrasing longer passages to explain aspects of the key headings. Implication refers to those parts of the documents which appear, at first sight, to create anomalies or points for further discussion. Why participant-observer analysis? The O level and National Curriculum have been chosen because they represent a before-and-after case (although the O level is a currently offered syllabus). The New South Wales syllabus has been added to offer a contrast. Conceptually, it could be seen as a hybrid of the other two; it demands elements of theoretical geography but sets them very firmly within a case-study format (in this case the geography of Australia and its relations with the rest of the world). In suggesting participant-observer analysis one is immediately aware of numerous problems associated with it, not least the question of bias with the single observer. However, it has been retained in this case as a check. The author has worked in both Australia and the UK and has taught students under (variants of) all three cases mentioned here. Thus one is arguing for the use of a thorough background knowledge built up over 20 years to assist in the textual analysis and teasing out of the evidence and implications. The next stage is to put forward criteria against which the curricula/syllabuses are to be judged. Cornbleth's (1990, especially pp. 99-100) account is particularly relevant here. Located firmly within the post-modernist paradigm she argues (in common with Doll) for a new vision which eschews the old technocentrist perspective. Curricula need to be investigated to see not just what they contain but what they do not. Their construction is not a value-neutral exercise but a statement of power: knowledge is power and those who define what knowledge is to be allowed in schools define the power relationships both in school and in the

232 Paul Ganderton

wider society. In practical terms, if the National Curriculum provides students (or teachers for that matter) with fewer power-resources then it must be a retrograde, or deskilling exercise. More precisely for the arguments here, deskilling could be proven if the following conditions could be demonstrated: i. ii.

iii. iv. v.

vi.

power had been removed from staff/students to negotiate the content of the curriculum; geographical knowledge is treated less systematically thus reducing the academichistorical traditions from and through which the subject has grown; students benefit less from the treatment of geography; the National Curriculum reduces equity/ excellence; the national curriculum biases the knowledge/power relationship in favour of the powerful by producing a politically 'safe' geography; there is less access to conceptions, patterns and rules from which generalizations and thus transferable knowledge can be gained.

Of course, one could always ask, why geography? Leaving aside the knowledge of the author there are sound reasons for choosing this area. First, although it had been the subject of much debate within the geographical community it had never reached the levels of that seen for, say, National Curriculum English, science or history. It would not be a mainstream case over which to fight. Second, geography has a fairly recent academic history (about 120 years) and so has not had the longer traditions which could lead to entrenched views. In some ways this makes it an ideal candidate: started as an important subject to teach the geography of empire to a growing army of civil servants and merchants, it has always had a practical edge to its work: What is geography? ... geographers have been active of late in pressing the claims of their science to a more honoured place in the curriculum of our schools and universities ... the educational battle now being fought will turn on the answer given to this question ... its scope must embrace both the science of tracing the arrangement of things in general on the earth's

surface and also the interaction of man in society and his environment. (Cameron, 1980, pp. 201-2)

It is rare to find anything new. Despite the modern reference these were the words of one of the first professors of geography at Oxford and were spoken in 1887! Neither was his the only expression of this perspective as many others strove to produce books describing the new 'commercial Geography' (e.g. Meiklejohn, 1895).

Analysis A case has been put for both methodology and choice of subject: one must turn to the analysis itself. Each example has been analysed and the key aspects shown in the Appendix. What remains is to provide a brief overview of the case studies before considering the strength of the evidence. At this point, those unfamiliar with Geographical curricula might question the need for a detailed report. There are two vital reasons for this. First, as an analysis mediated through phenomenology where the world-as-given has ontological status it follows that this author must make explicit that which he sees. Second, it allows one to see the depth of analysis needed - not every element is on the surface. The O level (Case 1) is based on a fairly traditional pattern. Its approach is via a systematic division of geography where most (but not all) of the key branches are studied. Within each section there is an open-ended use of topics and casestudies that can be used as teaching models although reference is made to the range from which appropriate examples can be chosen. There is an explicit note of the skills which a geography student is supposed to have. These are worth noting in some detail. There is call for a wide range of mapwork skills. In these days of computer maps it might be said to be less important, but it does demand a range of transferable skills, e.g. observation and recording that can be missed too easily. Thus a student might see but could he or she observe? Reference is made to 'mathematical' ge-

UK Curriculum Development and Future Needs

ography. While this is not elaborated upon it does imply a familiarity with basic numeracy and graphicacy as well as a range of basic statistical calculations. Further, in the introduction there is reference to 'concept-based' study - the idea that one is starting from theory and working into practice. While this might be a questionable pedagogical stance it does produce a student who can extrapolate theory into practice (this is further reinforced in the sections demanding a knowledge of basic meteorology). The syllabus proper continues with the same format of dividing the subject by academic area rather than region or topic. There are some unusual choices: the concentration upon secondary and tertiary industry in a syllabus taken overseas where primary industry is still a potent economic and cultural force is one obvious case. There is reference to the need for students to explore the differences between conceptual models and the real world. The implication is that students would expect to be able to see the value of the simplifying model (thus furthering geographical skills/knowledge) and be able to apply it to situations around them and still recognize limitations. The second case-study has been taken from the NSW syllabus for 100 hours mandatory geography (a reference to the time needed to complete the work). Its focus is completely different. The rationale is not questioning the range of geographical methods but using them as a taken-for-granted item to be used for the furtherance of understanding about Australia. In common with much current Australian curriculum thinking it concentrates on outcomes rather than content. To this extent it is future-referenced and concerned with the use to which such knowledge could be put. Far more than the other two cases this syllabus is very inwards-focused and contextually based - it is designed to teach Australians about Australia primarily, rather than to teach them the geography of the planet. Admittedly, this is not designed to be a syllabus that can be taken overseas, unlike the O level, so it can concentrate its viewpoint (as can be seen in the syllabus sensu stricto}. This syllabus represents something of a paradox. On the one hand its introductory sections focus explicitly upon the skills and values seen as culturally im-

233

portant to a multiracial society. In such terms it can be seen as an attempt to negotiate a learning strategy (with particular reference to the needs of working communally). On the other hand its knowledge/content requirements are most specific - Australia is to be the main study. Whereas this can be argued to be of benefit to younger students by the time the Schools Certificate (and especially the Higher Schools Certificate) has been reached, there is a demand for a broader geographical diet. The geography National Curriculum of England and Wales is the final case examined here. How does it treat geographical education? The first impression is of a very wordy, weighty document: it is far longer and more detailed than either of the other two (although this is, of course, no guarantee of quality). The organization of the document is dictated by the structure of the National Curriculum as a whole: the first part is given over to the Attainment Targets (similar in perspective to the outcomes of the Australian syllabus) with a second part as a 'non-statutory' but nevertheless extremely closely focused Programme of Study. For the purpose of this study it was proposed to concentrate only on those elements of the curriculum pertaining to the 14-16 year age-range (i.e. within Key Stage 4) and approximating to the age-ranges of the other case-studies. The curriculum is divided into five elements (Attainment Targets AT) which comprise the range of geographical knowledge: 'geographical skills' (not the entire syllabus as one might expect but a reference to map-making skills), knowledge and understanding, and physical, human and environmental geography. Within each AT there are a series of subdivisions (Statements of Attainment - So A), which comprise, roughly, levels of abilities expected at given stages during compulsory education which are meant to reflect the growing sophistication of the student as he or she progresses through the work, although progression through them is far from uniform or logical (a crucial area needing further investigation). For example, ATI starts with a few of the simpler map manipulation skills but by SoAlO has moved to an area that is both new to geography (less than 20 years) and expensive to demonstrate.

234 Paul Ganderton

AT3 is a more serious case. It is not that it lacks logicality, it is that its knowledge base is selective. It notes world climate and hydrology, both seen as important to any geography syllabus (at SoA8). SoA9 calls for the study of 'unreliable rainfall' which is not defined (and which would be full of conceptual pitfalls were one even to try). SoAlO demands a study of how landforms may change in the future which, at first reading, would be appearing to attempt the impossible - most geomorphologists would settle for a clear understanding of current events! It is possible to continue with such scrutiny and find further examples but this could be seen as self-defeating. There is sufficient evidence to question the way in which the conceptual pathways have been constructed. Far more serious in this case is the way in which only selected elements of each subdivision within the subject have been chosen. Given the time constraints it is unlikely that many teachers would be able to fill all the gaps. Lest this should be seen as a purely negative exercise it should be noted that at least there has been an attempt to set out by conceptual difficulty a subject notoriously difficult to classify - students could be quite young and yet require a level of knowledge that would have been that of the undergraduate only a few years ago. In this respect there is far less agreement than, for example, for mathematics. The curriculum has a 'Programme of Study' similar to a teaching scheme. Immediately one sees a dichotomy: the programme is clearly marked as being non-statutory, i.e. to be used to provide a few ideas only, but then proceeds to produce what amounts to a virtual teaching programme. Places and Themes gives a perfect example of this. There is little to link it obviously to the grandiose callings of its AT. Students are called upon to identify a few places on a map. Studies can be made of the 'home region' and one of France, Germany, Italy or Spain. Likewise the range of economically developing countries is restricted. Although of global importance, one must select one of the USA, the USSR (this was a pre-'breakup' curriculum) or Japan. Physical geography is limited to a few features - glaciation and karst - and only a few examples. The impression is one of a random selection rather than of coherent strategies.

Is the National Curriculum deskilling? The Appendix gives the details and the work above has highlighted the key features of each case-study. Is there sufficient evidence to come to a clear conclusion? From an examination of curriculum paradigms above it was possible to put forward a series of criteria that the analysis must satisfy to support the de-skilling case. Comparing the 'before', i.e. O level, with the 'present', i.e. National Curriculum, each one is answered now: i.

Has power been removed from staff/students to negotiate the content of the curriculum? The O level had many faults, most obviously that it was geared towards the more academically able student. However, within that there was a body of knowledge whose examples could be chosen according to the interests of the class and teacher. This does not mean that there would be any negotiation of subject as we understand the term in current educational use but it was certainly more open than the country-specifics of the National Curriculum. Neither case allowed staff/ students to pick and choose from a range of geographical concepts, but with the O level the whole subdivision was left open, i.e. there was no prescription about the range of concepts that could be covered under the heading of, say, physical geography. ii. Is geographical knowledge treated less systematically thus reducing the academichistorical traditions from and through which the subject has grown? The arguments here are far less clear-cut. The National Curriculum does choose from a more restricted range and it is clear that there is no reference to the growth of the subject, but then that is a common failing of the O level and of most subjects studied below firstdegree level. Students in the UK rarely have a chance to understand the antecedents of their concepts. By losing their sense of knowledgehistory they lose a vital part of the explanation of the growth of knowledge. While this is not important here, it takes on a greater signifi-

UK Curriculum Development and Future Needs 235

cance if we consider the value of the National Curriculum in the future. This question must be left open. iii. Do students benefit less from the treatment of geography? This depends upon the definition and conceptualization of'benefit'. If one is following a pathway in which higher study of geography is important then it is clear that the National Curriculum with its restricted range is deskilling. However, for those who intend to take the subject no further than GCSE (or even less) then this is more difficult to argue. It seems reasonable that the aim of studying any subject is to become familiar with the ways in which one's culture perceives it. (As Cornbleth rightly argues, curriculum is a contextsensitive item.) Thus anything which restricts the development of that knowledge, even if it is not taken to its furthest point, is to restrict and therefore de-skill the recipient. Very few people study a subject beyond GCSE but that does not stop its practitioners from expanding the boundaries of knowledge. Does literary criticism cease just because GCSE English is most people's final contact with the subject? iv. Does the national curriculum reduce equity/ excellence? Equity is the opportunity for all to study a subject and excellence can be defined as the range of opportunities offered. By making geography one of the main subjects, it is ensuring that all study it to at least some level: the same is true of all National Curriculum subjects. Thus here we see one positive effect. Whether one would be so sanguine if geography (as was threatened, see Bailey, 1992) had fallen outside the scope of core and foundation subjects one is less certain. Excellence is another subjective word. If one refers to quality of work then it could be seen at any level in any subject. However, if one is defining it in terms of grasp of the subject then the restricted range of the National Curriculum weighs against it. The problem is brought into sharper focus if one adds the NSW syllabus. Here the attempt is to get people to use their geographical knowledge in

a community setting. The focus is on an awareness and use of what one could term 'geographical literacy'. Excellence is, in part, the degree to which such knowledge is used. The O level would take excellence as the depth and breadth exhibited by a student. The National Curriculum has its focus on assessment (or, as is more usually phrased, 'raising standards' - Bailey, 1992; Clarke, 1992) rather than knowledge and so would be seen less favourably in this context. v. Does the national curriculum bias the knowledge/power relationship in favour of the powerful by producing a politically 'safe' geography? While the ATs pointed the way to the range of concepts that it was possible to study, the Programme of Study has restricted it in such a way that very little of controversy can be seen. Key areas such as stewardship and conservation are only mentioned in the context of developing countries and pollution only seems to appear as a transboundary phenomenon. Even if one argues for a wider range of casestudies one is still drawn to the de-skilling nature of the National Curriculum in this area. vi. Is there less access to conceptions, patterns and rules from which generalizations and thus transferable knowledge can be gained? By using the case-study approach one can improve the motivation of students but there is less in the National Curriculum to suggest a broad systematic approach to conceptualization and generalization. The restricted range of topics and the lack, even within the ATs, of a coherent picture of the subject matter of geography leads one to accept this question. The National Curriculum is not a wholly negative item. It has opened up more debate about the nature and quality of education than has just about anything else. It has made education a political subject and teachers themselves have become politicized (Kinchloe, 1993; Hartnett and Naish, 1992). However, given the evidence presented here one must conclude that, overall for students and staff, it is a de-skilling activity. However, that

236 Paul Ganderton

is only part of the picture. At the beginning, reference was made to Toffler's future studies. The next part of this chapter is to consider some of the more important implications following this study and then to suggest possible future solutions.

Implications This chapter has taken as its basis one part of the continuing debate of the nature of the curriculum. The dilemma is what do we do about it? Although only one aspect will be taken further (i.e. a new curriculum perspective) it is important to raise other points to show that the whole question is far more complex (i.e. follow Cornbleth's ideas on curriculum-as-politics). The NC is de-skilling, therefore: It could be replaced by an alternative perspective (see sections below). This raises ideological questions as to who controls knowledge. Traditionally, this was seen as part of the teacher's preserve but the NC has shifted this towards government. Should politicians define the parameters and conceptualizations of knowledge? We have already seen some of the arguments being rehearsed over the nature of global computer networks such as Internet. ii. It could be kept but with a far more rigorous challenge to its factual orientation. Early models of the NC are being replaced and it is possible that more reforms could be made. However, since it is firmly modernist and not post-modernist, would any tinkering make it more (philosophically) viable? iii. It could be challenged by teachers/parents. Given the responses by some in government this would seem unlikely. If people did complain, would there be any real change? The NC has a very heavy ideological package associated with it. The knowledge-is-power lobby would be reluctant to return decision-making to the 'owners'. Of course, this is ultimately self-defeating but only in the long term (not-

oriously difficult to establish in practical politics). iv. Teachers could teach a broader curriculum. This is possible but given the extensions of 'parent power' and pressures to conform this again seems unlikely. It is entirely possible that teachers could be forced in one direction while holding alternate views. Whether this would increase or decrease compliance with educational directives or be sustainable in the long term is open to question. This debate could be continued. The importance is that the curriculum is not just a route through a subject but a highly complex interaction of numerous factors.

The needs of the future

i.

The curriculum of today serves the society of tomorrow. It follows that the curriculum of tomorrow (to which Toffler alludes) will serve the society of the near-future. The evidence presented above has demonstrated the de-skilling nature of the National Curriculum inasmuch as all elements were constructed under a common formula and if one fails, by implication, all do. The National Curriculum was designed to provide a blueprint for future education: The National Curriculum will ensure that pupils are equipped with the knowledge, skills and understanding that they need for adult life and employment. (Clarke, 1992) Yet it has already been proven to be a less robust model of curriculum than the O level it replaced. So what of the needs of the future? Perhaps the search for a better model was started in the wrong place. At the beginning of this chapter it was considered important to locate a study of curriculum within the philosophical paradigms from which it was constructed: to make explicit that which was normally hidden. It follows that to construct a curriculum of the future it is necessary to outline possible paradigm-scenarios. Although

UK Curriculum Development and Future Needs

the future is obviously not known, it is possible to extrapolate from current trends to suggest mostlikely cases. In this case there is a strong argument to support some aspect of post-modernism. Doll (1993) writes at length on this subject: it is sufficient here to review some of his key ideas to demonstrate the strength of the argument. First, there is mounting evidence that current paradigms are not sufficient to explain the behaviour of systems previously thought to act in a predictable, linear fashion. First seen in subatomic physics (Capra, 1991) it has spread outwards via mathematics (Gleick, 1987) and has even been posited in education reform (Sungailia, 1991). Commonly referred to as chaos theory it assumes that the future cannot be predicted with precision but that one can suggest the probability of an event occurring. Thus, if one were to know that a specific reaction would cure a certain action, then it would only be possible to use that knowledge if the probability of the event occurring was 1 (i.e. certain to happen). The practical upshot of this is that old ideas, e.g. 'facts', are no good - one needs the theory behind the facts from which to design an answer to the problem. More prosaicly, how can one overcome future business competition by knowing the date of the Battle of Hastings or the location of one European country? Second, responses to current educational dilemmas are being met by using similar tactics (usually known as 'globalization' but this is to simplify the case). Analyses of many studies in education, e.g. Australia (Ganderton, 1993,1997), have shown that there is an increasing need for education to be renewed throughout a person's lifetime. Toffler argued the same case 20 years ago (Toffler, 1974): 'facts' are useful if the rate of change is small - if the rate of change increases then 'facts' become increasingly redundant. Third, social relationships are changing (Cornbleth, 1990). Many (Western) nations are moving towards a negotiation of curriculum (although in this respect, the National Curriculum is a retrograde step). This changes the nature of the educational process. Students will require not just a group of facts to pass the next examination but a set of skills that they can take into their employment.

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Fourth, there is growing evidence of a change in work relationships (Brewster and Hegewisch, 1994). Two paradigms emerge. The first is where the individual action is seen as paramount. It is short-termist in perspective and posits that the pursuance of individual goals will aggregate to produce a better society. Seen in the European Union and the East Coast of the United States, I call this the Atlantic paradigm. Contrast this with a perspective where the group is the focus and where collective communication is valued. An individual is as valued as the group to which he or she belongs and long-termist strategies are employed in business. Appearing in Japan, ASEAN, Australia and California, I call this the Pacific paradigm. Perhaps it is no random event that, as the old Western technocentric paradigms are seen to falter and the new Eastern-oriented ones such as chaos and post-modernism rise, the Pacific nations gain an economic superiority over those of the Atlantic nations and the Pacific paradigm of human relationships becomes more important.

A curriculum for the future One could continue with a list of possible requirements but there are sufficient here to construct a new curriculum. At every stage the deficiencies of the National Curriculum in this future-role have been made clear. How is one to prepare for the next generation? Perhaps it is time to invert traditional perspectives of curriculum. The old themes stressed the importance of the subject and its related facts. What is needed in the future is the ability to gather facts and explore new avenues: Figure 20.1 outlines one way forward. This future curriculum model consists of three areas: two cores and a periphery. The innermost core will need to address the key aspects of the learning process. Given the likely parameters in the previous section, this will need to include information-gathering skills (obviously information technology but also information-hunting) and

238 Paul Ganderton

Figure 20.1 A future curriculum structure

key learning skills. Students are often required to case 2 above). It is more important to be critical in use skills for which they have received minimal one's acceptance of knowledge than it is to store training, e.g. 'take notes', 'write this essay'. Thus and retrieve it. Thus the second core would concrucial to future success would be the skills which sist of storage skills. Many of the skills seen in the are needed to learn accurately and process new inner core, e.g. accelerated learning, would be ideas and data. Some of these skills are gaining used in both areas. Although these skills should be increasing acceptance: critical thinking (e.g. made explicit they also need to be practised in a Swartz and Parks, 1993) and accelerated learning variety of settings. Thus the subjects would be retained (with an emphasis on concepts) as a ve(Rose, 1987) and genre literacy (Cope and Kahicle through which a student's perspectives of lantzis, 1993) have already become key elements the world could be challenged. of some education systems (e.g. New South Wales). Included in this section would be the Whatever focus is to be taken, debate on the personal/personnel skills of the Pacific paradigm, nature of the curriculum and the dilemmas it raie.g. interpersonal communication, civic responsi- ses are clearly going to be central to educational bility (e.g. New South Wales geography syllabus - theory and practice.

UK Curriculum Development and Future Needs 239

Appendix 20.1: three case studies Case 1: London Board Geography O level - (International) - 1995/6

Content

Interpretation

Implications

1. Introduction: Based on key skills

a) Approach - topic/systematics; b) Concept-based study;

Not regional studies

c) Specific skills - mapwork and Provides specific examples of fieldwork. Key skills expected - requirements - basic concepts (cartographic skills, field mapwork, data interpretation, sketching, transects, surveys). sketch maps/diagrams, elementary fieldwork; Defines the skills required d) Notes the inclusion of 'mathematical geography'.

Demands basic training in key skills surrounding the knowledge area

Specific note on numeracy

2. Syllabus: a) Global Physical Geography (including solar system);

The syllabus also notes the key elements and subdivisions of the subjects. Students should explore the differences/uses between conceptual models and the real world

b) Landforms; c) Weather Study;

Includes observations

d) Agriculture; e) Secondary and Tertiary Industry; f) Population; g) Transport and Trade; h) People and Environment.

Unusual considering the importance of primary industry in the international scene

240 Paul Ganderton

Case 2: New South Wales, Australia - Mandatory 100 Geography (including Schools Certificate] - 1991 Content 1. Introduction: a) Rationale: • interconnectedness • unique geographical methods • relate to other cultures • create informed perspective

Interpretation

Strong rationale on the place of geography in society. Emphasis on values of skills and interpretation

Implications

Geography seen as a key educational element especially as an element in informed participation in community life

b) Study through key questions - Follows a logical pattern of what, where, why, etc. through to enquiry but places the emphasis what action is appropriate on both acquisition and use of knowledge. Concentrates on a question-based approach

Seen as a proactive syllabus with some negotiation permitted within closely defined boundaries

c] Central concepts: • community and environment • key aspects - skills, perspectives and values

Concepts are expected to be used and not just learned. Skills would include observation, mapping, analysis, communication, decisionmaking and social concern. Perspectives would include aboriginal, gender and social justice ideas. Values would mean multiculturalism, environmentalism and Australia's relationships

Concentrates on transferable skills within a geographical context. Not a geography-led syllabus but an outcomes-based model. Emphasis on what students should be able to do rather than the pathway through which it has come about

d) Outcomes at Stage 5: • use of knowledge and skills • geographical investigation • communication

Community perspective often emphasizes group work

Stage 5 is equivalent to GCSE/O levels

Each section has: objectives, knowledge/understanding and outcomes

This is a syllabus and not a teaching programme. This is left up to individual schools. Much of the syllabus knowledge is outlined in general terms and is not topic-specific. The narrow concentration on Australia has the advantage of focusing the minds of the students many of whom might come from overseas but does have difficulties whenmuch of the subject area is re-covered at senior high school level (16-19 years).

2. Syllabus: • Australia - place and space • Australian environments • Australian communities • Australia in regional and global contexts • Biophysical environment • Environmental management • Communities, work, settlement • Development and world political geography

UK Curriculum Development and Future Needs

241

Case 3: England and Wales National Curriculum Geography - Key Stage 4 Note: KS4 - material here restricted to So As 8-10 Content

Interpretation

Implications

1. Attainments Targets: a) Geographical Skills (mapmaking): • geographical information systems • using different maps • map interpretation b) Knowledge and Understanding of Places: • identify/analyse patterns • regional initiatives • trade (including EU) • investment

c) Physical Geography: • world climate • hydrology • human activity and geomorphology • soil erosion • global areas of unreliable rainfall • ocean currents • structure of rock • landforms •

how landscapes are changing in the future • desertification

Make a composite map and evaluate the information. Use maps to look at quality of life issues

Narrow interpretation of skills needed. Some skills are of a higher order than others without any logical progressions

From 8 to 10 there is little increase in the type of knowledge required but there is an increase in the sophistication demanded

Seems limited in range. Evaluation looks all right but there is little of obvious substance. Much of the material required is not easily located. By making it difficult to locate it increases dependency on a few texts A mixture of concepts of differing complexities some of which are not immediately obvious, e.g.

Unreliability pattern California current and North Atlantic Drift 'ridge and vale'

'Unreliable rainfall' could refer to the UK. Ridge and vale is an oldfashioned term not normally seen. Landscape change in 'the future' is unusual as even current changes are under debate

242 Paul Ganderton

d) Human Geography:

Criteria not discussed

demographic structures urban/regional development economic disparity general concepts (distance decay, access, urbanization, core-periphery) ethnic distribution transport effects 'conceptual frameworks' explanations of international disparities international strategies for the quality of life

e) Environmental Geography: population/resource pressure environmental fragility international resource management sustainable development, stewardship, conservation

'problems of water and Term/usage unclear atmospheric circulation crossing political boundaries'

These are not statutory but are very highly detailed. The implication to use them is clear

2. Programmes of Study:

a) Geographical Skills

Involves a detailed list of map skills, photo interpretation and satellite imagery. Make a composite map

b) Places and Homes: • Home Region • EC • EDC

Need to identify a few places on a map France, Germany, Italy or Spain Restricted range - study stimulation of the economy One only, specified Japan specified

• •

USA, USSR, Japan International Trade

Many of these terms do not represent a whole within the currently accepted ideas of human geography (see general concepts). There is little to elaborate upon the notion of 'conceptual frameworks' other than 'use a spatial model'

There are many ideas: little needs to be left to the imagination. Skills seen are primarily visual and do not appear to cater for other learning styles. There is a need to interpret/explain but in what context?

Government and international policy and finance seen as a key theme

UK Curriculum Development and Future Needs

c) Physical Geography

d) • • • • • • •

Human Geography: Population movement Transport Goods and services Economic Geography Distribution of ethnic groups Conceptual Framework Evaluate differences in economic environment

e) • • • •

Environmental Geography: Freshwater Resources Resource Management Sustainable development, conservation

Most features could be studied but only glaciation and karst specified

243

No attempt to synthesize basic geomorphological concepts as an entity. The appearance is very 'bitty' Most tasks are quite simple but they can be next to complex tasks - there is little evidence of an obvious pattern

Basic demography

Causes of distribution?

Population and demand

Referencess Bailey, P. (1992) A case hardly won: geography in the National Curriculum of English and Welsh schools 1991. Geographical Journal, 158(1), 65-74. Brewster, C. and Hegewisch, A. (eds) (1994) Policy and Practice in European Human Resource Management. London: Routledge. Cameron, I. (1980) To the Farthest Ends of the Earth: The History of the Royal Geographical Society 1930-1980. Macdonald. Capra, F. (1991) The Too of Physics. London: Flamingo. Clarke, K. (1992) The Secretary of State's speech to the Royal Geographical Society on Geography in the National Curriculum. Geographical Journal, 158(1), 75-8. Cope, B. and Kalantzis, M. (1993) The Powers of Literacy: A Genre Approach to Teaching Writing. London: Falmer Press. Cornbleth, C. (1990) Curriculum in Context. London: Falmer Press.

Some ideas appear confused

No real coherent pattern. There is a need to cover basic ideas but with little input of a coherent geographical framework

Doll, W. E., Jr (1993) A Post-Modern Perspective on Curriculum. USA: Teachers' College Press. Ganderton, P. S. (1993) Education Reform: The Case of Australia. Research Report for CIDE, Chile. Ganderton, P. S. (1997) Cross-cultural impacts of educational globalization. In K. Watson, C. Modgil and S. Modgil (eds), Educational Dilemmas: Debate and Diversity. Volume 4: Quality in Education. London: Cassell, pp. 246-56. Gleick, J. (1987) Chaos. London: Abacus. Hartnett, A. and Naish, M. (1992) The sleep of reason breeds monsters: the birth of the National Curriculum in England and Wales. Journal of Curriculum Studies. 22(1), 1-16. lion, L. (1994) Structural adjustment and education: adapting to a growing global market. International Journal of Educational Development, 14(2), 95-108. Kinchloe, J. L. (1993) Towards a Critical Politics of Teacher Thinking: Mapping the Postmodern. London: Bergin and Garvey. Meiklejohn, }. M. D. (1895) A New Geography on the Comparative Method. Alfred Holden.

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O'Riordan, T. (1981) Environmentalism. London: Pion Press (2nd edn). Rose, C. (1987) Accelerated Learning. New York: Dell. Swartz, R. and Park, S. (1993) Infusing Critical and Creative Thinking into Content Instruction. Pacific Grove, CA: Critical Thinking Press and Software. Stenhouse, L. (1975) An Introduction to Curriculum

Research and Development. Oxford: Heinemann. Sungailia, H. (1991) Teaching and Learning in a World of Educational Reform. 1991 ACEA National Conference, Gold Coast, Qld., Australia. Toffler A. (ed.) (1974) Learning for Tomorrow: The Role of the Future in Education. London: Random House.

Part Five Separate School Provision

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21

New Christian Schools: A Question of Balance

GEOFFREY WALFORD Introduction Since April 1994, as a result of the 1993 Education Act for England and Wales, it has been possible for groups, parents or independent sponsors to apply to the Secretary of State for Education and Employment to establish their own grant-maintained schools. This important change in the way in which schools can be established is, in part, the result of a lengthy campaign by a diversity of pressure groups representing religious and other interests. The Christian Schools Campaign, in particular, was at the forefront of the political campaigning for the right to obtain state funding for faith-based schools and can be seen to have had a significant effect on the way in which the legislation has been framed (Walford, 1995a and b). If the Secretary of State approves individual proposals, the way is open for England and Wales to have state-funded schools that have the aim of fostering, for example, Muslim, Buddhist or evangelical Christian beliefs, or that wish to promote particular educational philosophies. Additionally, existing faith-based or other private schools are now able to apply to become re-established as grantmaintained schools. Technically, it was already possible for Local Education Authorities to support various religiously-based schools through voluntary aided status. Over the past few years several existing Muslim and evangelical Christian private schools have applied through their LEAs to become voluntary aided, but all such requests have so far been rejected. Usually this has happened at the LEA

level, but occasionally the LEA has agreed to support a new voluntary aided school and central government has refused the request. The 1993 Act removes any official barriers to the support of faith-based schools erected by local authorities, and passes the decision directly to the Secretary of State for Education and Employment. If the promoters are able to convince the Secretary of the need for the school and that they are able to meet adequately that need (including a substantial contribution to capital costs), a new grant-maintained school can be established. The campaign for the right to 'opt-in' to the state sector has involved a variety of groups including the Small Schools Movement (Meighan and Toogood, 1992), several Muslim pressure groups (including the Muslim Educational Trust and, more recently, the Muslim Parliament (1992)) and the Christian Schools Campaign (CSC) which represented about 65 private evangelical Christian schools. In their desire to obtain state funding, the interests of these groups also coincided with those of the New Right who wished for further diversity in educational provision (e.g. Cox and Marks, 1979), selection of pupils for particular schools (e.g. Flew, 1991; Marks, 1991) and the increased privatization of schooling (e.g. Sexton, 1987, 1992). It also gave the government the chance to expand the grant-maintained sector at a time when applications from county and voluntary schools were low. Various accounts of the schools and the campaign have appeared elsewhere (Deakin, 1989; 1996; O'Keeffe, 1992; Walford, 1994a,b,c; 1995 a,b,c). Within this chapter I wish to consider some

248

Geoffrey

Walford

consequences of the success of the campaign and consider the extent to which these consequences are desirable within a pluralist democracy.

The nature of the schools Although this chapter will consider some general issues about faith-based schools, it is primarily concerned with schools that have an association with the Christian Schools Trust, and the data presented here are derived from a larger study of these schools (Poyntz and Walford, 1994). A selection of 11 of these schools was visited and the heads were interviewed using a semi-structured format. In early 1993 a questionnaire was sent to the rest of the schools listed by the Christian Schools Trust and data were eventually obtained from 83 per cent of the schools in the group. Documents were also collected and analysed. The survey and interviews found that there is considerable diversity within the schools with links to the Trust. For example, some had fewer than 10 pupils while others had nearly two hundred. About half of the schools cater for primary age children only, but the rest usually teach the full compulsory school age-range up to 16. Moreover, there is considerable disagreement about the nature of Christian education and the schools have substantial differences in emphasis in their theology. While, broadly, the schools share an ideology of biblically-based evangelical Christianity which seeks to relate the message of the Bible to all aspects of present-day life, there are many differences in the ways in which this would be interpreted. Most of the schools were started either by churches or by groups of Christian parents because they were dissatisfied with the statemaintained schools locally available. This dissatisfaction was largely in terms of what they perceived as increased secularism of the schools, but the perceived lack of a suitable academic emphasis was also a recurrent feature. As the schools were designed to enable parents to provide a 'biblically-based' Christian education for their children, the majority of the pupils are sons or

daughters of active Christians. However, most of the schools are also prepared to accept a proportion of pupils from non-Christian families, which includes a very small proportion of pupils from Muslim, Hindu or Sikh families. Most of these schools are not well funded and do not serve the traditional social-class users of the private sector. A few do charge fees that compare with other private preparatory or secondary schools and are able to provide full salaries to teachers at the nationally agreed levels. But the majority of the schools have low indicative fees or rely on donations from parents that are related to their ability to pay. These schools often live a life of financial uncertainty or, as they would explain it, the schools survive 'on faith'. Most of the schools have a mixture of full- and part-time teachers with those working part-time often being parents and receiving no pay at all. Although the Christian Schools Campaign was linked to these 65 schools, far from all of the schools wished to obtain state funding for themselves. Some did not wish to teach the National Curriculum, some wished to retain the right of corporal punishment and some believed that state funding would inevitably lead to a diminution of the distinctive Christian emphasis that they desired.

The balance between parents and the state While there is considerable diversity within the new Christian schools, one belief to which practically all of those involved would adhere is that parents have the prime responsibility for the education of their children. The right of parents to teach their children in accordance with the beliefs and practices of their religion is one that is firmly held. It is argued that the school should present an extension of the values and beliefs taught within the home and church, and the state's role is secondary. For example, in its prospectus, one of the schools stated this as: The basic responsibility for education lies with parents. The well known proverb Train a child the way

New Christian Schools 249

he should go, and when he is old he will not turn from it' (Proverbs 22:6) is addressed primarily to parents. There are regular parents' meetings to encourage a close relationship between home and school.

This interpretation of the responsibilities of parents is one that meshes well with several aspects of current government educational policy. At root, it is an individualistic vision, broadened only slightly to include the family and the wider 'family' of the local Christian group. It is perhaps indicative of the orientation of the belief system that many of the groups or churches with which these schools are associated are 'house churches'. It is possible to see this emphasis on the individual as being linked to the concept of individual salvation through personal belief in the atoning role of Jesus Christ. It concentrates on the individual within the family, sees the wider society as secular or anti-Christian and thus largely rejects the role of the state and wider society in the education of the children of Christians. The balance between the rights and responsibilities of the individual and those of society are skewed heavily towards the individual.

Social and equity issues The right to establish faith-based grantmaintained schools must be considered within the context of wider government policy towards educational provision, for the Campaign was only successful because its aims could be encompassed within broader government policy. Under the mastheads of'choice' and 'diversity', government policy has been designed to increase the proportion of funding for schooling coming from the private sector, reintroduce selection and legitimize inequity of provision for different groups of children (Walford, 1990; 1994c). As many disillusioned parents have found, once popular schools are oversubscribed, it is the schools that select children rather than parents having a 'choice' of school. Within each area a hierarchy of schools develops, and there is growing evidence that various privileged groups are better able than

others to influence the selection of their children by those schools at the top of the hierarchy. Those with most concern about the education of their children are able to 'play the system' such that their children have a greater chance of being selected by the prestigious schools (Ball, 1993; Gewirtz et al., 1994). However, the government has shown little concern about the deleterious effects that increased diversity may have on equity and justice for all children, but appears to be content that those concerned and active parents who have the ability and means to influence the selection process are able to obtain their chosen schools. Faith-based grant-maintained schools may add to the diversity of schools available, but what are their implications in terms of equity and justice for all children? In practice, the Christian Schools Campaign was seen by many of its supporters as centrally concerned with equity, justice and Christian 'righteousness'. It was argued that parents have the right to educate their children in the way they wish, especially in respect of religious beliefs, and that existing schools present a secular view of society that is in conflict with the views that these parents hold and wish to transmit to their children. Moreover, in having to establish their own private schools to educate their children in the ways they wished, Christian parents, it was argued, are 'paying twice' for schooling - once through general taxation, and again by providing their own schools. Such a view has considerable power for, in many ways, the right for Muslim, Hindu and evangelical Christian parents to apply to have their own schools supported by the state might be seen as a gain in equity. At present these parents feel forced to establish their own private schools (often at considerable financial sacrifice) to enable them to ensure that their children are educated according to their own wishes, while the Church of England, the Roman Catholic Church and some Jewish groups have their own state-funded schools. However, this interpretation of equity is essentially an individualistic view where parents seek what they believe to be best for their own children while ignoring or discounting the possible effect of their actions on others. It overlooks the possible effects

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on other people's children — both Christian and non-Christian. A major consideration is that it is far from clear that society as a whole will benefit from some Muslim, Hindu or Christian children being educated separately from other children. In a pluralist and multi-ethnic country such as Britain, there is a need for children to mix with those of other faiths and ethnicities if they are to begin to understand, accept and enjoy each other's differences. Some faith-based grant-maintained schools could well become segregated ethnically as well as religiously, which will do little to decrease racism and intolerance. The establishment of some faith-based grantmaintained schools also has potential detrimental effects on those children of parents of that faith who remain within existing schools. It will only be possible to establish an evangelical Christian, Muslim or Hindu school in geographical areas where there are sufficient numbers of potential pupils to ensure the school's long-term viability. There will always be many parents who do not have access to a faith-based school of their choice, and there will be others who do not wish their children to be in a segregated school yet still wish them to follow their religious faith. Both groups of parents will be potentially disadvantaged by the existence of faith-based schools, for other schools may be less likely to take into account the needs of their children. Thus, for example, while several existing county and church schools make arrangements for the regular worship demands of Islam and provide appropriate facilities, there may be less pressure on them to do so if the most vocal and forceful parents decide to place their children in a separate faith-based grant-maintained school. An additional problem is that these new faithbased schools will bring a further form of selection and differentiation of children. Once the schools are oversubscribed, they will be forced to select, and the basis of selection may depend upon tests and interviews at which particular groups of parents and children will be likely to be successful and others more likely to fail. In particular, schools will be able to have admissions criteria that give preference to members of the sponsoring group's faith. (This can apply to the selection of

teachers as well as of pupils.) This may involve a simple affirmation or a test of active involvement with supporting evidence. Those families where education and faith are already valued will probably have an advantage over those where education is of little interest.

Children's rights to education The second balance that needs to be considered is that between the rights and responsibilities of parents and those of their children. The debate about choice in education has been dominated by the idea of 'parents' rights'. Yet democratic societies recognize that education is not purely the responsibility of parents. The state requires parents to 'cause their children to be educated' either by sending them to school or otherwise. Local education authorities are required to check that this is being done and to act on behalf of the child's and society's interests where it is not. In maintaining this requirement, society recognizes that it is occasionally necessary to protect children from the wishes of their parents in matters of education as well as in health, welfare and safety. During my research into the new Christian schools, I interviewed many people involved with the schools. In general, while I did not always agree with my interviewees, I found them to be congenial, thoughtful and reasonable people. But a few were not. A very few had extreme views that I found abhorrent. The following extract gives an example. G. W. A. G. W. A.

G. W.

Are there any bits of the National Curriculum that you are unhappy with? No. You're happy with the whole thing? Well except for the idea, I mean, I would be unhappy with the lunacy of AIDS idea, because AIDS is basically a homosexual disease ... Mainly, and it depends where you are actually.

New Christian Schools 251

A.

... and it is doing a very effective job of ridding the population of undesirables. But, it is basically, according to the statistics, and I've got them, it is basically homosexual. Out of 600, 6000

G.W.

In this country, that may be true, but not in ... In the States, it's drug related. In Africa, it is basically a non-existent disease in many places, but the statistics have been grossly distorted because they find Western countries will give them money. Some of that may be true. It is true, but the ignorant West doesn't want to know t h a t . . . And you take the figures as they really are, and not as the Trust, what is it, the Higgins Trust, wanted to put over. It's a woofters' disease. If you're a woolly woofter, you get what you deserve. And that's the end of it, as far as I'm concerned. I know in America, intravenous drug users and sharing needles have caused it. I just feel that politically they are not telling society the truth, because they don't want to. They don't want to face up to it, because they don't... I would never employ a homosexual to teach at my school. I do not believe it's a lifestyle that is alternative - I believe it's evil, intrinsically.

A.

G. W. A.

This man was actually a minister of a church that supported an evangelical Christian school. In addition to his homophobic views illustrated above, he also showed an extremely paternalistic attitude towards women and used the term 'welfare state' almost as a swear-word. For this school to be given grant-maintained status it would need to meet a variety of different criteria established by the Department for Education. However, the main demands are that the National Curriculum is followed, that there are adequate facilities and trained staff and that there are sufficient potential applicants to make the school viable. There is nothing in the require-

ments for grant-maintained status that determines the way that the National Curriculum should be taught or restricts what additional material can be taught. Indeed, the new legislation clearly encourages parents to try to establish their own schools if their beliefs conflict with the teaching methods adopted in mainstream schools. Any group, whether it represents Jehovah's Witnesses, Exclusive Brethren or mainstream Church of England, is treated equally. There is nothing in the legislation that prohibits fundamentalist followers of any religion proposing their own grant-maintained schools where authoritarian obedience to the faith and its ordained practices are inculcated. This is not the place to enter the wider philosophical debate about the nature of education and knowledge. My own position follows the liberal position of Pring (1992), Bailey (1984) and many others in believing that education is centrally concerned with activities that draw upon 'a specific critical tradition which enables facts to be challenged and informed argument to be engaged in' (Pring, 1992, p. 25), and that there needs to be a balance between failing to respect differences of value and aspiration of distinct groups within our society and accepting that all values and beliefs are equally acceptable, irrespective of their antidemocratic and miseducative results. In this context, some features of the teaching within the new Christian schools are of concern. Of the 53 new Christian schools responding to the survey (Poyntz and Walford, 1994), all but one taught biblical creation as fact. Two-thirds of the schools taught evolution as well as creation, but all of them treated it as a theory. In nearly all cases it was taken for granted that the Bible's account of six-day creation was literally true, and the evolutionary view was false. Two typical responses were: We present the facts to the children, and it's obvious what's right and what's wrong. [Evolution is taught] only as a discredited theory . . . children have to know why so many books, programmes, etc., say such things as dinosaurs lived millions of years before man 'evolved'.

This dogmatism was also reflected in the schools' attitudes towards other faiths and in ques-

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tions of morality. Several of the schools took care to 'edit' well-known reading books for younger children, while others choose GCSE English boards on the basis of the moral stance of the novels students were asked to read. While there was variation between the schools, and some were more open to debate between the conflicting opinions, the degree of indoctrination was high. Such examples indicate that the current legislation does not give sufficient consideration to the balance between the rights and responsibilities of parents and those of their children.

Conclusion The idea that the state should fund a variety of different schools according to parents' wishes has a powerful simplicity which has welded together a remarkable range of people and organizations from the political right and left. Freedom of choice has become a powerful ideological force - but it is one that has been used partly to conceal the right's political objective of a more individualistic and inequitable educational system. The proponents of faith-based grant-maintained schools reflect this individualistic orientation. But, while it is perfectly right and proper that parents should wish to make choices on behalf of their children for their perceived benefit, their decisions are not always correct, and what is good for the individual is not always good for society as a whole or for certain less privileged groups within that society. Individual choices, and the sum effect of individual choices, may have benefits for those making choices, but may also harm others who are less able or willing to participate in the choice-making process (Walford, 1994c). The presence of faithbased schools, for example, may harm those children from the same faith who remain in state schools by taking out from the state sector those parents who are most likely to ensure that appropriate provision and teaching are maintained. The education provided in state schools may thus deteriorate with the exit of those parents with the greatest concern for their faith. Children of minor-

ity faith, majority faith or no faith at all could all be disadvantaged. However, it is the duty of the state to ensure that one group of children is not harmed by the actions of the others - a duty which may mean that individual freedoms are constrained for the benefit of the society as a whole. The solution is not straightforward, for there needs to be a balance between the desires of individuals and society's need to ensure that schools do not become elitist or segregationist. The Christian schools are not themselves elitist. Some of them currently serve children from the most deserving segments of our society, and most of them are prepared to accept a small number of nonChristian children where they have room. Furthermore, the schools have good grounds for asking for state support, as some 22 per cent of children in state-maintained schools are already in religious denominational schools. The most equitable and socially beneficial solution would be to discontinue voluntary aided and grantmaintained status and encourage all schools to adapt to and encourage the faiths of its pupils. Such a solution is not a political possibility. Thus, in the interests of equity, it is necessary to allow other voluntary bodies to have a major influence in state-maintained schools. The most appropriate way of doing this is through the LEAs (or some similar locally democratic bodies (National Commission on Education, 1993)) rather than by any new type of grant-maintained or voluntary school. To prevent schools becoming elitist or segregationist these new schools should be under the general supervision of the LEAs, and should work in co-operation with other schools. They should have their own ethos and cover such additional curriculum areas as they see fit beyond the National Curriculum. LEAs would act to monitor and maintain standards and to ensure that no religious or cultural entry conditions were imposed. They would also have the responsibility to ensure that schools made no attempt to indoctrinate children with particular beliefs, but encouraged a balanced debate on faiths. Such conditions would be too strict for some of the Christian and Muslim schools to accept, but they are necessary if an equitable education system is to be available to all children.

New Christian Sch ools

Acknowledgements I am most grateful to those who have helped in this research and, in particular, to Ruth Deakin, former Director of the Christian Schools Campaign, who provided a wealth of information and kindly gave me access to several meetings and documents. The research was funded by the Nuffield Foundation.

References Bailey, C. (1984) Beyond the Present and the Particular: A Theory of Liberal Education. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Ball, S. J. (1993) Education markets, choice and social class: the market as a class strategy. British Journal of Sociology of Education, 14(1), 3-19. Cox, C. and Marks, J. (1979) Education and Freedom. The Roots of Diversity. London: National Council for Educational Standards. Deakin, R. (1989) New Christian Schools: The Case for Public Funding. Bristol: Regius. Deakin, R. (1996) 'Opting in' under the 1993 Education Act: a case study of Oak Hill School, Bristol. In F. Carnie, M. Large and M. Tanker (eds), Freeing Education. Stroud: Hawthorn Press. Flew, A. (1991) Educational services: independent competition or maintained monopoly? In D. G. Green (ed.) Empowering the Parents: How to Break the Schools Monopoly. London: Institute of Economic Affairs. Gewirtz, S., Ball, S. J. and Bowe, R. (1994) Parents, privilege and the education market place. Research Papers in Education, 9(1), 3-30. Marks, J. (1991) Standards in Schools. Assessment, accountability and the Purposes of Education. London: Social Market Foundation. Meighan, R. and Toogood, P. (1992) Anatomy of Choice in Education. Ticknall, Derbyshire: Education Now.

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Muslim Parliament of Great Britain (1992) White Paper on Muslim Education in Great Britain. London: Muslim Parliament. National Commission on Education (NCE) (1993) Learning to Succeed. London: National Commission on Education. O'Keeffe, B. (1992) A look at the Christian schools movement. In B. Watson (ed.) Priorities in Religious Education. Lewes: Falmer. Poyntz, C. and Walford, G. (1994) The new Christian schools: a survey. Educational Studies, 20(1), 127-43. Pring, R. (1992) Education for a pluralist society. In M. Leicester and M. Taylor (eds) Ethics, Ethnicity and Education. London: Kogan Page. Sexton, S. (1987) Our Schools - A Radical Policy. Warlingham, Surrey: Institute of Economic Affairs Education Unit. Sexton, S. (1992) Our Schools - Future Policy. Warlingham, Surrey: IPSET Education Unit. Walford, G. (1990) Privatization and Privilege in Education. London: Routledge. Walford, G. (1991) The reluctant private sector: of small schools, politics and people. In G. Walford (ed.) Private Schooling: Tradition, Change and Diversity. London: Paul Chapman. Walford, G. (1994a) Weak choice, strong choice and the new Christian schools. In J. M. Halstead (ed.) Parental Choice and Education. London: Kogan Page. Walford, G. (1994b) The new religious grant-maintained schools. Educational Management and Administration, 22(2), 123-30. Walford, G. (1994c) Choice and Equity in Education. London: Cassell. Walford, G. (1995a) The Christian Schools Campaign - a successful educational pressure group? British Educational Research Journal, 21(4), 451-64. Walford, G. (1995b) Faith-based grant-maintained schools: selective international policy borrowing from The Netherlands. Journal of Education Policy, 10(3), 245-57. Walford, G. (1995c) The Northbourne Amendments: is the House of Lords a garbage can? Journal of Education Policy, 10(4), 413-25. Walford, G. and Miller, H. (1991) City Technology College. Buckingham: Open University Press.

22

'Opting In' Under the 1993 Education Act: A Case-study

RUTH DE AKIN During the last ten years we have witnessed dramatic changes in the structure of the British education service, with choice and diversity being key concepts which undergird the move towards a quasi-market system of provision. The government claims that improved standards will result from wresting control away from the producers and shifting it towards the consumers. Selfmanagement of schools has become an accepted norm, and the grant-maintained status policy, which is arguably the most extreme example of a move towards self-management of schools by any Western government, has opened up new possibilities for the provision of schooling. The 1993 Education Act enables independent schools to 'opt in' to grant-maintained status. It also enables voluntary bodies to promote new grant-maintained schools. In this chapter I will examine some of the issues raised by the opportunity to create new schools, and for independent schools to 'opt in'. I will use examples from one particular school, Oak Hill School in Bristol, and from the process of lobbying with which the school was involved on behalf of a number of new alternative and independent schools for access to public funding. I will suggest that this new legislative opportunity, while it furthers the government's own grant-maintained policy, also gives unprecedented opportunities for communities to be empowered to engage in the task of education. It will increase the range of schools available for parents to choose between and will enable bottom-up initiatives in education to flourish and contribute to the state system of provision. In a condition of

post-modernity it is important that the state, either local or central, does not impose its own ideology on schools, but enables a variety of types of schools to exist within a common framework. That common framework in Britain at present is extensive, and statutory requirements on admissions, curriculum and structure will ensure that only those schools which can genuinely be of benefit to the wider community will be able to pursue this route.

Oak Hill School: a short history Oak Hill School opened as an independent school in 1984 with a junior and infant department in premises owned by an evangelical church in the north of Bristol. It was started by a community of parents and teachers who were committed to exploring and developing an educational philosophy and practice which was shaped by the beliefs and values of the Christian faith. Initially it was directly linked through its governing body with a particular church, although since 1989 it has been independently constituted as an educational charity. In 1986 the school moved to new premises which were purchased as a result of parents raising the money (£77,500) with the support of local churches. The capacity of the site was 105 pupils. In 1987 a decision was taken to move into the secondary phase of education, and in 1989 the senior department moved to new rented premises. In 1994 the first small cohort of pupils took their

'Opting In' Under the 1993 Education Act

GCSEs achieving results which astounded supporters and critics alike - nearly 30 per cent of all papers marked were either A or A starred. The pupils did particularly well in the core subjects of the National Curriculum. Parental involvement in the school was high parent helpers in the classrooms, in extracurricular activities, in fundraising, in administration and in development work. Many of the teachers were also parents of children at the school. Parents are asked to contribute 10 per cent of their income to the school, and in addition to pay a small capitation fee. However, a large proportion of parents fell within a medium to low income bracket. As a consequence some families contribute only the capitation fee, since the school always had a policy of not excluding families who could not afford to contribute the full 10 per cent. The school had an open admissions policy, admitting pupils of all abilities and attracting a significant minority of families with social/economic needs. In addition teachers have been prepared to work for unusually low remuneration. Despite enormous commitment, the senior school proved financially unsustainable and closed down in 1994, with the bulk of students transferring to a voluntary aided church school elsewhere in the city. At the same time the school succeeded in becoming the first independent school to apply to the newly created Funding Agency for Schools to become grant-maintained and to relocate and expand and develop the school to serve a new community in the north of the city. Oak Hill is just one example of what has been described as the phenomenon of the Christian schools movement in England and Wales (McKenzie, 1994). While historically the churches have always been involved in education, indeed today over 7000 state schools are voluntary-aided or voluntary-controlled church schools, the last ten years has seen a resurgence of community-led initiatives to establish new Christian schools. Parallel to this there has been a smaller growth in schools of other faiths, particularly Islam, and schools which subscribe to alternative philosophies, such as the 'Human Scale Education Movement', and Steiner schools.

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These schools together form what Walford (1991) describes as the reluctant private sector they are independent because at the time of opening they did not perceive the state system to be providing what their parents wanted, rather than because they have an ideological commitment to private education. Furthermore they serve families from all socio-economic backgrounds. Over 90 new Christian schools of this type have been established during the 1980s and the early 1990s. The majority of them were established by local groups of parents and church leaders, independently of one another, and in response to both negative and positive stimuli. They are enormously diverse in terms of their sponsoring groups, in theological orientation and in the development of their educational theory and practice. McKenzie's research into 39 of these schools identifies both positive and negative stimuli which account for their growth. She summarizes these as first a response to perceived dominant educational ideologies which are essentially secular, and therefore marginalize a Christian world view, and second as a positive attempt to develop educational theory and practice which is shaped by a Judaeo-Christian perspective on life, thus contributing to a healthier society.

The campaign for public funding Since all of the schools have generally not selected families on the grounds of the parents' ability to pay realistically for private education, the issue of access to public funding is one which has been significant for the new Christian schools, and other schools within the 'reluctant private sector'. The profound changes in the education service during this time, with an emphasis on parental choice, diversity and self-management of schools, has provided momentous opportunities for the schools to organize themselves and to lobby for the access to public funding which is now enshrined on the statute books in the 1993 Act. In the presence of enormous top-down policy-making by the

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Conservative government, this is a fascinating bottom-up initiative. This process of lobbying is not the focus of this chapter and has been documented elsewhere (Walford, 1996). However it has resulted in a substantial opportunity for communities of all sorts to be empowered to engage in the provision of education at a level which is unprecedented in England and Wales during this century. It is, I suggest, an unintended outcome of Conservative policy which sought to promote parental choice through the introduction of market forces into education. It is an outcome which fits well with the neo-liberal conservatives' belief in individual liberty and a free market, and the neo-conservative wing of the Tory Party are sympathetic to the emphasis on Christian virtues and morals, but they have much greater problems when it comes to equal treatment for schools of all faiths and philosophies. The debates in the Lords over the various legislative initiatives which culminated in the opting in clauses of the 1993 Education Act are evidence of how the question provoked enormous controversy and was entirely unpredictable along party lines, with no consensus evident in any one political party (Hansard Lords Debate, 546,251. 544,116/7.22/4/93p. 925).

Opting in Since the creation of the Funding Agency in April 1994, Oak Hill School has been at the forefront of schools wishing to pursue this route. The task is a huge one and has entailed much negotiation, some compromise and enormous tenacity in the face of considerable opposition from the local educational establishment, who perceive the school's initiative as detrimental to their own position and interests. The process of application involves the preparation of a detailed statement of case, which sets out the reasons why the promoters believe the Secretary of State should support their proposals and this is based either on 'basic need', which is simply related to the absence of surplus places in the surrounding area, or on parental demand, which can be evidenced by statements of intent

signed by parents, and takes into account issues of quality and diversity of provision in the area. The Statement of Case, which accompanies the published proposals, includes details of admission arrangements, curricular provision, management strategies and governmental structures.

Opposition from the educational establishmentt The grant-maintained status policy has always been highly contested since it is essentially moving power away from Local Education Authorities and creating a system in which there is no accountability structure between individual governing bodies and central government. Many schools which have sought to opt out have encountered fierce and unpleasant opposition (Davies and Anderson, 1992) and it has become apparent that opting in is going to provoke the same controversy. During the consultation period in Oak Hill School's case, the response from the Director of Education to the proposals was that 'the best form of amendment is abandonment' (letter to OHS, May 1994). Furthermore, the opposition to the proposals has been fuelled by officers of the Local Education Authority, and their contribution to the local debate has been described as 'misleading' by a minister of state in the Department for Education (letter to Oak Hill School from DFE, 11/8/94). I will endeavour to outline some of the key issues related to opting in which have formed the heart of the controversy in Oak Hill School's case, and will seek to present the reasons why the school is prepared to persist in the face of such fierce opposition and at such a high cost, in both human and financial terms.

Religious schools and sectarianism One of the most enlightening aspects of the lobbying for public funding which the Christian Schools Campaign (subsequently subsumed within Christian Action Research and Education (CARE)) undertook alongside groups representing schools of

'Opting In' Under the 1993 Education Act

other faiths and philosophies, was the profound antipathy from some which exists towards religious schools, and the tenacity with which people cling to the idea that schools can somehow be 'value neutral'. To create new publicly funded religious schools would be to foster an intolerant, divided and sectarian society. Why not include all children in 'common' schools and treat all faiths equally within it? The claim that religious schools foster intolerance is an empirical claim which is not supported by evidence. In fact, there is a growing body of research which indicates that religious schools need not and do not foster intolerance (Greely and Rossi, 1966, pp. 116,130,136; Greer and McElhinney, 1984, 1985; Greer, 1985; Hornsby-Smith, 1978).

Historical and comparative precedents The involvement of religious communities in the task of schooling is not a new concept in the UK. Indeed, nearly one-third of British schools are voluntary aided or controlled church schools. To be truly equitable, either the dual system should be abolished, as was suggested in the Swann Report (1985, pp. 498, 520, 774), or it should be extended to include the new religious and philosophical communities which are characteristic of contemporary British society. It is technically possible under the 1980 Education Act for new voluntary aided schools to be established, but this requires the support of the Local Education Authority. Persistent attempts by some of these schools to enter the state-funded sector by this route have been unsuccessful, usually due to the lack of support from the LEA. In one widely publicized case, that of Islamia Primary School in London, it was finally turned down by the Secretary of State even though it had gained the support of the Local Education Authority. Thus the opportunities presented in the 1993 Education Act provide the only realistic route into public funding for these schools.

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Funding for religious and alternative schools is not a new concept in other Western education systems either, and indeed in some Eastern European countries governments are funding new religious schools following the breakdown of Communism. While the use of international policy borrowing should be undertaken with care, it is clear that the central organizing idea - that the state does not have the right to impose a particular educational ideology on all schools - is far from unusual, and shapes educational provision in countries as disparate as the Netherlands, Denmark, Germany, France, Australia, Canada, Romania and Hungary. The 1944 Education Act states that 'it is the duty of every Local Education Authority to secure that there shall be for their area sufficient schools . . . which shall be suitable to the requirements of pupils and . . . sufficient in number, character and equipment' (p. 5). Attention has been given since 1944 to sufficiency and suitability in terms of numbers, but perhaps less in terms of character and of the requirements of pupils and their parents, especially in terms of their beliefs and values.

Beliefs and values shape all schools A growing body of research indicates that all observable educational practice is grounded in educational ideas and assumptions. These ideas, assumptions and beliefs are those about children, those about society and those about knowledge. Educational ideas, assumptions and beliefs form a part of an individual's wider belief system, or world view, which in turn is profoundly influenced by cultural and communal belief systems (Rokeach, 1968). Communal belief systems or ideologies are powerful determinants of educational practice and provision. A number of scholars have identified four or five distinct contemporary educational ideologies which influence educational practice today (Alexander, 1992; Bottery, 1990; Lawton, 1989; Williams, 1992; Beck, 1981; Giroux, 1983; Ernest, 1991).

258 Ruth Deakin

The importance of vision The educational beliefs and values which are held by a school community are what should form that school's vision. A school's vision, or its 'distinctive cluster of goals with associated beliefs, attitudes and activities' (Hoyle, 1986, p. 114) is a critical factor in determining the direction of the school which shapes the implementation of curricular and management policies, and contributes to the distinctiveness of the school. Ernest (1991) demonstrates in some detail how different educational beliefs promote different views of mathematics - which has been typically viewed as the paradigm of certain knowledge - and in turn these lead to often very different teaching and learning styles, schemes of work and curhcular materials. Effective leadership is intimately linked by research to effective schools - effective in terms of teaching and learning - and while the search for laws of educational leadership is problematic, a clear and coherent educational vision which is widely shared by the school community is undoubtedly a very significant factor (Green, 1992; Caldwell and Spinks, 1992; Hodgkinson, 1991, Sergiovanni, 1983; West, 1993; Nias et al, 1989; Angus, 1989). The movement towards school autonomy, or self-management, underlines the importance of school-based leadership. Furthermore, research on school effectiveness indicates that the active support of the parent community in the school is another important factor in determining effectiveness. Shared vision and values is evidently a substantial component in the task of fostering a sense of community and active participation with parents in the process of education. A strong and shared educational vision is one of the distinctive features of the schools within the reluctant private sector.

Whose vision? In a condition of 'post-modernity' where 'confidence in universalising, all encompassing belief systems is in decline' (Hargreaves, 1994) and a

variety of belief systems can be seen to be competing for expression in society and in schools, the ethics of leadership moves centre stage. A central question becomes: Whose vision of education should the school be serving?

The role of the state The advent of a heavily prescribed national curriculum has been widely criticized and highly contested and has shown at the very least that there is not a broadly held consensus about the content of the curriculum. Contemporary curriculum in schools is influenced by direct political and economic interests as well as by ideological interests and is a site of contestation through the process of curriculum formation. For the government to impose a particular ideological position on all schools produces conflict and is arguably inequitable for those teachers and parents who do not share those values. It follows too that the same can apply to a Local Education Authority, which is a more local expression of government. Indeed the evidence from many Local Education Authorities with whom schools in the reluctant private sector have sought to achieve voluntary aided status indicates that LEAs can be as ideologically driven by a particular vision for education as can central government, and as unwilling to listen to dissenting parents and communities (Walford, 1994).

Parental choice While the policy changes in the last ten years have been designed to promote individual parental choice, there has not been a parallel increase in the variety of types of school available for individual parents to choose between. Individual parents making choices, even when they do so for reasons based on perceived quality or religious preference, will not increase the range of choices available.

'Opting In' Under the 1993 Education Act

Within a uniform model of schooling choice is more likely to reinforce educational hierarchies, which are linked to social class, than to improve educational opportunities or overall quality. One of the distinctive features of the new Christian schools is that they cater for families from all social and economic backgrounds, which is a central reason why they are so interested in government funding. In addition to this, those schools which are located in inner city areas admit children from a variety of ethnic groups. An example is the Icthus Primary School in South London which has 80 per cent of its pupils from ethnic minority groups, many of whom also belong to diverse religious communities. Allowing diversity of schools to flourish, therefore, will increase real choice and will counter some of the economic and social impediments to choice which currently exist.

Empowering communities The notion of community as a powerful component of contemporary society is one which is rapidly being seen as a substantive and crucial challenge to the individualist, rights-based liberalism which has been significantly expounded by Rawls (1971). It has developed from a view which gives fuller expression to the claims of citizenship and community than the liberal vision allows and embodies a different conception of the person. The liberal Kantian view of the self is as a choosing self, independent of the desires and ends it may have at any moment. 'The self is prior to the ends which are affirmed by it; even a dominant end must be chosen from among numerous possibilities' (Rawls, 1971, p. 560). The right is prior to the good. However, the communitarian position is that we cannot conceive of ourselves as independent in such a way - wholly detached from our aims and attachments. There are social attachments which determine the self and thus individuals are constituted by the community of which they are a part. Sandel (1984) postulates the image of a per-

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son with 'constitutive ends', those ends which constitute who the person is, and Maclntyre (1992) similarly argues that one understands one's life only by looking at one's actions within a 'narrative' which converges with the 'narratives' of other people, who come to be part of one's own narrative. Thus an understanding of oneself can only be attained in the context of community. Setting up a school by definition is a communal task, the more so in the context of the reluctant private sector and the provision of the 1993 Education Act, because it does not happen as the result of bureaucratic diktat based on the technological rationality of basic-need figures, and the micropolitics of the Local Education Authority. Any school by definition is a community in itself and is located in a wider community which it serves and which supports it. At this point an answer to the central question of whose educational vision should schools serve is to suggest that schools should be accountable to their communities and should be serving their community's interests by developing a vision of education which is owned and shared by the whole of the school community - parents, pupils, teachers - and by the wider community including local business groups, churches and other interest groups. Communities can be defined in a weak sense by history and geography, but the view of personhood which sees human beings as constitutionally interdependent, as 'persons-in-relation' (Wertsch, 1989; Witheral and Pope Edwards, 1991; Shweder, 1982; Sampson, 1989; Tappan, 1991; Gilligan, 1982; Noddings, 1984; Norman, 1993) leads to a much stronger understanding of community which includes shared beliefs, values and goals. In our highly mobile society, geographical and historical factors are less important, and individuals can form part of a variety of communities. Fowler describes the expression of communal life as 'a differentiated life producing a diversity of communal types. Each communal type is characterised by a shared life with a distinctive focus that constitutes the communal bond' (1993, p.24). He describes, for example, the family community, where kinship constitutes the communal bond,

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the commercial community constituted by a communal bond of economic exchange, and the school community constituted by a bond of structured learning. From this perspective, in a plural society, where differing ideologies of education co-exist, an equitable solution is to enable diversity to flourish among schools. It will enable all schools to promote a stronger, more consensually shared vision rather than seeking to cater for all belief systems in a 'common' school which often results in 'low doctrine' in terms of principles and values (Holmes, 1992).

The community as a 'mediating structure' The second major controversy surrounding the grant-maintained status policy is the debate between planned provision of schooling and a quasi-market, where individual schools compete for individual parents and their children. There is no reason, apart from the intransigence of the Local Education Authorities and the custom and practice of bureaucratic rationality, why new community schools cannot form part of a more open and planned provision of schooling. It is interesting to note that the Labour Party, committed to abolishing grant-maintained schools should it come into power, is looking seriously at alternative local structures which could service all schools (Hackett, 1994). Oak Hill School, for example, has collaborated with the town council in the area of the proposed new school, in order to create a community school which serves the needs of a rapidly growing new town. Three nominees from the town council are to be appointed as Foundation Governors, and already share responsibility for the development of the project. The promoters seek to work with, rather than against, existing schools and educational structures, but this is difficult with a Local Education Authority which refused to answer letters for five years regarding the acquisition of vol-

untary aided status, and now refuses dialogue over the new proposals. Furthermore, the admissions policy includes the provision for up to 5 per cent of pupils to be admitted where there are pressing social, or medical grounds for doing so. Communitarianism includes methodological and normative arguments and moral and political claims which are evidently of significance to education. What most of its scholars, both radical and conservative, share is the advocacy of involvement in public life, the importance of participation in small communities, firms and clubs. They see these 'mediating structures' (mediating between the individual and the state) as safeguards against the potential totalitarianism of the state which might result from the 'politics of the common good' rather than the politics of individual rights. The opportunity to opt in created by the 1993 Education Act offers precisely the possibility of communities being empowered to engage meaningfully in the provision of schooling. Rather than perpetuating an already inequitable school system, a problem of implementation and structure which is likely to be gradually ironed out by the process of contestation or by the advent of another government, this legislation actually enables some key ideas - self-management, parental choice and community empowerment - to develop into a policy for provision of schooling which is likely to be more equitable in the longer term, and which is likely to avoid the marginalization of minority communities.

The role of the state and the common framework Critics of those who lobby for public funding for religious and alternative schools will cite fears of sectarianism and divisiveness in society as a whole. This indeed may be a possibility if the policy were taken to an extreme. However there exists a strong common framework for schools, which includes detailed statutory requirements

'Opting In' Under the 1993 Education Act

for curriculum, admissions, health and safety, equal opportunities, constitution and government, as well as the OFSTED requirements for school inspection. The National Curriculum, as a means of ensuring that all children receive a 'basic entitlement curriculum', is an appropriate measure for a government to create for all schools. The extent of the prescription of the National Curriculum in its present form is felt by many schools to be onerous and inhibiting. However, even as it stands, it does not legislate for how the curriculum should be organized, nor for the precise content. Schools of all sorts can promote a narrow and restrictive form of education, and the schools within the 'reluctant private sector' are no exception. However, schools which do not wish to provide open access for all families or who see the national framework as too restrictive, will not wish to proceed to grant maintained status. Nor should they. In addition the actual process of opting in, as experienced by Oak Hill School in Bristol, is long and arduous and requires detailed planning, negotiating and to some extent compromising with officials from both the Department for Education and the Funding Agency for Schools (FAS). In particular, although the Consultative Circular on the Supply of School Places (DFE, Sept. 1994) states that the Secretary of State will take into account the need for diversity, quality and parental demand, proof of basic need, i.e. the absence of surplus places in the whole of a Local Education Authority area, combined with the ability to sustain a proposed school demographically well into the future, is still the main criterion (letter from FAS to OHS). To sustain schools of the minimum size thought to be economically viable requires significant support from the community and is more than likely going to require collaboration among communities of different types. It cannot by done by individual parents, but rather by groups of parents acting communally. The admissions policies set by such schools have to comply with DFE requirements. In particular they have to be open, that is they cannot discriminate against pupils on the grounds of race, creed or gender.

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Bottom-up innovation Finally, in a context where the very form and structure of schooling itself is being forced to respond to major global cultural changes and needs, new schools, which have had the opportunity to explore the processes of schooling outside the existing state-funded framework, may well be in a better position than most to function as forwardlooking schools which are responsive to the demands of self-management and the needs of pupils who will grow up in the next century. Research into one of these schools described the school's religious ethos as 'having a very contemporary face' and the teaching staff as 'giving the appearance of being, and wanting to be, on the cutting edge of educational theory and practice. [Almost all of them were] capable of sustaining an informed educational discussion, and two of the teachers had a number of articles published in academic journals' (Lambert, 1993, p. 112). While the city technology colleges have been expected to fulfil an innovatory role, they have been criticized by proponents of choice as being essentially topdown initiatives (Chubb and Moe, 1992). A system which allows the best of the bottom-up initiatives to flourish is more likely to be able to adapt to change from within, and to avoid alienation and polarization within the teaching community. The opting in policy is in its infancy, and although enshrined on the statute books in the 1993 Education Act, the process of its implementation has yet to be fulfilled. However, I have presented a case-study of a particular school, which is not atypical of the types of schools and communities which are exploring the options presented by this legislation. I have suggested that all schools are informed by particular values and beliefs, and that in a pluralist society, which lacks confidence in a universalizing belief system, a variety of different schools should be allowed to flourish. This will actually increase choice for parents and work against some of the potential social inequalities which may result from choice within a uniform model of schooling. I have drawn attention to the paradigm of communities as an important social structure which mitigates against individualism

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or its polar opposite, statism, and which provides a new perspective from which to view this legislation. The role of the state is important in providing a common framework which all schools have to adhere to and which protects the rights of children to equality of opportunity and a basic entitlement curriculum.

References Alexander, R. (1992) Policy and Practice in Primary Eduation. London, Routledge. Angus, L. (1989) New leadership and the possibility of reform. In J. Smyth (ed.), Critical Perspectives on Educational Leadership. Lewes: Palmer Press. Beck, J. (1981) Education, industry and the needs of the economy. Education for Teaching, 11(2), 87-106. Bottery, M. (1990) The Morality of the School. London: Cassell. Bryk, A. and Lee, V. (1993) Catholic Schools and the Common Good. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Caldwell, B. and Spinks, J. (1992) Leading the Self Managing School. London: The Palmer Press. Chubb, J. and Moe, T. (1992) A Lesson in School Reform from Great Britain. Washington: The Brookings Institute. Davies, B. and Anderson, L. (1992) Opting for Self Management: The Early Experience of Grant Maintained Schools. London: Routledge. Department for Education (DFE) (1994) Consultative Circular on the Supply of School Places. London: DFE. Ernest, P. (1991) The Philosophy of Mathematics. Basingstoke: The Palmer Press. Fowler, S. (1993) Communities, organisations and people. Pro Rege. Dordt College. Gilligan, C. (1982) In a Different Voice: Psychological Theory and Women's Development. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Giroux, H. (1983) Theory and Resistance in Education. London: Heinemann. Green, H. (1992) Leadership, values and site based management. Paper presented to the BEMAS Conference, Bristol. Greeley, A. and Rossi, P. (1966) The Education of Catholic Americans. Chicago: Aldine Press. Greer, J. (1985) Viewing the 'other side' in Northern Ireland: openness and attitudes to religion among Catholic and Protestant adolescents. Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion, 24(3), 275-92.

Greer, J. and McElhinney, E. (1984) The Project on Religion in Ireland: an experiment in reconstruction. Lumen Vitae, 39(3), 331-42. Greer, J. and McElhinney, E. (1985) Irish Christianity: A Guide for Teachers. Dublin: Gill & Macmillan. Hackett, G. (1994) Labour sends out feelers to GM sector. Times Educational Supplement, 4 Nov. Hargreaves, A. (1994) Changing Teachers: Changing Times. London: Cassell. Hodgkinson, C. (1991) Educational Leadership: The Moral Art. Albany: University of New York Press. Holmes, M. (1992) Educational Policy for the Pluralist Democracy: The Common School, Choice and Diversity. London: The Palmer Press. Hornsby-Smith, M. (1978) Catholic Education: The Unobtrusive Partner. London: Sheed & Ward. Hoyle, E. (1986) The Politics of School Management. London: Hodder and Stoughton. Lambert, I. (1993) The new Christian Schools Movement in Britain - a case study. PhD thesis, Cambridge University. Lawton, D. (1989) Education, Culture and the National Curriculum. London: Hodder and Stoughton. MacDonald, M., (1977) Culture, Class and the Curriculum (E202 Schooling and Society: Unit 16). Milton Keynes: Open University Press. Maclntyre, A. (1992) The virtues, the unity of human life and the concept of a tradition. In M. Sandel (ed.), Liberalism and its Critics. Oxford: Backwell. McKenzie, P. (1994) The new Christian Schools Movement. PhD thesis, University of Reading. Mill, J. (1859) On Liberty. London: Longmans. Nias, J., Southworth, G. and Yeomans, R. (1989) Staff Relationships in the Primary School. London: Cassell. Noddings, N. (1984) Caring: A Feminine Approach to Ethics and Moral Education. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Norman, R. (1993) I did it my way: some thoughts on autonomy. Papers on the Philosophy of Education Society of Great Britain, 16 April. Parajes, M. (1992) Teachers' beliefs and educational research: cleaning up a messy construct. Review of Educational Research, 3, 301-32. Poyntz, C. and Walford, G. (1994) The new Christian Schools: a survey. Educational Studies, 20(1), 127-43. Rawls, J. (1971) A Theory of Justice. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Rokeach, M. (1968) Beliefs, Attitudes and Values. London: Jossey-Bass. Sampson, E. (1989) The challenge of social change for psychology: globalisation and psychology's theory of the person. American Psychologist, 44, 914-21. Sandel, M. (1984) The procedural public and the unencumbered self. Political Theory, 12, 81-96.

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Sergiovanni, T. (1983) Moral Leadership: Getting to the Heart of School Improvment. San Francisco: JosseyBass. Shweder, R. (1982) Beyond self-constructed knowledge: the study of culture and morality. Merril-Palmer Quarterly, 28, 41-69. Swann, M. (1985) Education for All. London: HMSO. Tappan, M. (1991) Narrative, language and moral experience. Journal of Moral Education, 20, 3. Walford, G. (1991) The reluctant private sector: of small schools, people and politics. In G. Walford (ed.), Private Schooling, Tradition, Change and Diversity. London: Paul Chapman Ltd. Walford, G. (1994) The new religious grant-maintained schools. Educational Management and Administration, 22(2), 123-30.

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Walford, G. (1996) Educational Politics, Pressure Groups and Faith-based Schools. Aldershot: Avebury. Wertsch, J. (1989) A sociocultural approach to mind. In W. Daman (ed.), Child Development Today and Tomorrow. San Francisco: Jossey-Bass. West, S. (1993) Educational Values for School Leadership. London: Kogan Page. Williams, R. (1992) (2nd edn) The Long Revolution. London: The Hogarth Press. Witheral, C. and Pope Edwards, C. (1991) Moral versus social-conventional reasoning: a narrative and cultural critique. Journal of Moral Education, 20(3), 293-303. Young, M. and Whitty, G. (eds) (1977) Society, State and Schooling. Lewes: Falmer Press.

Geoffrey Walford Responds to Ruth Deakin

Over the last decade British government policy has been designed to develop a greater diversity of schools, and to encourage parents to make individualistic choices between schools on behalf of their children. The legislation to enable sponsors to establish faith-based grant-maintained schools must be seen as a further extension of this general policy. The Christian Schools Campaign, with Ruth Deakin as its former Director, played an important part in influencing public opinion such that provision for a greater diversity of faith-based schools was seen as a reasonable demand. The sustained lobbying from this group, along with others, helped to legitimate the moves towards greater diversity (and thus, sadly, inequity) between schools. Her own school, Oak Hill, presented a moderate form of evangelical Christianity to its pupils. The children were taught to respect other faiths, and were allowed to question Christian beliefs. The school was open to a few children of other faiths and none. Moreover, as Ruth Deakin indicates in her chapter, the school did not neglect the formal academic aspects of schooling. On an individual level, it is difficult to argue that such a school should not be supported by the state on an equal basis to existing Church of England and Roman Catholic schools. However, the legislation that may have enabled Oak Hill to gain state support could also allow a variety of other sponsors to open their own schools. Not all of these other schools will be as open to the realities of a pluralist society as Oak Hill. Not all will be as prepared to introduce their children to ideas, knowledge and values that may

be in contradiction to those of their teachers and those that the school espouses. Yet Oak Hill is still far from providing a model of schooling for a pluralist society. The danger of the new policy is that it opens the way for schools that preach intolerance and separatism. My belief is that it is part of the democratic rights of every child to be taken beyond the private and narrow world of his or her family, and to be introduced to the diversity of values and beliefs that constitute a pluralist society. Pluralism within individual schools is a far better way of developing understanding between different groups than having segregated schools where mistrust and animosity is likely to develop. Ruth Deakin states that Oak Hill would provide schooling for the local community, yet the school would have had admissions criteria that gave preference to those parents and children who were prepared to support the religious ethos of the school. Thus, rather than providing for the entire geographical community, as would a local education authority school, Oak Hill grant-maintained school would have provided only for a particular subsection of the community that was prepared to agree with the ideas of the sponsors. Those local people who did not wish to support the religious ethos of the school would have been forced away from their local school - outcasts from their local community. Rather than be accountable to the whole local community through their democratically elected representatives, the school would have been directly accountable only to a government quango of appointed supporters of grantmaintained schools.

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Oak Hill School may well have given benefits to those children who attended it, but a fair and just society should seek to ensure that all children receive the highest quality education possible. The establishment of a diversity of schools is designed to lead to greater differences in esteem between schools. It will thus widen inequalities between schools and lead to a poorer educational experience for those children from families that do not highly value education. When this diversity is linked to religious beliefs, it will also automati-

cally bring the possibility of religious and ethnic segregation. Yet, in a multicultural and multiethnic country such as Britain, there is a need for children to mix with those of other faiths and ethnicities if they are to begin to understand and enjoy each other's differences. Segregation limits children's opportunities for greater understanding of others and for full personal growth. It not only has the potential to harm the minority children involved, but may also damage the democratic pluralism on which our society is based.

Ruth Deakin Responds to Geoffrey Walford

One of the most enduring myths about religious schools is that they have a central aim of fostering religious beliefs of one sort or another. A stronger term which is often used in criticism is that of indoctrination. Geoffrey Walford uses both of these descriptions in his chapter. In actual fact the task of the school is very different from the task of the church, the mosque or the synagogue. I suggest that it is impossible to get straight from a set of religious beliefs, as for example the prepositional truths outlined in the Nicene creed, into a set of teaching and learning practices in the classroom. Every educator has to accept or develop an educational theory and practice which is premised on certain beliefs about the nature of the child, the nature of society and the nature of knowledge. Those beliefs can be derived from the prepositional truths of, say, the Christian faith, and the educational values and practices developed therefrom can be consistent with the great truths of the Christian faith, but they are different and distinct and can be differently interpreted. In fact all schools, to be effective, have to develop their own educational theory and practice, which is premised on beliefs about children, society and knowledge. To be ethical, all schools should be explicit about what those beliefs and values are, and how they shape the daily practice of the school. For teachers not to be open and explicit in this way lays them open to the charge of indoctrination. And that charge can be equally applicable to secular teachers and liberal schools as it can be to religious teachers and schools. If teachers are unable to identify the beliefs which underlie their practice, and if teachers are

influenced by a variety of beliefs in school, then the resulting practice can be confusing at best, and at worst will not do justice to the truth claims of minority belief systems such as Christianity because the implicit value claims of the dominant world view will go un-critiqued in the curriculum. In my view this remains the major problem with delivering 'pluralism within schools'. Furthermore schools need to develop strong value cultures in order to be effective. A recent research study into seven Catholic schools in America found them to be doing better than their public counterparts in terms of academic achievements, helping the disadvantaged students and promoting the basic political and social purposes which were once the very inspiration of the American public school. Two important factors identified by Bryk and Lee (1993) were shared moral commitments and an inspirational ideology in those schools. We would do well to learn from this research. I suggest that it is very difficult for a liberal version of education to achieve such a strong culture, because it does not allow for a strong conception of the common good in a school; rather, it would seek to do equal justice to a variety of 'goods' which all to often leads to a 'low culture' in terms of values. Walford gives us graphical demonstration of intolerance and dogmatism from a supporter of an independent Christian school. I share his abhorrence of such views. However, neither intolerance nor dogmatism is the prerogative of the religious. In fact, intolerance and dogmatism are far more likely to occur in those who adhere to a dominant

A Response to Geoffrey Walfordd 267

socio-political ideology. The press covering of the 'opting in' issues and the relevant House of Lords debate make interesting reading in this respect. The government's grant-maintained policy has caused considerable controversy. While this controversy centres on questions of equity of provision caused by both the process of implementation and the potential nature of'opted-out' schools, the argument that 'opting in' therefore automatically exacerbates this inequity is unhelpful. It is a conclusion which misses the essential point that in a pluralist democracy it is only equitable that there should be schools which reflect the diversity of belief systems which co-exist in society, and that schools should not be monopolized by any one dominant education ideology. While the grantmaintained policy has its ideological roots in neoliberal individualism and is seen as a reaction against the 'statist' approach and the egalitarianism which characterized post-war education policy development, the debate can only be polarized when it takes place within an individualist/statist paradigm. An alternative paradigm which takes into account the role of communities is helpful in identifying the key organizing ideas. Oak Hill Grant-Maintained Community School will not have an admissions policy which gives preference to parents who are prepared to support the religious ethos of the school. It will require potential parents to support the stated values of the school, and to acknowledge that they understand the religious beliefs from which those values are derived. The actual admissions criteria include a category of 5 per cent of pupils at the governors' discretion who have social or medical reasons which indicate that they would benefit from attending the school, and thereafter the criteria are simply geographical. Indeed, of the 640 parents who have signed statements of intent to send their children to the school, over half do not attend church, and do not have any specific Christian commitment. There already exists a number of overwhelming hurdles to be crossed by any school wishing to opt in, including detailed scrutiny of their educational vision, values and potential practice. This, combined with the legislative provision for dealing with failing schools and OFSTED inspections,

provides an already significant deterrent to the creation of schools which do not serve the common good. Walford refers rather romantically to those children who will be 'outcasts from their local community' because their parents do not want to send them to a religious school. What he does not take into account are the increasing number of families who are already 'outcasts from their community' because they are unhappy with the low standards and values which they see in their local schools and who exit to the independent sector, or establish new schools or travel long distances to get their child into a 'better' state school. Creating greater diversity among schools, stronger cultures within schools and empowering communities to get more involved will be a positive contribution for all parents. I agree with Walford that there needs to be a level of accountability for and between individual schools which is not provided for within the grantmaintained status policy. I do not share his confidence that Local Education Authorities, as we know them, can provide that level of support and service. Finally I can do no better than finish with a quote from John Stuart Mill in his classic defence of liberty when he warns about the dangers of a monolithic system of education: All that has been said of the importance of individuality of character, and diversity in opinions and modes of conduct, involves, as of the same unspeakable importance, diversity of education. A general State education is a mere contrivance for moulding people to be exactly like one another: and as the mould in which it casts them is that which pleases the predominant power in the government, whether this be a monarch, a priesthood, an aristocracy, or the majority of the existing generation; in proportion as it is efficient and successful, it establishes a despotism over the mind, leading by natural tendency to one over the body. (Mill, 1859, ch. 5)

References Bryk, A. and Lee, V. (1993) Catholic Schools and the Common Good. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Mill, J. S. (1859) On Liberty. London: Longmans.

23

Alternative Christian Schooling: The Historical and Contemporary Context of the Australian Experience

IAN LAMBERT Introductionn

A brief historical overview

In democratic societies which are multiracial, as well as culturally and religiously diverse, strong arguments have been presented both for and against alternative Christian schools which operate outside the tradition of liberal education. However, because theorists of liberal education differ quite widely in the interpretation and emphasis that they give to the various elements of liberal education, a growing number of writers, in recent years, have sought to defend denominational schooling against the concern that it may involve the transmission of non-critical and uncritical learning (Deakin, 1989a; Laura and Leahy, 1989; McLaughlin, 1984, 1985, 1992; Shortt, 1992; Thiessen, 1987, 1991, 1993). In this chapter it is argued that since there has been very little research or material published on Australia's fastest growing system of schooling (non-government), an open mind should be kept concerning arguments against alternative Christian schools. While the primary focus of this chapter is to explore the nature and development of alternative Christian schools within Australia, comparative references to international developments will be made by drawing upon recent detailed research conducted in Australia (Jones, 1983; Long, 1994a; Oswald, 1990), Great Britain (Lambert, 1994, O'Keeffe, 1992) and North America (Peshkin, 1986; Rose, 1988; Stronks and Blomberg, 1994; Van Brummelen, 1986,1989).

Why is it that a nation with such a unique sociohistorical foundation has in its brief 200-year history supported such a significant governmentfunded private system of schooling which, in more recent years, has expanded to include a large number of non-denominational and interdenominational alternative Christian schools?1 In considering such a question, it is necessary to remember that the socio-historical conditions of Australia are, in many respects, unique. Thus, when comparing the history of Australian education to that of British, North American and other Western democracies it is important to note that early Australia was not a fragment of English society transplanted to the Antipodes, but a military and penal garrison (Clark, 1978; Moll, 1985; Turner, 1987). The devising of a system of schools to meet the peculiar conditions of Australian society was a task of some difficulty, and it could hardly be attempted until the rival claims of Church and state had been resolved.2 Until 1870, most pupils in Australia attended publicly funded private denominational schools. However, this arrangement never rested easily, and after an outbreak of bitter sectarian discussion and the withdrawal of Catholic children from the state-funded public schools, the Public Instruction Act 1880 abolished state aid for denominational schools. One by one, the Australian colonies established state systems of public education that were 'free, compulsory and secular' and

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ceased funding private schools. By 1891, almost four students in five attended publicly funded 'state schools'.3 In Australia, the state system of schooling has never fully established a universal role. During the last century, private school enrolments have varied between 20 and 28 per cent and in the last decade, state school enrolments have dropped below 75 per cent of total enrolments for the first time (Marginson, 1993, p. 206). It has been during the period from 1960 to the present that the most dramatic changes in Australian education have taken place. Under the Liberal Party government (1975-83), the 'funding of private schools was the fastest single area of growth in the whole commonwealth budget' (Marginson, 1993, p. 210). While the established Anglican and Catholic schools grew in size rather than number during this period, there was a 41 per cent growth explosion in the number of 'other private' schools - the bulk of which were alternative Christian schools. This growth has continued into the 1990s with student enrolments in 'other private' schools increasing by 147.9 per cent between 1973 and 1991 (Marginson, 1993, pp. 209-13). By far the fastest growing group under the government's New Schools' Policy (Anderson, 1992; Marginson, 1993), this educational movement of alternative Christian schools is significant. Currently, it is larger than the Departments of Education in the Australian Capital Territory and the Northern Territory, and given its current 8.5 per cent rate of growth, this group of schools will be larger than the Tasmanian government system by 1997 (Long, 1994b). Not to be understood as monolithic in any sense, this grass-roots educational movement reflects a collection of diverse values, beliefs and motivations that are being constantly refined and developed in accordance with what movement supporters believe to be basic biblical principles.

Towards a definition of alternative Christian schools A sufficiently balanced understanding of the growth of these schools has, generally, been clou-

ded by a lack of scholarly research and writing. Consequently, numerous misconceptions and concerns exist. For example, it is often wrongly assumed that Accelerated Christian Education (ACE)4 is the dominant or most significant kind of alternative Christian schooling, and various attempts by commentators to attach a common label to the more diverse group of schools give the impression that these schools are all functioning with a common theological perspective, namely, 'fundamentalism'.5 However, when used pejoratively to describe the broader collection of these schools, the label 'fundamentalism' only serves to highlight the failure of many commentators to explain this alternative paradigm in schooling. Recent research (Lambert, 1994; Long, 1994a; Oswald, 1990) has argued that these schools should not be grouped with other systems of Protestant church schools because of a difference in their tradition as well as their theological and epistemological foundations. While it is helpful to have the common descriptive term -'alternative Christian schools' - it is important to remember that within this diverse group of schools a polarity of perspectives and practices exists in terms of educational aims, management, curriculum and pedagogical method. At the most basic level, alternative Christian schools are characteristically low fee paying, Protestant private schools that have been established in Australia since the Second World War. What began in many countries as independent 'grass-roots' movements, with very little communication and co-operation among individual schools, has, in more recent years, developed into a more centralized movement with increasing bureaucratic characteristics and a sophisticated network of associations with other national and international Evangelical/Reformed Christian schooling organizations.6 Most commonly, the schools have been founded by groups of Evangelical and Reformed Christian churches or parent bodies who establish and govern the schools through elected representatives and/or nominated church leaders. The schools usually have a considerable level of local autonomy and a reasonably high degree of parental/community involvement in vision setting and policy formulation.7 Very simply,

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they can be understood as local communities within a wider network of school communities who are endeavouring to formulate their own distinctive educational philosophies, practices and aims from their particular Evangelical/Reformed Christian world view. While alternative Christian schools have been operating in Australia for over three decades, a clearly defined history and explanation of the character of these schools is yet to emerge. The inability of contemporary Australian scholars (Anderson, 1992; Connell, 1993; Speck and Prideaux, 1993; Marginson, 1993) to clarify the nature and motivations of these schools demonstrates a general lack of theological/educative analysis in the wider research community. There also seems to be a degree of apathy or uncertainty in the wider research community concerning the development and employment of an academic support system which would enable researchers to explore the theological and socio-political world of religious groups of this kind (Long, 1994b; Gowers and Scott, 1979). The most obvious way of framing these alternative Christian schools is to identify the most common and significant groups of schools that fall into this category. Currently, the two largest groupings of schools are affiliated with the Australian Association of Christian Schools (AACS) Christian Parent-Controlled Schools (CPCS) have 70 schools, approximately 1500 staff and 20,000 students and Christian Community Schools (CCS) have 75 schools, approximately 1200 teaching staff and 15,000 students. In addition to these two groups of schools, a further 30 schools with approximately 400 staff and 6000 students are affiliated members of AACS, and the Christian Schools' Association of Queensland (CSAQ) has 49 affiliated schools, with approximately 700 teaching staff and 12,000 students. Within these more mainstream groupings of schools, approximately 40 per cent of students are enrolled in schools with over 600 students. While these groupings make up a major part of the 320 schools, 4000 teachers and 60,000 students that may be defined as alternative Christian schools in this country, there are another 100 schools with an estimated student population of 500 that are not

affiliated with these larger organizations and who receive no government funding and, in a number of cases, refuse registration. Although each of the groupings of schools has grown out of a diverse range of Protestant theological traditions, alternative Christian schools can all be characterized by their use of the term 'Christian' to identify themselves, and their emphases on a 'biblically-based pedagogy' and a 'Christ-centred curriculum and ethos'. In addition, they consciously confess an evangelical/ reformed Christian world view, and emphasize the responsibility of parents for the education of children.

The historical origins of alternative Christian schools Following the establishment in 1953 of a Christian Parent-Controlled Schools' Association in Tasmania, the first alternative Christian school to open was Calvin Christian School at Kingston (Tasmania) in 1962.8 Other Christian school associations were also set up: in 1954 at Mt Evelyn (Victoria), and Wollongong (New South Wales) and, in 1957, associations were set up in Brisbane (Queensland), Perth (Western Australia) and Sydney (New South Wales). While these Christian parentcontrolled schools and many that were to follow had common roots in a unique religious/historical tradition,9 from 1981 onward most of the new Christian parent-controlled schools had 'little, if any, involvement by Reformed Church members other than through the [National Office of Christian Parent Controlled Schools Ltd]' (Deenick, 1991, p. 248). The Christian Community School movement founded in 1974 by two trainee Baptist pastors in Sydney - was, in its foundation, primarily Baptist. However, since the first CCS school - Regents Park Christian Community High School - started in 1976, a very diverse range of denominational communities have established schools and affiliated themselves with this interdenominational organi-

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zation. By 1980 there were four Christian Community Schools with 300 students and in 1981 there were six schools with 500 students. Ten years later, there were 75 schools with more than 15,000 students. Accelerated Christian Education (ACE) schools started in Australia in 1976. The first school of this kind was Mountains Christian Academy in Blackheath (New South Wales), and by 1977 seven other ACE schools were founded. As many as 100 schools were started over the next five years, but in 1992 only 45 schools that used the ACE system (or a modified version) remained. In recent years, the ACE organization has tended to focus greater attention on the home schooling market. Other smaller groups have promoted or established a small number of schools in Australia, but have failed over time to establish a significant presence (Long, 1994b).

Reasons for the growth of alternative Christian schools While there is little doubt that the development and growth of alternative Christian schools in Australia has been fuelled by the conservative social agenda of its supporters, three main reasons are commonly given by supporters as to why, in their opinion, these particular kinds of Christian schools started. The first is a rather sophisticated application of the notion of parental involvement in the educative process. It is primarily a religious conviction based on a particular understanding of Judaeo-Christian belief, namely, that parents are ultimately accountable before God for the nurture and, by implication, education of their young. Commonly, in explanations of parental rights and responsibilities, parents in alternative Christian schools understand that education is being done by teachers on behalf of the parents. While the concept of 'in loco parentis' is immediately recognizable here, in alternative Christian schools it is commonly assumed that a more intricate web of relationships needs to operate; one that in-

volves parents, students, teachers, churches and, in the majority of cases, the state. To support such an interpretation, reference is often made by supporters to scriptural verses such as Proverbs 22:6, Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it' (New King James); Ephesians 6:4, 'Fathers do not exasperate your children; instead, bring them up in the training and instruction of the Lord' (New International Version); Luke 6:40, 'a student . . . who is fully trained will be like his teacher' (New International Version); and Deuteronomy 6:6-7 [shortly after the giving of the Ten Commandments] 'These commandments that I give you today are to be upon your hearts. Impress them on your children. Talk about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up' (New International Version). Often, too simple an emphasis on such passages has invited criticism. One such critic is Fred Hughes, who suggests: Only an hermeneutical approach that is naive would allow direct transfer, unqualified, from the position of parents of more than 1,200 or more years BC to that o f . . . parents in the 1980s. (Hughes, 1990, p. 126)

Hughes does not deny that there may be a legitimate general principle in such verses. However, he does see that the application in practice of such biblical guidelines is a matter for debate and variety. Others may see that these biblical instructions refer only to spiritual and moral matters which can and should be carried out in the home and/or church. However, such a view of life — which may be understood as seeking to divide human activity into 'secular' and 'religious' or even 'public' and 'private' spheres — is commonly rejected by many Christian parents in these schools. These parents want to claim that their religion is not merely a dimension or aspect of life: but rather a governing principle.10 Indeed, this assertion underpins their whole understanding of parental rights and responsibilities. A much stricter view of this responsibility is taken by the parents in some of the schools; they

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would see that parents should not just provide education for their children, but are to be directly involved in the education of their children. Consequently, some of these schools have a high level of parental involvement in all aspects of school life, including the teaching of the curriculum. More commonly, schools encourage a co-operative relationship between teachers and parents by inviting parents to question and contribute to the development of school policy and practice through their involvement at school board and committee levels.11 Second, the nature of the relationship that operates between teachers and students in many alternative Christian schools is similar to an approach that was explored by Jewish mystical writer Martin Buber, namely, the teacher must be what they want their pupils to become. In this sense, they commonly understand that they are 'nurturing' or 'discipling' the students in the Christian faith. While Buber emphasized the freedom of individuals, he also recognized that teachers must have a strong directive role in the educational process. He understood that educators were responsible for selecting and arranging the world of values which they present to the students. The concept of'inclusion' is an important one for Buber. Like the teachers in many alternative Christian schools, Buber saw that an inclusion relationship exists between two persons who experience a common event in which at least one person actively participates. In this relationship: One person without forfeiting anything of the felt reality of his activity, at the same time lives through the common event from the standpoint of another... I call it experiencing the other side. (Buber, 1970, p. 97, quoted in Elias, 1989)

Similarly, many teachers in alternative Christian schools are conscious of the dialogical relationship they have with their students, and openly acknowledge that they are selecting and communicating a particular understanding of reality to their students. Through the example of their Christian lifestyle teachers commonly believe that they are manifesting their understanding of a Christcentred world view to their students. Researchers

and writers have frequently described such a practice as 'discipling' (Lambert, 1994; O'Keeffe, 1992; Van Brummelen, 1988). However, Stronks and Blomberg (1993) employ the term 'responsive discipleship', and imply that their usage and understanding of the concept encompasses more than that which evangelicals have traditionally assigned to the 'spiritual' dimension of life. They argue that their more comprehensive, integral notion of'responsive discipleship' encourages teachers and pupils to see that learning encounters that embrace everyday situations can and should be used to 'find joy in God's creation and to seek God's kingdom of justice' in 'every nook and cranny of life' (p. 35). Thus, it is this more comprehensive notion of discipleship which more accurately identifies the essence of distinctiveness in a number of alternative Christian schools. Third, these alternative Christian schools profess to attempt to give pupils a different overall 'message' from that communicated through state schools; an education that presents an integrated Christian world view to the students through their academic studies and other school activities.12 They would claim that message to be 'Christian' (according to their understanding of the term) rather than 'humanist' or 'secular'. Some would also hold that certain church schools with a Christian foundation have surrendered too much to secular humanist influences. Clearly, this has led some of the parents to feel alienated from the contemporary educational setting because they feel that their particular religious views are not treated sympathetically. Many of the government-funded alternative Christian schools would oppose the 'privatization' of religion claiming that, according to their understanding of scripture, Christianity is relevant for shaping all of life and not just some 'religious', 'spiritual' or 'sacred' corner of life. These schools are clearly seeking to offer an alternative perspective to the type of view promoted, for example, by the influential British educational philosopher Paul Hirst, who writes that: privatisation is increasingly the mark in our own secular society, in which the widest range of attitudes

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to religious beliefs is acceptable, provided they are never allowed to determine public issues. (Hirst, 1974, p. 3)

Work written in recent years on the development of such a Christian world view serves to highlight why some alternative Christian schools feel it is necessary to develop such an all-encompassing view: One does not become a Christian student simply by adding biblical texts or Christian theology to his or her discipline... the Bible does not provide us with a body of indubitably known propositions by reference to which we can govern all our acceptance and non acceptance of theories. Rather, the route from the certainties of the biblical vision of life to the details of specific scientific analysis is mediated by a philosophical paradigm. Therefore, we need to develop such a theoretical framework, one which is sensitive to and rooted in the biblical world view. (Walsh and Middleton, 1984, p. 173)

One thing that the promotion and development of such a Christian world view does presuppose is a certain confessional starting-point which includes a commitment to biblical revelation and its relevance to all of life at the public, societal level. However, in promotional literature many of the school associations tend not to promote any particular theological tradition, but rather, have broad statements of faith or, as the Christian ParentControlled Schools call them, 'educational creeds'.

Indoctrination, the autonomy ideal, and initiation - towards a reconstructed ideal of liberal education Central to the focus of this chapter is the question of whether these new Christian schools should be allowed to exist and flourish in Australian society, or whether they should be denied public support and monies. In a pluralist democratic society which is multiracial, as well as culturally and

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religiously diverse, strong arguments have been presented both for and against separate schooling provision (see, for example, Flew, 1972; Hirst, 1981,1985; Callan, 1985; McLaughlin, 1984,1985, 1987, 1992; Laura and Leahy, 1989; Thiessen, 1987, 1991, 1993; Deakin, 1989a, 1989b; Shortt, 1992; Jones, 1993). Theorists of liberal education differ quite widely in the interpretation and emphasis that they give to the various elements of liberal education. However, in recent years, Elmer J. Thiessen has done much to reopen the discussion concerning the charge of indoctrination with regard to Christian nurture. He has defended Christian nurture, but at the same time has challenged Christian educators to think long and hard about their educational practices. In his book, Teaching for Commitment (1993), he suggests that environments are important for shaping beliefs and argues convincingly that a 'non-religious' environment can impair a pupil's ability to develop towards normal rational autonomy with respect to belief in God. He has forcefully argued that many parents and teachers who attempt to create a 'non-religious' or 'neutral' environment for their children or students, by failing to make explicit the basic beliefs that are presupposed by such an educational direction, should be equally conscious of the dangers of indoctrination. Thiessen stresses that all forms of education must provide persons with the 'critical apparatus' necessary to enable them to become aware of and to evaluate critically the basic beliefs or 'epistemic primitives' of their belief stems (see also Laura and Leahy, 1989, pp. 253-66). He proposes a reconstruction of the ideal of liberal education to include the following ingredients: 1

2 3 4

It is based on a more open-minded metaphysical system than that of contemporary secularism. It adopts a more holistic view of human nature than that of narrow rationalism. It takes on board recent developments in the theory of knowledge. It makes room for Christian values rather than only those of the liberal humanist tradition.

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5

It includes both initiation into a present and particular and liberation which takes the pupils beyond the present and particular. (Thiessen, 1991, pp. 105-24)

This reconstructed ideal of liberal education is linked with Thiessen's proposal of a new definition of indoctrination which has at its core the idea of 'the curtailment of a person's growth towards normal rational autonomy' (Thiessen, 1991, p. 116). McLaughlin also highlights a vital concern of many Christians with regard to the arguments supporting the ideal of liberal neutrality, where he states that 'at the heart of liberalism is a kind of agnosticism, or at least a lack of certainty, about what the good life, in any substantial sense, consists in' (1992, p. 109). This type of'agnosticism', according to supporters of alternative Christian schools, simply serves to create in students' learning a 'myth of religious neutrality' (Deakin and Jones, 1993; Clouser, 1991). Similarly, Marshall argues that while a liberal society prides itself on having an open and pluralist education system, in its current form, it only serves to undercut distinctive communities and replaces them with a uniform regime of individuals and individual choices. In short, he says, 'liberalism seeks the preservation of liberals, the conversion of others to liberalism, and the erection of a liberal social order' (1988, p. 23). Thus, contrary to the perception that all these new kinds of Christian schools arose in the wake of a reactionary return by many Christians to antiintellectual biblicism, or against fears of in-church secularization, a common goal for many alternative Christian schools is to bring Christian values into the heart of the public realm of society by challenging the assumption that schools government-controlled or independent - can or should be value-free, or neutral, learning environments. A common understanding among supporters of alternative Christian schools is that liberalism and secular humanism do not lead to a coherent view of humankind and the world, but rather to a whole range of divergent views. More interestingly, supporters' comments reflect a con-

cern that many church leaders and congregants in the traditional churches continue to emphasize Christian thinking and understanding in areas which are narrowly theological (Lambert, 1994).

Conclusion Commonly rationalized as a religio-educational protest movement, such an explanation does not serve to clarify the identity or uniqueness of these schools. The reasons commonly given for the emergence of these relatively new alternative Christian schools centre on what their supporters perceive to be the failure of the multi-faith approach in many state schools which they argue has led to chaos in the area of personal values and morality, and a devaluation and/or marginalization of Christian perspectives in the curriculum in many state and traditional church schools (Lambert, 1994; Deakin, 1989a; Rose, 1988). However, it is necessary that the development of this relatively recent Christian schooling movement in Australia and elsewhere be understood within the context of a contradictory process of denominational convergence and disintegration that is occurring in recent church history. According to Robert Bellah (1970), the more traditional coherence and boundaries of specific religions and denominations have, in the modern context, given way to a more loosely defined situation where the coherence of the internal religious content of a belief may be less clearly defined. He suggests that, under these conditions, a particular religion or sponsoring denomination would encourage individuals to be more responsible for the formulation of their own synthesis of meaning, while still remaining under the general auspices of the denomination. It is important, then, that commentators and researchers recognize that these different school communities do not all have a common Christian world view, but rather different Christian world views or understandings of the necessary relation of the Christian faith to culture.13

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A widely held perception that has been perpetuated by recent studies of fundamentalist Christian school in North America indicates that these kinds of school place greater emphasis on the development of 'spirituality' than learning how to learn (Peshkin, 1986), and many of the Christian practices and beliefs have been described as reactionary, and limiting rather than liberating (Rose, 1988).14 While some of the alternative Christian schools in Australia are clearly antipathetic to the principles and practice of state schools, understandingg them to be 'anti-Christian', 'inherently evil' and 'immoral', the larger groupings of schools have been co-operating with the state, and openly associating with other religious and non-religious school groups for many years. Generally, these schools claim to be offering an education based on Christian rather than secular principles, and they have deliberately sought to create stronger links between the family, the school and the supporting Christian community. Although teachers and parents in alternative Christian schools commonly recognize that liberal educationalists may view their educational philosophy and practices with some hostility, they hold firmly to the view that knowledge is impossiblee without some form of faith, either belief in God or a more generalized faith. They argue that children need to grow up in a stable and coherent 'primary culture' and that this is really a preconditioningg of their subsequent development into autonomous citizens. The notion of 'autonomy via faith" (McLaughlin, 1984, p. 79) offers a strong defence of the dual intention of these alternative Christian schools. Further, they commonly understood that a 'thick sense of community' was only possible when people have a common pattern of life that is meaningful and coherent; one based upon, and oriented by, a shared vision of life (world view). Thus, the establishment of Christian schools has become, for many, a means by which their respective faith communities can exercise their corporate voice concerning the validity of a distinct kind of Christian nurture and scholarship in which it is hoped that the students will be enabled to explore and clarify their faith within the context of their everyday learning.

Notes 1 Private schools (included in this category are many alternative Christian schools affiliated with the Australian Association of Christian Schools (AACS), Christian Schools Association of Queensland (CSAQ)) as well as a number of non-affiliated Christian schools receive government capital and recurrent funding for approximately two-thirds of their operating costs, and their teachers are all appropriately qualified and registered and receive award salaries. These schools must all meet minimal standards of health, safety and education to obtain formal registration. 2 Numerous studies on the development of early Australian education exist. For a comprehensive account of church and educational developments see, for example, Barcan (1965) and Austin (1961). 3 The term 'state school' is used in this chapter to describe schools that are funded by the government, have no compulsory fees and have broad custodial responsibilities. In some states in Australia these schools are called 'public schools'. The term 'private school' describes schools that are to some degree selective in comparison to state schools, and which range from a small number of exclusive and expensive schools to low-fee Catholic schools enrolling one Australian student in every five (Marginson, 1993, p. 201). 4 Donald Howard (1979) is the founder and chief 'theoretician' of Accelerated Christian Education (ACE) curriculum. In essence, this curriculum is based on creation science beliefs and is centred around a system of programmed learning booklets called PACEs. The ACE belief system is extremely conservative in regard to political, religious and ethical issues, and has been vigorously criticized in Britain, America and Australia. For more details see, for example, Fleming and Hunt (1987); Rose (1988); and Speck and Prideaux (1989, 1993). 5 The term 'fundamentalism' may allow for a variety of viewpoints on a range of issues, and may mean different things to different groups of people. First used in the 1920s to describe the movement against evolutionism in public schools in the United States, it describes the type of belief system which emphasizes a return to literal (inerrant) interpretations of religious texts, in this instance, the Bible. Giddens suggests that Christian 'fundamentalism' has emerged in recent years as a reaction against liberal theology and against in-church secularization - attendance at church by people who do not really take much interest in religion (Giddens, 1992, p. 476). Commonly used in a pejorative sense in the mass media, the term 'fundamentalism' too often fails to differentiate between the kind of political/militant activism of Muslim fundamentalists and the American Christian New Right and the local evangelical community's attempt to establish and govern a school. 6 As well as the Australian organizations (which are outlined in the text), other significant international Evangelical Christian school organizations include:

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North America The Association of Christian Schools International (ACSI) claims to be the largest Evangelical Christian school association in the world with 2800 member schools. The organization's headquarters are in La Habra, California, and it has 13 regional offices across the United States and Canada. It also has offices in Guatemala, serving Latin America, and Romania, serving the former Eastern bloc countries. The organization's headquarters provided the following statistics: between 1979 and 1991, its affiliated students grew in number from 220,000 to 524,000 (1992). Christian Schools' International (CSI) is the oldest Christian school organization, having been founded in 1920. The central office in Grand Rapids, Michigan, provided the following statistics (1993): affiliated schools are based on a Reformed understanding of Scripture; approximately 500 affiliated schools, employing over 5000 teachers (e.f.t.), and enrolling approximately 100,000 students. In Canada, the largest single organization with almost 50 affiliated schools and 7000 students is the Society of Christian Schools (SCS) in British Columbia. Other Christian schools are in existence in the other provinces, although most do not receive government funding. Europe An organization representing Evangelical Christian schools throughout Europe, called the European Educators' Christian Association (EurECA)was officially registered in 1992, and it has headquarters in Kandern, Germany. The organization has since aligned itself with the European Evangelical Alliance. At conferences organized by EurECA in 1992 (France) and 1993 (Switzerland), representatives from 13 European countries were represented. Conferees reported on the recent establishment of alternative kinds of Evangelical Christian schools in Austria, Britain, the Czech Republic, Denmark, France, Germany, Holland, Hungary, Poland, Romania, Russia, Switzerland and Spain. Britain has experienced the largest growth of alternative Christian schools in Europe in the last two decades. It has approximately 90 primary and secondary schools which co-operate under an organization called the Christian Schools' Trust (CST). While many of the schools are small - most accommodating between 50 and 300 students - they have a strong and wellstructured central and regional support system (See, for example, Lambert, 1994; O'Keeffe, 1992). It is not clear whether or not Lutheran schools and Seventh-day Adventist schools should be labelled 'alternative Christian schools'. Currently, there are 75 Lutheran schools in Australia with approximately 19,000 pupils and 1200 teachers, and 70 Seventh-day Adventist schools with 7000 pupils and 450 teachers (1993 figures obtained from respective organizations by author). These two school organizations and the Jewish Day School organization are members of a New South Wales Consultative Group which has worked co-operatively

with the Australian Association of Christian Schools on common government-sponsored projects. Although they have a longer history of involvement in education in this country they also have some common features. 7 Some leaders in schools argue that their schools were founded in 'protest' against what they perceived to be an erosion of Christian values, moral permissiveness, increasing industrial action, and instability caused by educational trends, e.g. removal of corporal punishment, open classrooms, alternative models of teaching and a decreasing emphasis on examinations. Long (1994b) suggests that the development of alternative Christian schools in Australia can be understood as a protest or reaction 'against theological modernism, social liberalism, evolutionary relativism and the rapidity of social change in urbanised society' (p. 11). While this may be true of a number of supporters in some of these schools and, in fact, other denominational schools, it is not the case in all schools. Sadly, very few writers and researchers have attempted to draw a distinction between those alternative Christian schools which are clearly antipathetic to the principles and practices of mainstream education, and the many wishing to contribute a positive and innovative perspective to the wider educational debate. 8 The first association for Christian parent-controlled schools in Australia was formed in 1953 - nine years before Calvin Christian School opened. It is quite common for an association to exist for a number of years before a school commences. The model of governance employed by CPCS schools is the local association of parents who 'own' and operate the school through its elected representatives and through an annual general meeting. CPCS Ltd is a registered company in New South Wales which acts as a national association for the local associations. The schools affiliated with this group of schools are non-denominational in the sense that they are not supported by and they do not promote the doctrines of any particular denominations. 9 This movement was initiated by Dutch migrants, and it had its origins much earlier in the Netherlands, where in 1859 the new Education Act (promoted by Guillaume Groen van Prinsterer, 1801-76) provided the right to establish separate Christian schools. Eventually, in 1889, a coalition of Protestant and Catholic forces under the leadership of the then Prime Minister, Abraham Kuyper, legislated the first subsidies for nongovernment schools. By 1917, Christian schools in the Netherlands were fully funded by the state, and by the 1950s Christian schools were present in most towns (Deenick, 1991; Van Brummelen, 1986). Consequently, when the Dutch came to Australia following the Second World War, they were confronted by an education system that, they believed, did not provide a distinctively Christian education for families unable to pay high fees. 10 Conscious of the public concern that such a position may in some way limit pupils' ability to engage openly and comprehensively with the full spectrum of viewpoints in their learning, Deakin claims that:

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Children in [alternative] Christian schools are introduced to the world from a distinctly Christian perspective. But this does not mean that they cannot develop personal autonomy and the freedom to choose, which they will need in a democratic and pluralist society ... Starting from a secure, stable and distinctively Christian basis, it is possible to examine other world views and faith claims in a manner which is honest, tolerant and educative. (Deakin, 1989a, p. 9) 11 Some schools have annual community conferences which engage educationalists and the local school community in a programme of lectures, seminars and workshops based on relevant school issues. At one such conference, the Principal explained that, 'we have these conferences so that parents can keep up to date with educational change and also so they can have an input, express their views about the school, its direction, and its function' (Telephone Interview, 21/10/94). 12 For example, one alternative Christian school prospectus states: True learning involves encountering the world but at the same time being alerted to the values, hopes and struggles of people in the shaping of our world. ... It involves enabling pupils to live responsibly within society motivated by the values of the Christian faith. (quoted in Lambert, 1994, p. 56) 13 Van Brummelen (1989) and Lambert (1994) have suggested that the different kinds of emphases in Christian schools stem from different understandings among Christian individuals and communities concerning the nature of the interaction Christians should have with their surrounding culture. They have interpreted their findings using a fivefold system of categorization developed by H. Richard Niebuhr (1951) which includes the following models: Christ against culture; Christ of culture; Christ above culture; Christ and culture in paradox; and Christ the transformer of culture. At one end of the spectrum are school communities with a separatist world view and at the other end are school communities who are willing to accommodate varying levels of 'secular' practice, or indeed, to transform educational praxis through the development of alternative Christian educational insights. 14 Christian reconstructionists typically argue that 'Christian schools ought to be aiming at getting the civil government out of education at every level' (Baxter, 1991, p. 3). A number of the non-funded or non-registered schools would support this position. This kind of 'reaction mentality' against the 'godless, secular state' is further evidenced in Dennett. For example, when seeking to justify the alternative

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curriculum provision provided by Accelerated Christian Education schools, he states: Whatever happens, one truth remains: there can never be a truce between Zion and Egypt. A commitment to the kingdom of God is a declaration of war on Satan, the Prince of this world. Nowhere is that more true, at present, than in our... examination system. (Dennett, 1988, p. 122) This kind of attitude, though not necessarily typical of, or restricted to, Accelerated Christian Education would be repudiated in most of the longer-established alternative Christian schools in Australia.

Referencess Anderson, D. (1992) Interaction of the public and private school systems. Australian Journal of Education, 36(3). Austin, A. G. (1961) Australian Education 1788-1900: Church, State and Public Education in Colonial Education. Carlton, Victoria: Pitman. Australian Education Council (1991). National Report on Schooling in Australia 1989 (Vol. 1, Report; Vol. 2, Statistical annex). Carlton, Victoria: Curriculum Corporation for AEC. Barcan, A. (1965). A Short History of Education in New South Wales. Sydney: Martindale Press. Baxter, J. (1991) Should Christian schools seek state or public funding? Special Reports. Whitby, England; The Foundation for Christian Reconstruction. Bellah, R. N. (1970) Beyond Belief: Essays on Religion in a Post-Traditional World. New York: Harper and Row. Bellah, R. N., Madsen, R., Sullivan, W., Swidler, A. and Tipton, S. (1985) Habits of the Heart. Individualism and Commitment in American Life. Berkeley: University of California Press. Buber, M. (1970) I and Thou. Translated by Walter Kaufmann. New York: Charles Scribner's Sons. Callan, E. (1985) McLaughlin on parental rights. Journal of Philosophy of Education, 19(1), 111-18. Clark, M. (1978). A History of Australia, Volume IV. Melbourne: University Press. Clouser, R. A. (1991). The Myth of Religious Neutrality. Notre Dame, Indiana: University Press. Connell, W. F. (1993) Reshaping Australian Education 1960-1985. Hawthorn, Victoria: ACER. Deakin, R. (1989a) New Christian Schools. Bristol: Regius.

278 Ian Lambert Deakin, R. (1989b) A Case for Public Funding. Bristol: Regius. Deakin, R. and Jones, A. (1993) Towards Effective Christian Politics: An Analysis and Critique of Christian Action in the Realm of Education. Bristol: Oak Hill School. Deenick, T. (1991) Church and school. A Church En Route: 40 Years of Reformed Churches of Australia. Geelong: Reformed Church Publishing. Dennett, S. (1988) A Case for Christian Education. Bradford: Harvestime. Elias, J. L. (1989) Moral Education. Florida: Robert E. Kriger Publishing. Fleming, D. B. and Hunt, T. C. (1987) The world as seen by students in Accelerated Christian Education Schools. Phi Delta Kappan, March, 518-23. Flew, A. (1972) Indoctrination and religion. In I. A. Snook (ed.), Concepts of Indoctrination. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Giddens, A. (1992) Sociology. Cambridge: Polity Press. Cowers, A. and Scott, R. (1979) Fundamentals and Fundamentalists. Bedford Park, APSA monograph 22. Hirst, P. H. (1974) Moral Education in a Secular Society. London: Hodder and Stoughton. Hirst, P. H. (1981) Education, catechesis and the church school. British Journal of Religious Education, 3. Hirst, P. H. (1985) Education and diversity of belief. In M. C. Felderhof (ed.), Religious Education in a Pluralist Society. London: Hodder and Stoughton. Historical Records of Australia, Series I. Volumes i-xxvi: Series III. Volume v. Howard, D. (1979) Your Church Can Have a Christian School. Lewisville, TX: Accelerated Christian Education. Hughes, F. (1990) Christian-education in recently established Christian schools. Spectrum, 22(2), Summer. Jones, A. (1993) A Lost Vision Rediscovered: A Christian Reflection on the History of Education in England and Wales. Bristol: Oak Hill School. Jones, D. C. (1983) The development of New Christian schools in Australia 1975-1981. MEd thesis, University of Melbourne. Kaldor, P., Bellamy, J., Powell, R., Correy, M. and Castle, K. (1994) Winds of Change: The Experience of Church in a Changing Australia. Homebush West: ANZEA Publishers. Lambert, I. P. M. (1994) The new Christian Schools Movement in Britain: a case study. Unpublished PhD thesis: University of Cambridge. Lambart, I. P. M. and Mitchell, S. (eds) (1996) Reclaiming the Future: Australian Perspectives on Christian Schooling. Macquaire Centre, NSW: Centre for the Study of Australian Christianity. Laura, R. S. and Leahy, M. (1989) Religious upbringing and rational autonomy. Journal of Philosophy of Education, 23(2), 253-66.

Long, R. (1994a) The development of Themelic Schools in Australia. Doctoral thesis in progress, University of Western Sydney, Australia. Long, R. (1994b) The search to explain a new schooling system in Australia - the development of Themelic Schools in Australia. A paper presented at the 1994 Annual Conference of the Australian Association for Research in Education (AARE), 27/11-1/12/1994, Newcastle University, Australia. McLaughlin, T. H. (1984) Parental rights and the religious upbringing of children. Journal of Philosophy of Education, 18(1), 75-83. McLaughlin, T. H. (1985) Religion, upbringing and liberal values: a rejoinder to Eammon Callan. Journal of Philosophy of Education, 19(1), 119-27. McLaughlin, T. H. (1987) Education for all, and the religious schools. In G. Haydon (ed.), Education for a Pluralist Society. Philosophical Perspectives on the Swann Report. Bedford Way Papers, 30. Institute of Education: University of London. McLaughlin, T. H. (1992) The ethics of separate schools. In M. Leicester and M. Taylor (eds), Ethics, Ethnicity and Education. London: Kogan Page. Marginson, S. (1993) Education and Public Policy in Australia. Melbourne: Cambridge University Press. Marshall, P. (1988) Liberalism, pluralism and Christianity: a reconceptualization. Paper presented at 'Faith and History' conference, Greenville, Illinois, 20-22 October. Moll, H. (1985) The Faith of Australians. Sydney: Allen and Unwin. Niebuhr, H. R. (1951) Christ and Culture. New York: Harper and Row. O'Keeffe, B. (1992) A look at the Christian Schools Movement. In B. Watson (ed.), Priorities in Religious Education: A Model for the 1990s and Beyond. London: Falmer Press. Oswald, M. (1990) The emergence of new low-fee Protestant independent schools in South Australia since 1972. Unpublished MEd thesis, University of Adelaide. Peshkin, A. (1986) God's Choice: The Total World of a Fundamentalist Christian School. Chicago: University Press. Rose, S. D. (1988) Keeping Them Out of the Hands of Satan: Evangelical Schooling in America. New York: Routledge, Chapman and Hall. Shortt, J. (1991) Towards a reformed epistemology and its educational significance. Unpublished PhD thesis: University of London. Shortt, J. (1992) Christian nurture, indoctrination and liberal education: a response to Elmer Thiessen. Spectrum, 24(2), Summer. Speck, C. and Prideaux, D. (1989) Accelerated Christian Education in South Australia: A Curriculum Review of Primary Social Studies, Secondary Science and

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Junior Primary Language Arts. Magill: South Australian College of Advanced Education Monograph. Speck, C. and Prideaux, D. (1993) Fundamentalist education and creation science. Australian Journal of Education, 37(3). Stronks, G. G. and Blomberg, D. (1993) A Vision with a Task: Christian Schooling for Responsive Discipleship. Grand Rapids, Michigan: Baker. Thiessen, E. J. (1987) Two concepts or two phases of liberal education? Journal of Philosophy of Education, 21(2), 223-34. Thiessen, E. J. (1991), Christian nurture, indoctrination and liberal education. Spectrum, 23(2), Summer, 105-24. Thiessen, E. J. (1993) Teaching for Commitment. Leominster, Herts: Gracewing. Turner, B. S. (1987) Religion, state and civil society: nation building in Australia. In T. Robbins and R. Robertson (eds), Church-State Relations: Tensions

and Transitions. New Brunswick: Transaction Books, pp. 223-51. Van Brummelen, H. (1986) Telling the Next Generation: Educational Development in North American Calvinist Christian Schools. Maryland: University Press of America. Van Brummelen, H. (1988) Walking with God in the Classroom: Christian Approaches to Learning and Teaching. Ontario: Welch. Van Brummelen, H. (1989) Curriculum: Implementation in Three Christian Schools. Michigan: Calvin College. Walsh, B. J. and Middleton, J. R. (1984) The Transforming Vision: Shaping a Christian World View. Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press. Wilson, B. (1976) The Contemporary Transformation of Religion. London: Oxford University Press. Woolmington, J. (1976) Religion in Early Australia. Australia: Cassell.

24

Alternative Christian Schooling: A Search For Meaning

BRIAN V. HILL My brief is to discuss the value of 'alternative Christian schools'. The term does not have identical meanings across the various cultures where it is in use. Rather than succumb to bland generalizations, therefore, I have chosen to sharpen the issues by confining myself to the Australian story. And in this country at least, the character and ethos of such schools can only be properly understood in broader historical perspective.

Setting the stage In the early settlement of Sydney, as the number of children on the loose in a mainly penal colony increased, Richard Johnson, the evangelical Anglican chaplain who accompanied the first fleet, initiated Christian schooling for them.1 Government support was not forthcoming for this, or for any other educational initiative, until Governor King in 1800 generated income for some favoured projects through a tax on rum (Barcan, 1965, pp. 24-6)! Later, a subsequent governor of New South Wales encouraged Archdeacon Thomas H. Scott to set up a state system of Anglican schools, but this move was prevented by opposition from other denominations. Meanwhile church and private schools were multiplying, but considerations of equal opportunity, especially for country areas, ultimately prompted the state legislature to fund the comprehensive provision of government schools administered by community-based councils. Part of the statutory responsibility of these

councils was to guarantee religious instruction, which in those days was unambiguously Christian. Further controversy arose as Catholic numbers in the colony grew, particularly during the gold rushes. Loyally endorsing papal opposition to 'liberalism' and state schooling, the Catholic hierarchy established a network of parish schools. To them, the state schools were Protestant, a conclusion the more easy to draw when most of the Protestant churches had explicitly decided to support them, in preference to running their own schools for the masses, though they retained their interest in Christian schools on the secondary grammar model, for those who could pay. Developments in the other emerging states of Australia were similar to the New South Wales story just summarized.2 And in each case, thanks to the acrimonious relations which had arisen between the church and state sectors, government subsidies were withdrawn from church schools and all public funds committed to the development of strong networks of state schools. By the turn of the nineteenth century, state education departments were moving into secondary schooling as well, and had largely nullified community involvement in state schools by centralizing control at system level. Church schools went into survival mode, and most of the other kinds of private school disappeared. No substantial change occurred in this picture until after the Second World War. State systems of primary and secondary education were now providing about three-quarters of Australia's schooling, with Catholic parish and religious order

Alternative Christian Schooling: A Search for Meaning

schools at both primary and secondary level providing 95 per cent of the remaining quarter. The residue were high-fee secondary schools sponsored by the major Protestant denominations, and there were a few religious and private schools of other kinds. Seeds of change were sown in the post-war era, however, by the emergence of some small Christian schools, mostly founded by Dutch migrants who had promptly judged none of the existing patterns to be satisfactory (Hoeksema, 1983). A further catalyst for change was the decision by the federal government in 1964 to subsidize the costs of students in non-state schools. The reason was purely political, with a Liberal government under Robert Menzies wooing the Catholic vote just before a close election. He won, but in the process created a climate in which it was much more feasible to consider setting up non-state schools. The number of alternative Christian schools began to multiply, but so also did the number of alternative non-state, non-religious schools. In the case of the latter, the additional incentive for reviving the private school idea was awareness of overseas criticisms of government schools which had arisen during the 1960s (e.g. Freire, 1970; Goodman, 1971; Illich, 1970; and Reimer, 1971). It is not clear to me that advocates of Christian schooling have, in general, taken sufficiently into account the complaints lodged by such critics against some of the uses to which that form of social intervention we call 'school' has been put. The polemical style of such writers has justly attracted charges of extremism, but we should not let these obscure the validity of many of the criticisms made. The long story can now be cut short. Recent statistics show that there has been a national drift approaching 3 per cent out of the state sector, attributable mainly to new wave alternative schools, most of them Christian in name (Australian Education Council, 1993).3 One network, growing out of the original Dutch migrant initiative, consists of the 'Christian Parent-Controlled Schools', tied closely to Reformed theology. Another links 'Christian Community Schools'. In addition, some local interdenominational consortia also run schools, there is a small national Seventh-

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day Adventist network and several individual churches - mainly Baptist and Pentecostal - have sponsored their own local schools. Some alternative Christian schools use materials produced in America under the title 'Accelerated Christian Education', in some cases operating specifically under ACE auspices. An even more recent development has been the move by some Christian parents to embark on 'home schooling', which, precisely because it seeks to install the schooling model in the home, has to be seen as yet another candidate for the label of'alternative Christian schooling'.4 Not all people moving to home schooling are doing so for Christian reasons. In 1981, John Holt, another American 1960s critic of schooling, visited Australia, and his addresses persuaded a number of people, mostly middle-class, to educate their children at home. Their reasons were not religious but educational. A national newspaper estimated in 1985 that over 500 families were taking this route just on the central east coast of Australia alone (Anon., 1985). A decade after the Liberal government reintroduced government subsidies, the incoming Whitlam Labour government modified the rules to allow schools catering through low-fee structures for socially disadvantaged students to qualify for larger grants. This, while helping existing alternative Christian schools, has also prompted the mainstream Protestant denominations (in particular, Anglican, Uniting5 and Baptist) to set up several schools of this kind. There is a further subsidy advantage if they have enough schools to fit the definition of a 'system' of low fee-paying schools. As alternatives to both state schools and high fee-paying church schools, they too are properly described as alternative Christian schools.

Questions on notice The resultant diversity presents a serious challenge to thinking Christian people, and puts several fundamental questions on notice. The starting-point is that Christians believe they have a

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primary duty before God to nurture their children according to the spiritual and moral values embedded in the Christian faith. The key question is, how are they to do it? The task is an awesome one for parents bringing up children in modern industrial societies, where the things children need to know for survival outstrip the capacity of most parents to impart them. And even if they believe they do in fact have the capacity, is it right for their children, and right for their own wider involvement in the community, to attempt to do it all themselves? I put this question on notice particularly for those considering home schooling for their children. Most parents, for whatever reasons, have not elected to go the home schooling route. The primary question for them is: 'How can I obtain for my child the learning experiences I myself am unable to provide?' Sadly, some delegate their parental responsibilities far too easily, even leaving most of the moral and spiritual education of their children to Sunday schools and Christian day schools when they should be asking their churches to enhance their own competencies in these areas. The Bible is very clear that in such matters as these, the buck stops at parents. What about other aspects of our children's education? They need to gain basic skills of literacy, numeracy, personal communication, social negotiation and 'computeracy'.6 They need to identify and develop their own particular strengths in order to maximize their vocational flexibility in a changing world. And they need to gain intellectual familiarity with those areas of knowledge and practice which are most significant in the public domain. Somewhat more controversially, it is also increasingly recognized in general educational theory that, given the pluralistic societies we now live in, children need to acquire a sympathetic understanding of their neighbours; an understanding, moreover, sufficient to ensure that they respect their neighbours' rights, beliefs and aspirations, while constantly seeking friendly dialogue with them about the things that each regards as most important in life. And they need to acquire the ability to subject their own and others' beliefs and values to critical evaluation. There are too many

wolves abroad in the open society for us to be content with raising our children as domesticated sheep. Most parents accept the need to obtain help from outside educational services in meeting this daunting range of needs. But the question then becomes: 'What educational services are available, and which can I trust to do what is required?' There is no unequivocal biblical instruction on this matter, for not only do the Scriptures say nothing at all about schools, but neither are there any injunctions about the three Rs, computers, vocational training or what used to be called a 'liberal education'. In meeting such needs, we must use 'sanctified common sense' within a broad biblical understanding of God, ourselves, and the world. In the light of this conclusion, it should occasion no surprise that even among Christian people with the highest views of the authority and reliability of the Christian Scriptures, a variety of answers has been given to the questions I have put on notice. The sad thing is that in an area of permissible variation like this, Christians are so often condemnatory of other Christians who arrive at different conclusions from their own. Merely to raise such questions is enough in the eyes of some to have one written off as a traitor to the Christian cause.7 The main concern of this chapter - alternative Christian schools in Australia - puts further specific questions on notice. Is the label itself clear enough at the level of definition to enable us to draw lines around particular schools? What is the nature of the alternative(s) they are offering? How, and to whom, are they accountable? And what contribution, in both Christian and public terms, are they making to the educational scene in Australia? In the remainder of this chapter, I will comment on each of these issues.

What is an alternative Christian school? An Australian writer once declared that 'Christian education in Australia has been a reality since

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January 1962, when . . . Christian school ... opened.' The implication was that nothing that had previously happened deserved this accolade. The brief historical review with which I began should be enough to expose the bigotry in such a claim. Sincere Christians from Johnson onwards have sought to provide Christian alternatives to the existing state of affairs, and the original charters of many denominational schools were as evangelical as any today. Two points are often made in response to this observation. One is that the older wave of church schools has moved away from such early visions and become infected by the drive to reinforce social privilege. In general, I believe this to be true, but let the new wave of Christian schools be cautious about saying 'It can't happen here.' Already, in many of these schools, the composition of both the staff and student bodies exhibits an ethnic and socio-economic homogeneity which is hardly compatible with the 'whosoever' of the Christian Gospel. Second, it is argued that the new wave is determinedly anti-systemic, that is, each school is autonomous, whereas older wave schools are denominationally controlled. The distinction is more apparent than real. Most of the schools with a Protestant denominational label pride themselves on the degree to which they have been able to minimize denominational 'interference', and typically have considerable parental involvement. Even the contrast with state schools - once systemically controlled - is beginning to break down as determined political efforts in most states to devolve management onto local school councils begin to take effect.8 The above reservations notwithstanding, the term 'alternative Christian school' does serve to identify a particular sector fairly well. It consists of schools founded by Christian groups or churches, which operate at a locally autonomous level (though control varies greatly as between teachers, parents and congregations). Such schools are usually intentionally smaller than the average state or older wave church school. They strive to keep fees low. And most have come into being since the Second World War. When bureaucrats

talk about the big picture, this term identifies a distinguishable sector. What it does not reveal is what is actually happening in the individual school. Simply to be identified as alternative Christian schools tells us little about the extent to which such schools exhibit common theological, educational, and structural features.

What alternatives do they offer? Theologically, the thing they appear to have in common is 'Christian' education. In the prevailing rhetoric, it is necessary to strengthen the cogency of this claim by suggesting that state schools operate under a unified 'humanist' umbrella that is antagonistic to Christian values. Such a claim is too strong, given the contribution of Christianity to the cultural legacy of Australian schools and the influence of many Christian teachers in the public sector. Conversely, the possibility of a unified secularism is also inhibited by the pluralism of values in the general community. A more valid criticism would be that state systems are crumbling under the pressures of managerialism, credentialism and reductions in the resources available. Frantic curriculum modifications on the run take the place of the vision which a negotiated value consensus would provide, and state schools are becoming hard places to work in. Free of many of these bureaucratic millstones, and more unified in their goals, alternative Christian schools provide an attractive option to many parents, and teachers. We should note in passing that the decision of many Christian parents and teachers to move away from the state system has had measurable effects on the Christian presence in state schools. One indicator of this effect has been the lesser availability of Christian teachers to maintain voluntary Christian activity in such schools, through, for example, Inter-School Christian Fellowship groups. This is a growing source of concern among Christian parents and administrators who believe

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God has called them to persevere with the state school. But given that many parents and teachers have taken up the Christian school option, what is Christian about it? In a previous decade, some observers were noting that such schools tended to be theologically conservative. But even this limiting generalization covers a multitude of possibilities. At the same time as conservative Christianity has experienced a resurgence at the expense of theological liberalism, it has developed a spectrum of positions ranging from fundamentalist to evangelical to hyper-Calvinist, and its interactions with charismatic renewal have varied from feral to fraternal. Theologically conservative schools vary just as much in their practice. In addition, by no means all the schools in Australia with a prima-facie right to be called 'alternative Christian' are characterized by a conservative theology. Some of those created by individual churches, consortia of local churches, parent or teacher groups or denominational initiatives operate under charters that are more inclusive in their theological underpinnings, or in some cases clearly non-evangelical. Discerning parents must always look behind the label to see precisely what consensus of belief underlies the school's practice. While they may like what they find, it is also possible that they will find a basis that is either too prescriptive in areas where Christians should be prepared to accommodate disagreement, or too vague to guarantee anything more than a 'good classroom atmosphere'. And in any case, all this may reveal little of the educational philosophy which governs the school's actual practices. It is not possible for policies on such things as dress and discipline, authority and freedom, teaching approaches and assessment to be wholly and literally derived from biblical sources. They necessarily depend on a marrying of general biblical values with the best that is currently known about the teachinglearning process and the role of the school in society. And there are widely differing views on such matters. Nowhere is there greater risk that Christian values will be dishonoured than in the matter of indoctrination. Some Christian school theorists

openly, and many practitioners secretly, endorse it. I have argued in several places that if indoctrination is understood to involve the attempt to teach articles of faith as fact, without encouraging evaluation of both one's own faith tradition and the traditions of one's neighbours, then one is failing the child in today's world and departing from the precedents set by the Bible, and in particular by Jesus himself (see, for example, Hill, 1990, pp. 44-6). I have been invited to visit and speak at alternative Christian schools of many kinds, and I have also learnt much from my students about others. Many of them have been doing exciting and effective things. I have also found great variation between them, both in the ways they apply their theological perspectives and the degree to which they are sensitive to 'best practice' in current educational knowledge. I also meet many Christian parents who, having made the decision to withdraw their children from state education, then found that labels alone did not give them an adequate basis on which to distinguish good from poor. Having had an initial bad experience, they had been obliged to 'shop around' for good schools elsewhere in the non-state sectors. The third variable they would be well advised to check out is the structural one. Whatever people may profess to believe, theologically or educationally, the crunch often comes when structures of school government and management are decided upon. Here too there is great variety in the alternative Christian school sector, and some models are obviously not working well. Some are controlled by parents or church councils to the point where professional conscience and innovation are stifled, and teacher turnover is high. A few are controlled by the teaching body to the detriment of parental involvement in policy. Internal management in either case may vary from top-down dictation to participatory consensus procedures. I am not to be interpreted as implying that state schools are any better. Many function very well, but overruling central bureaucracies, clumsy promotional procedures and problems of excessive size in particular cause major management problems in that sector too.

Alternative Christian Schooling: A Search for Meaning

Nevertheless I seldom encounter structures in Christian schools that represent a good amalgam of biblical values and tested management theory. To meet the variety of needs listed earlier, teachers must be professionally trained, and treated as such. It should also be a mark of their professionalism that they recognize parents as equal partners in the nurture of the child, each with his or her own proper domain of action. It is becoming increasingly recognized that this means teacher involvement in administrative decision-making, and community involvement in school policy determination. I recognize that these are distressingly general statements. I have tried to be more specific elsewhere (Hill, 1991, ch. 6). Such principles are confirmed by studying practices in the New Testament church, particularly in relation to the recognition of parental responsibility, but also the respect and elbow room to be accorded to those with special gifts such as teaching. A school is not, and can never be, a church, given its investment in the compulsory mode and the specialized professionalism needed to cope with education for life in the modern world. But the perpetuation of master-servant models of administration - whether the 'master' be parents, clergy, principals or teachers - is a step backward, and in this respect many Christian schools need to get their house in order.

To whom are they accountable? Of special concern to all who seek to evaluate the effectiveness of particular schools should be the issue of accountability. The high degree of organizational autonomy which most alternative Christian schools prize also places a heavy responsibility on them to be honest stewards, and many fail at this point. To whom, ultimately, should the school be accountable? It is sometimes suggested in Christian circles that no authority can exceed that of parents, in view of the biblical mandate laid upon them. This is a one-sided use of the Bible, since parents are also placed under obligation to look after their

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children. They are stewards, not owners. This involves mirroring the courtesy and concern of Jesus towards children, avoiding not only actual harm but the arousal of resentment through the imposition of too many rules. This is the spirit of Ephesians 6:4, where parents are admonished not to exasperate their children. The original Greek word implies a level of frustration akin to being literally 'beside oneself. Even in 'good' homes, let alone Christian schools, the limitation of freedom and personal space in which to make one's own decisions can breed a resentment that later becomes rejection of the values enforced at the time. Children have rights, and it is sometimes necessary for other people - in the community of faith, or in the wider society - to intervene on behalf of children who have been neglected or abused, physically or psychologically, or deprived of what are generally considered to be essential services. An adequate education is one of those services, and the right of governments to set certain minima has been generally recognized. Christians should be prompt to endorse such powers, since the welfare ethos of modern Western societies has been much influenced by Christian values and the activism, along with others, of Christian reformers. In the circumstances, Christian schools are ultimately accountable to the child, and all other authorities must measure the exercise of their authority against the educational goals mentioned earlier. This calls for a partnership between the carers - parental and professional. It also validates governmental intervention where minimum standards are not being met. But what are these minimum standards? More than one state government in Australia has refused to recognize certain Christian schools because they do not satisfy its minima. Reasons given have included: health issues, such as the lack of provision of adequate furniture and toilet facilities; deficiencies in social education because of the excessive use of supervised individual study; size, particularly in the cases of schools sponsored by individual churches in their own premises; inadequately trained teachers; curriculum distortion in science teaching; and failure to ensure that children are at all times under the supervision of a

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teacher. Several of these concerns have been highlighted in the mass media with reference to the ACE materials mentioned earlier. So what? The main effect of such rulings has been to deny a few schools access to government subsidies. The further question of whether, in the interests of the children they are disadvantaging, such schools should also be closed down, has been ducked. And so it probably should have been, since these are murky waters, once one gets beyond basic social, health and supervisory requirements. Too many state schools are in disarray for governments to be pointing the ringer at schools in the private sector who default on contestable educational criteria. Nevertheless parents should seriously address the issue of whether the choice of school they make on religious grounds may not be seriously reducing their children's life chances and future ability to choose freely the good or evil side. And they should be unapologetic about checking who sets the standards and evaluates the outcomes in such schools.

What contribution are they making? It remains to attempt some evaluation of the contribution being made by alternative Christian schooling - as the term has been understood here to Australian life. Initially, in the post-war period, the number of children catered for by alternative Christian schools was statistically insignificant, but in the climate of criticism of schooling emerging at that time they achieved visibility as symbols of dissatisfaction with both the older church schools and state systems of education. Their numbers are now such that they are significant at both the statistical and ideological levels. Their growth suggests that the level of discontent with the state sector is rising, at least among Christians. This discontent is probably justified. It is hard to make comparisons of educational outcomes over a period of years, but many commentators see signs of increasing deterioration of conditions, and cur-

riculum confusion, in the state sector. On the other hand, we must then ask whether alternative Christian schools are offering a better alternative. This is equally hard to gauge, given the great variety of standards and educational values between them. From personal observation, the best of them offer a safe, caring and informative educational environment, and have done considerable homework on how to integrate the curriculum around a Christian belief system. The worst of them exhibit a fortress mentality, denying the fact of cultural pluralism, forcing both children and staff into a conformist mould and misrepresenting the truth status of what they teach in the curriculum subjects. I can understand that Christian parents in many localities have felt so apprehensive about their local state school that the wisest choice they could make in the circumstances was to send their children to non-state schools. I cannot so easily identify with the many Christian teachers who have left the state sector - not from any clear conviction of the superiority of Christian schools - but because of burn-out in the state service. As was mentioned earlier, there have been statistically significant reductions in the number of Christian teachers available, for example, to promote voluntary Christian groups in state schools and the ministries of the Australian Christian Forum on Education (formerly the Australian Teachers' Christian Fellowship]. My greatest fear is that there may not be a sufficient number of courageous Christian teachers and citizens left in the public arena to take advantage of the increasing opportunities there are for constructive involvement in local government schools. The cultural front line in education is not, and is unlikely to become, the non-state school. Yet it was assuredly to the front line that Jesus called his followers.

Notes 1 It is worth noting that in 1993 bicentenary celebrations were held in Sydney and other places to commemorate 200 years 'of Christian schooling in Australia'. The doc-

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2 3

4

5

6 7

8

umentation leaves no doubt that Johnson's aims were directly evangelical. The project was initiated by the network known as Christian Community Schools Ltd, centred in Sydney. Although many studies have now been produced which spell these developments out more fully, the neatest summary for our purposes still remains Austin (1972). The observation is based on the assumption that the doubling effect since 1972 in what is characterized as the 'Independent' sector has been largely due to the increase in alternative Christian schools. I have tried to describe the various types in more detail in Hill (1987). This book also develops a check-list of questions for parents involved in the process of deciding on which school they should send their children to. Non-Australian readers may need to know that this denomination resulted from the union in the mid-1970s of the Methodist, Presbyterian and Congregational denominations. For want of a better, I have coined this term to denote the ability to use computers for basic tasks of information retrieval and processing. A personal experience illustrates the point. Attempting to generate discussion of such issues among Christians, I once asked 'Is it time we deschooled Christianity?' (Hill, 1978). I did not answer my own question with an exclusive yes or no, since the aim of the article was to generate responses, which were published in a subsequent issue (Journal of Christian Education, Papers, 67, July 1980). Yet I was blacklisted by a Christian school association even for asking it, and a student of mine working in such a school was recently forbidden to use his teaching situation for an empirical study when it was learned that I would be his thesis supervisor. This is hardly the way for Christians to handle disagreement in matters not essential to biblical faith! Ironically, the tide in Catholic schools actually seems to be running the other way, as the denomination seeks to maximize the effectiveness of its dealings with government by forming strong Catholic Education Commissions at both state and federal level. Coupled with the decline in the number of people offering themselves for service in teaching orders, this is having the effect of reducing the autonomy of philosophy and practice which Catholic

schools, particularly those founded in Australia by a number of different teaching orders, used to enjoy.

Referencess Anon. (1985) Home schooling. National Times, 4 July. Austin, A. G. (1972) Australian Education 1788-1900: Church, State and Public Education in Colonial Australia (3rd edn). Melbourne: Pitman. Australian Education Council (1993). National Report on Schooling in Australia, 1992: Statistical Annex. Melbourne: Curriculum Corporation. Barcan, A. (1965) A Short History of Education in New South Wales. Sydney: Martindale Press. Freire, P. (1970) Pedagogy of the Oppressed (trans. Myra Bergman Ramos). London: Herder and Herder. Goodman, P. (1971) Compulsory Miseducation. Harmondsworth: Penguin. Hill, B. V. (1978) Is it time we deschooled Christianity? Journal of Christian Education, Papers, 63 (Nov.), 5-21. . Hill, B. V. (1987) Choosing the Right School. SSydney: ATCF Books. Hill, B. V. (1990) That They May Learn. Exeter: Paternoster Press. Hill, B. V. (1991)) Values Education in Australian Schools. Melbourne: Australian Council for Educational Research. Hoeksema,, R. (1983) Christian pparent-controlled schools in Australia: origin, basis and organisation. Journal of Christian Education, Papers, 77 (July), 75-83. Illich, I. (1970) Deschooling Society. New York: Harper and Row. Reimer, E. (1971) School is Dead. Harmondsworth: Penguin.

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Part Six School Leadership

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25

School Autonomy in the Light of Controversial Views: A Comparative Approach with Special Regard to Pedagogical and Curricular Issues in the European Context

WOLFGANG MITTER Basic considerations 'School autonomy' has a long history in many regions and countries of the world in general and in Europe in particular. It has emerged at all places where creative and initiative educators have implemented their ideas in the everyday practice of their classrooms and where their efforts have gained co-operative response, above all among parents, local communities and the 'pedagogic public'. This latter concept is introduced in order to comprise the totality of citizens, in the regional, national and cross-national context, who take an active interest in the development and quality of education and schooling. In the present chapter the concept of 'school autonomy' is definitely related to the fundamental values of humanism, human rights and human dignity in their continuous relevance. With special regard to, at least, the twentieth century, this list must be extended to the value of democracy including the postulates of social and political self-determination and freedom of choice. Already at this point it seems necessary to make this emphasis, since the term 'autonomy' per se is indifferent to value orders. History bears multifarious witness of how 'autonomy' in general and 'school autonomy' in particular has been misused for inhuman purposes up to the present period. In a retrospect of European history one can benefit from studying the examples offered by

'classical pedagogy', as demonstrated by Heinrich Pestalozzi's reflections on his own various activities as educator and teacher, first of all in Burgdorf and Ifferten (Yverdon), or, to give another example, in Leo Tolstoy's report on his model school in Yasnaya Polyana. These two cases indicate that the earliest stage of the history of 'school autonomy' was focused on institutions outside the 'rule' consisting of the education systems under the control and government of state and church. The more, however, we approach recent trends, the more frequently we become aware of 'autonomous schools' inside the public systems too. To give an example, it was the Experimental School of the University of Jena where Peter Petersen conceived and tested his 'Jena-Plan', focused on ungraded classroom teaching and flexible timetables. Moreover, demands on 'school autonomy' and 'autonomous schools', though without any consequence, are inherent in the numerous thoughts and considerations of prominent educationists, different as they have been with respect to range and function of the conceptual variations applied. In spite of such outstanding examples, educational practice in continental Europe on the whole gives comparatively little evidence of school autonomy. As explanation of this historical fact, it is the role of the modern state which comes into our picture, as the power having initiated and controlled the national education systems in most countries of the European continent since the sev-

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enteenth and eighteenth centuries. When speaking of the modern state, we have to focus our attention on the centralized and hierarchical structure of the administration system, including the subsystem comprising education and schooling. The concentration on this essential feature should permit us to neglect, in this context, the national or regional variations as well as the two historic configurations of supranational range to be identified as Central European absolutism (especially as embodied by its Austrian and Prussian variations) and Napoleonic Gtatisme, with their respective impacts on their various heirs among the modern democracies. In this context we can also neglect the various attempts of the modern state to remove or, at least, repress the dominance over the education system which had been exercised by the church(es) for centuries. Suffice it to remark that, on the European continent, the 'assault' (of the state) upon traditional church dominance was welcomed by many liberal educators and teachers, while, on the other hand, church schools, as opponents to the 'new rule', have established themselves among the 'autonomy' movement since that far-reaching change. Nowadays the state operates as initiator and controller of structures, syllabuses, forms of teacher training, regulations of teachers' status (concerning remuneration and prestige) and administrative levels and units. Furthermore, exercising this power, the modern state has secured access to teaching and learning styles or, to use a modern term, to the school ethos. In principle, state dominance also includes (non-state) 'public' and private schools. While the 'state school' (in the proper sense of this term) is subject to direct control by the central authorities, there are different regulations concerning competencies and effects of central laws, decrees and syllabuses comprising this complementary sector of the education system. In recent decades, however, doubts have emerged whether this state of affairs should be perpetuated or whether it should be replaced by alternatives to be based upon decentralization and 'autonomy' at various levels, including the individual schools. It is arresting to observe that most countries of the European continent have

been seized by this reconsideration, which has even included countries with marked traditions in centralizing policies, such as France and Sweden. In the whole of Western Europe the debate, in its explicit form, has been going on for 20 years. The exceptional cases of Denmark and the Netherlands will be given attention later, as will the United Kingdom which, from now onwards, will be included in our 'Europe-oriented' reflections, due to her recent 'rapprochement' to the mainstream. In this context, however, mention should be already made of the new approaches in the postCommunist region of Central and Eastern Europe. This recent trend can be traced back to the late phase of the Communist period. This is true of the radical reform programme of SolidarnoSc and the considerations on 'self-regulation' in the established educational science in Poland (Pecherski and Tudrej, 1983), of the innovatory approaches initiated by the group of 'pedagogic innovators' during the Perestroika years in the Soviet Union (Kriiger-Potratz and Kuebart, 1979; Mitter, 1987) and, above all, of the most spectacular initiative in Hungary in terms both of legislative enactment (1985) and pilot projects at the grass roots (Halasz and Lukacs, 1990). All these approaches must be borne in mind in order to contradict erroneous assumptions that the big upheavals at the end of the 1980s were unexpected or unprepared for. At least, this argument can be related to the present theme. The awakening interest for school autonomy in Central and Eastern Europe, which has been extended and intensified since 1989, has reinforced the wave which had started in Western Europe in the 1970s. At that time it was considered to be a counter-movement against the preceding wave of 'large-scale reforms' which had been characterized by the desiderata of long-term planning, administrationn and co-ordination of the education system in the framework of centralized state control. In this connection it might be symptomatic to point out that the Deutscher Bildungsrat (German Education Council), the comprehensive advisory and planning body in the Federal Republic of Germany (1965-75), dealt with the 'strengthened independence of the school and the participation

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of teachers, pupils and parents' in its last Recommendation (1973) before its dissolution. In particular, it considered extended responsibilities of individual schools in the organization of learning processes, e.g. the replacement of the traditionally centralized syllabuses by 'guidelines of a new kind' to be confined to the determination of learning, curricular aims and alternative subject matter. Furthermore, schools should be given wider competencies in the areas of staff appointment. Compared to these far-reaching proposals, the Education Council remained rather hesitant in regard to the items of financial autonomy and factual participation to be given to parents and pupils (Deutscher Bildungsrat, 1973). The present chapter concentrates on the education scene of Europe in total, comprising Western, Central and Eastern Europe. This concentration, however, cannot be pursued without any reference to parallel and frequently preceding discussions and innovations which continually radiated from the United States to the 'old continent' up to the present. It should not raise any astonishment that those discussions and innovations have been essentially focused on the question of how to improve school autonomy, because the fundamental question of its existence per se need not be posed in that country with its widest-reaching decentralization in educational decision-making. What are the lessons to be drawn from the observation of the current European scene in regard to the present theme? The reply can be derived from the following perceptions (cf. Mitter, 1988): 1

We become aware of remarkable discrepancies between theories and postulates on the one hand and school reality on the other. Such discrepancies even concern the relation between legislative enactments and administrative measures on the one hand and their implementation in the grass roots on the other. Let us give as an example the French Education Orientation Law (Loi d'orientation sur I'education] of 1989 (Leclerq, 1990). On the one hand it makes reference to the principle of autonomy in an indirect way, in so far as it obliges each school to initiate a 'school proj-

2

3

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ect' by adjusting the central syllabuses to its conditional peculiarities. On the other hand the law itself restricts the range of this demand, thus devaluing the new approach as an impulse to the school practice. It is symptomatic that the legislators have applied the term 'autonomy' only in this obviously, negative, phrase: The autonomy should not lead to any distance from the national goals'. It is true that there are case-studies available from various European countries, testifying innovatory efforts of headteachers, teachers and pupils, and that there are legal and administrative provisions permitting the development of 'good schools' with regard to pedagogic and curricular qualities to be dealt with later. The majority of such studies refer to private and (non-state) public schools; yet, empiric evidence is also given about state schools, usually recording 'pilot projects' or 'school experiments' which, as a rule officially confirmed, display noteworthy initiatives. Taken as a whole, however, these cases are like 'islands' in the sea of a school scene which is still primarily dominated by centralized and, what is more, authoritative and hierarchical structures. The persistence of this order is more or less supported by the fact that not only parents and representatives of the employment system, but also the majority of teachers, prefer traditional habits and clear guidelines, thus shrinking from taking risks which are inevitable on any march towards autonomy. As mentioned above, the European education scene offers three exceptional cases which are in contrast to the continental European model whose internal variations in educational reality must not be neglected, of course. Denmark can be regarded as the 'classical' model of a community-centred education system whose history is closely connected with that of the popular education movement initiated by Nikolai Frederik Grundtvig in the middle of the nineteenth century (Breinholdt, 1994). Today this system is characterized by networks of collaborations between communal author-

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ities, governing bodies, parents and schools which, in their everyday work, give much opportunity of participation to teachers and also to pupils. The laws adopted by the Danish parliament and the decrees and directives issued by the Ministry of Education only provide the framework for the functioning of the decentralized system. The school system in the Netherlandss is unlike those in all the other European countries (Lumer-Hennebole andNyssen, 1988). At least 70 per cent of all pupils attend primary and secondary schools which are private. According to the Constitution the state is bound to provide adequate (non-state) public education for those pupils who do not want to attend private schools, to observe the financial equality of public and private education and to impose standards of equality and conditions of finance. The uniqueness of the Dutch model must be traced back to the internal struggle between Protestants and Catholics in the nineteenth century and its solution by the enactment of the Constitution in 1917. Education in the Netherlands is verzuild, i.e. politically and/or religiously stratified. That means that beside the - comparatively small - public sector there are three private sectors: Roman Catholic (c. 40 per cent), Protestant (c. 27 per cent) and non-denominational private education (c. 5 per cent). While public schools are directly controlled by the state authority (like 'state schools' in other European countries) or by governing bodies representing their local authorities, private schools or groups of private schools have their own governing bodies (local school boards). They are affiliated to one of the so-called 'umbrella organizations': the Dutch Catholic School Council, the Dutch Protestant School Council and the Dutch General Private School Council. The functions of these organizations are to improve coordination of the policies pursued by the various governing bodies, to represent the interests of each specific sector and to operate as central discussion and consultation bodies, as well as representatives of their respective sec-

tors in relation to the Ministry of Education. It should not, however, be overlooked that the traditional school autonomy has been involved in internal conflicts between local school boards and the groups and individuals directly concerned, i.e. the teachers, pupils and parents. On the other hand the central decision-making agencies have come forward with increasing claims of expanding their competencies. Considering centralizing trends, recent history gives even stronger evidence of the third exceptional case to be made out outside the Continent, namely the United Kingdom, in particular England and Wales. Until the 1980s its education system was also identified as a 'classical' model of school autonomy, represented not only by the competencies of Local Educational Authorities (LEAs), but also by the de facto independence of headteachers who were on occasion called 'kings (queens) of schools' (Male, 1974). The Conservative government under Margaret Thatcher, however, effected the current 'educational watershed', aimed at a change of traditional partnership between central and local responsibilities which can be called ambiguous: on the one hand there is a conspicuous drive towards greater governmental control concerning finance and curriculum. On the other hand, however, parents, who had not played an effective role until recently, are offered remarkable benefit from the Thatcherite policy in two ways: they are given considerable influence in the governing bodies whose power has been reinforced by the inclusion of representatives of the labour market, and they are authorized, by a simple majority vote, to 'opt out', i.e. to take their children's school out of the LEA system and apply for a direct state grant. In general, autonomy has not been abolished, but transferred in favour of parents and employers (Tulasiewicz, 1987). These three special cases are related to 'exceptions'. As already intimated, however, the education systems of the continental European model

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are increasingly affected by the recent trend towards decentralization and deregulation of decision-making structures. As a concomitant to this trend we can observe a revival of autonomous sectors within centralized systems. Germany gives an appropriate example, focusing on the Lander north to the Main, whose schools are rooted in Prussian traditions. This apparent paradox can be traced back to the foundations of Prussia's educational policies. The system as a whole was strictly organized by means of laws, decrees and syllabuses, reinforced by the legal status of teachers as civil servants. Yet this normative framework left 'free spaces' for its implementation. On the one hand, the Schulkollegien (school colleges) in the provinces were given certain competencies in interpreting the legal provisions. On the other hand the neo-humanistic philosophy had laid the ground for the award of considerable pedagogic freedom to individual teachers to be focused on the freedom of interpretation concerning literary texts and historical events and the free choice of teaching methods, though this kind of autonomy was mainly reserved for the secondary school teacher. Furthermore, in the whole of Germany the teacher's 'pedagogic freedom' in upper secondary education has been supported by his or her traditional function as an examiner in the Abitur (matriculation examination). It is the individual teacher who examines his/her pupils in the oral examinations and in the submission of the three topics to be chosen by the ministry for the examination papers. The scrutiny of the examination paper is again the responsibility of the individual pupil's subject teacher. In Southern Germany (Bavaria, Baden-Wiirttemberg, Rhineland-Palatinate, Saarland) this competence has been restricted by the fact that, according to the Napoleonic model, the ministry prescribes the topics of the examination papers; however, in these Lander the oral examinations are also the individual teacher's responsibility. Let us summarize at this point that historically based diversity explains the fundamental complexity of the notion 'school autonomy'. Furthermore, one has to take into consideration the intentions and goals underlying the theoretical

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concepts of school autonomy and their transfer to grass-roots practice (cf. Homer, 1991). Instead of giving an explanation in detail, let me quote the following questions posed by a working group on a symposium of the Council of Europe (5-7 October 1992 in the Hessisches Institut fur Lehrerfortbildung in Fuldatal near Kassel) in order to circumscribe this complexity: -

-

-

Autonomy for whom (parents, individual school unit, region versus district or local community)? Autonomy against what kind of pressure (by state bureaucracies, financial, curricular and personal constraints at various control levels, control in general aimed at rigid procedures of supervision)? Autonomy for pursuing what kind of goals and objectives (e.g. responsible participation for the sake of optimum problem-solving, ensuring the development of democratic decision-making at the grass roots, enabling innovations and avoiding torpidity, promoting conflict-solving and reaching consensus, effective use of resources)?

The fundamental complexity of the notion of 'school autonomy' which becomes obvious when considering the actual examples of these questions, reveals, at the same time, a fundamental dilemma. That is to say that these questions comprise contrasting categories in regard of 'beneficiaries' and 'victims' of autonomy as well as of its goals and objectives, including the strategies and procedures to be applied. In the political and educational practice these contrasting categories are mirrored by conflicts on the various responsibility levels of the school structure which cause the demand for regional and/or national regulations and control mechanisms. This is the conclusion to be drawn from the present considerations and to be resumed at the end: in a democratic society, school autonomy can be only conceived and exercised as a relative force within an education system which has to secure an optimum balance between the needs of the local communities and the larger (regional and/or national) societies.

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School autonomy in the light of the development of pedagogic and curricular concerns When looking for literature dealing with the pedagogic and curricular components of school autonomy and their realization in autonomous schools, we have to content ourselves with a yield which is rather poor, as long as we confine our explorative efforts to these two notions. The explanation of this deficiency is rather simple, leading to the observation that the available literature, though abundant as such, is focused on philosophical reflections and juridical comments as well as on studies about organizational and budgetary issues written by economists and experts at management and administration. There is no doubt about the relevance of these areas to school autonomy, for one cannot discuss this issue without making reference to both normative statements and analyses of juridical, managerial and economic questions determining the framework. However, with regard to the aforementioned components, our inquiries aimed at other key notions will result in rich output. On the one hand, the door is opened by a retrospect of the historic epoch of the cross-national 'reform movement' (Education nouvelle, Reformpddagogik)k) wvith its strongholds in Western and Eastern Europe (as well as in the philosophy of progressive education in North America). 'Autonomy', in particular 'school autonomy', was one of the fundamental concepts discussed by the pioneers of that movement. There is a direct path from their thoughts and actions to free schools or, as they are nowadays mostly described, of alternative schools. These latter notions, again, are closely connected with the prevalent position of private schools within the traditional state-controlled education systems. On the other hand, we can get great benefit from investigating the notions of good schools or quality of schooling, because this topic has been intensely discussed during the past 20 years. In this context it seems advisable to quote Michael Rutter's general definition of what he considers 'good schools' found in his study 'Fifteen thousand hours: secondary schools and their effects on

children': 'Schools which set good standards, where the teachers provide good models of behaviour, where [the pupils] are praised and given responsibility, where the general conditions are good, and where the lessons are well conducted' (Rutter et al., 1979). Regardless of the methodic pluralism applied by Rutter and his team, the study has set fundamental standards which have exercised significant influence on the cross-national debate. Since then Rutter's definition has been extended and refined, but it has hardly changed its substance. Looking for a representative example of recent time, we are provided with stimulating evidence by the OECD report Schools and Quality (1989), offering the following list of ten characteristics of effective schools: (1) commitment to clearly and commonly identified norms and goals; (2) collaborative planning, shared decisionmaking, and collegial work in a frame of experimentation and evaluation; (3) positive leadership in initiating and maintaining improvement; (4) staff stability; (5) a strategy for continuing staff development related to each school's pedagogical and organisational needs; (6) working to a carefully planned and co-ordinated curriculum that ensures sufficient place for each student to acquire essential knowledge and skills; (7) a higher level of parental involvement and support; (8) the pursuit and recognition of school-wide values rather than individual ones; (9) maximum use of learning time; (10) the active and substantial support of the responsible education authority. (OECD, 1989, pp. 126-8; cf. Ministry of Flemish Community, 1994)

It should not be contested that Rutter's study and the characteristics included in the aforementioned OECD report immediately affect the list of desiderata to be devised for autonomous schools. Special attention should be paid to the section dealing with 'the school as the heart of the matter' in the singular, thus implicitly allocating the principle of autonomy to the individual school (OECD, 1989,

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p. 125). In the following sections pedagogy and the curriculum will be discussed in detail.

Pedagogy and socialization In the relevant literature there is wide agreement on the argument that autonomous schools can be more easily run than schools exposed to centralized administration and control. This advantage is given by their legal status and framework as such. First of all, autonomous schools can avail themselves of pupils' and teachers' time budgets within the norms set by the superordinate state authorities; thus they are able to dispose of free time for school-bound arrangements. In an autonomous school it is not necessary to allocate all teachers an equal number of weekly lessons in every school year; in one year the teaching workload may be above the average, while in the following year it may be below it. Similar arrangements can be made in regard to the length of teaching units. In general, autonomous schools are supplied with greater flexibility, as regards the length of temporal and instructional dispositions. Such flexibility is closely connected with curriculum development, but it goes far beyond it, for availability of time must be recognized as an overall pedagogic factor related to the whole life span of human beings. Since our world is becoming more and more mobile and flexible, personal and professional choices to be made by individuals and groups in certain challenging situations gain greater and greater importance, and the ability to dispose of one's time, which plays a considerable role in this context, can be acquired only in a continuous learning process. It is unnecessary to discuss the fact that schools must extend their self-regulating and, therefore, autonomous competencies beyond curricular and instructional sectors. They are increasingly loaded with pedagogical responsibilities which the family is not able to perform any longer, or at least not to the extent which was expected in the past. This is why school life as a whole comes into the picture, and also that time which the pupil spends

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outside, as far as it is at the indirect disposal of the school. This task affects the performance of homework supervision of which should not be delegated to the parents. Neither they, nor the modern media, should be seen as replacing the role of the school. Concerning the arrangement of school time itself, school celebrations, sports and drama activities as well as daily and longer excursions are responsibilities to be taken as seriously as teaching functions in the classroom. Such extracurricular activities are promoters of'social learning', and they make a remarkable contribution to the pupils' health care, all the more so, as health is a value per se to be identified as a challenge to the school's internal and external tasks (Hurrelmann, 1991); it concerns preventive measures and early recognition of symptoms with the help of a school doctor. Finally, the purposeful care for drug addicts is becoming more and more the responsibility to be taken by schools and teachers before it is handed over to medical, psychological and other experts. One can argue, of course, that all these 'new' responsibilities can just as well be taken over by schools directly controlled by superior administrative authorities. This is the answer: Yes, this is conceivable, but it is manageable only within an extended and time-consuming framework and a greater amount of bureaucratic and financial expenditure. There is much evidence of how such bureaucratic networks result in delays and other troubles whenever quick solutions are needed. Finally schools are challenged to co-operate with parents, neighbourhoods and local communities. In particular, parents should be invited to take over certain responsibilities, for instance auxiliary and, expertise given, responsible educational functions, to be handled much more easily in autonomous schools. As regards co-operation with neighbourhoods and communities, projects of social work with children, elderly people and foreigners come into our minds spontaneously. All this can be subsumed to the 'school ethos' (or 'chemistry') Michael Rutter and his successors have dealt with in their studies. In this context we should not overlook that on the European continent, centralization of supervision and control is closely connected with the

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fact that most schools are half-day or 'morning' schools which, according to long traditions, strictly confine their responsibilities to instructional tasks, while extracurricular activities within the school are given, if at all, as little attention as the inclusion of out-of-school activities in the school's catalogue of tasks and duties. Finally, autonomous schools, as a rule, find easier ways to open their doors to non-formal pedagogic agencies, such as youth centres, sports clubs, etc. Such openness should be aimed at the development of 'joint' education philosophies which could contribute to solving pedagogic conflicts which often emerge between the school-based and outside competitive ideas and practices, in many cases to the detriment of the children and adolescents concerned.

tonomous schools to such reforms may be recognized in the development of interdisciplinary curricular conceptions merging general (liberal) and vocational components which have been strictly separated in the majority of European schools up to the present, whereby their quality greatly depends on how such merger can be achieved without blurring the logical structures of the subjects included. The debate on school autonomy has been remarkably enriched by considerations of how key qualifications can be continuously developed during the learning process. Many of them have their origin in the area of vocational education, but they have also entered the area of general (liberal) education, in particular stimulated by efforts to harmonize both curricular components. Without claiming completeness, key qualifications comprise: -

Curriculum As regards the curricular aspect of school autonomy, we can directly refer to many studies (cf. Ministry of Flemish Community, 1994), among which the previously mentioned OECD report can be considered as a representative example. First of all autonomous schools and teachers enjoying pedagogic freedom have optimum chances to develop curricular profiles for their own schools. In this context distinct attention should be given to innovatory achievements which have been reached by private and (non-state) public schools. In this view one is reminded again of the big educational 'reform movement' whose schools conceived and implemented many creative innovations in the first decades of the twentieth century. Outstanding examples are represented by the Landerziehungsheime (rural boarding schools) as well as by the work and production schools which focused on the inclusion of theory and practice of technical and pre-vocational education in the overall curricula. Beside those 'historic' examples, the recent revival of the reform movement has also promoted the establishment of schools with an extended tuition of foreign languages and bilingual schools. Yet the greatest contribution of au-

-

cognitive abilities, focused on the concept of 'thinking'; independence and initiative; awareness of responsibility; ability to transfer acquired information and skills to reasonable action; social competencies: ability for team work, cooperation and compromise at various levels.

This list, though tentative in its details, is comprehensive and needs differentiating with regard to individual school profiles and school subjects. At this point the curricular aspect of school autonomy enters a closer alliance with the pedagogic, especially as the range of key qualifications widely transcends schooling. They are valid for family life as well as for thinking and acting in social and political processes. At all these places and levels adolescents are increasingly challenged to acquire cognitive abilities, independence, awareness of responsibility and social competencies, in particular in making choices. In this context special attention should be devoted to the concept of 'thinking'. Traditionally, this concept comprises the abilities of analysing, problem-solving and creativity, all of them being fundamental cognitive capacities. Thanks to the essential initiatives taken by the Club of Rome during the past decades, increasing stress has been

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laid on creative thinking, whereby the debate has brought about the following associative categories (cf. Botkinef aL, 1979): -

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Innovative thinking is explicitly oriented to new cognitive structures, immediately linked with people's intentions to implement them in action. Anticipatory thinking is focused on forward planning, and on actions and developments which are not exposed to implementation in the present period or, at least, only under greatest difficulties; yet they are structured in a way that includes possibilities of implementation in the foreseeable future. Anticipatory thinking, therefore, must gain significant importance in all learning and curricular processes, because it paves the way to people's coping with the challenges to mobility and flexibility. Finally, children and adolescents must learn to build up networks in their cognitive structures which means that they must acquire the ability to link information and problems related to various areas. This is a task which seems to be self-evident, although it has not been developed in many people's education or, if so, only to a rudimentary degree. Cognitive networks are likely to be most essential to the survival of humankind.

Let us give the following examples: At first we become aware of the linkage of knowledge acquired in learning processes related to individual school subjects and learning areas. Here schools have to cope with the fundamental task which has usually been neglected in the centralized syllabuses as well as in the conventional instruction methods. For example, pupils should be provided with the ability as early as possible to transfer mathematical knowledge to that to be acquired in the sciences. Since, however, today social sciences and also arts have become more and more associated with mathematical components, the 'mathematical network' is increasingly seizing the totality of the learning process. Frequently, teachers neglect the task of leading their pupils to the development of cognitive net-

works even in subjects which are closely related, although this issue has been long discussed in the curricular literature. This state of the art can be exemplified by the following case: linguists tell us that pupils can learn each new foreign language easier and faster when knowledge of another foreign language is available in their minds - provided that its teaching has been linked with the conveyance of fundamental linguistic structures from the beginning. The ability of transfer, which is being discussed here, must be acquired by children and adolescents as early as possible. Therefore, it hardly makes sense when the tuition of the second or third foreign language, with regard to vocabulary and syntax, is practised in the same methodical way as that of the first language; the result is boredom and inefficiency. Leaving the general aspects of the curriculum, we want to pay some attention to specific issues. Firstly, we are reminded of the time factor, with special regard to timetables and the length of instruction units. Autonomous schools are more likely to open wider doors to the choice of subject matter within the curriculum in total and within the framework of individual subjects. In several European countries we can observe an increasing trend towards flexible implementation of the obligatory syllabuses, related both to subjects and instruction units (within individual subjects) which appear under the labels of 'compulsory options' or just 'options', in the form of 'guidelines' and other written 'recommendations'. 'Compulsory options' consist of curricular alternatives from which the teacher and/or the pupil must make a choice, as a rule for one school year or a longer time, e.g. between a third foreign language or an extended course in sciences and technologies. As regards 'compulsory options' within certain school subjects one may think, for instance, of the choice of literature studies among several authors which are offered by the curriculum. On the other hand the genuine 'optional area' is not included at all in the curriculum or, if it is, only in the form of proposals. In this area, school autonomy can advance in the proper sense of this term, in so far as it results in encouraging teachers and teaching teams to develop their own conceptions

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and in including their pupils in the decisionmaking, especially in the upper grades. As regards recent approaches to the curricular component of autonomy, special attention should be paid to guidelines which have been published by ministries and other educational agencies in several European countries. They are specified by the allocation of part of instruction time, namely up to 40 per cent, to the sectors of 'compulsory option' and genuine 'option'. It is hardly conceivable that such intentions of educational authorities could be realized without being linked with the provision of'free spaces', i.e. 'autonomy' to the grass roots of individual schools. Summing up, the examples given in this chapter indicate the interdependence between pedagogical and curricular components of 'school autonomy'. It is true that both components must be considered as categories to be studied in detail, while on the other hand their interdependence must be always taken into consideration, as soon as the development of curricular structures and, in particular, learning units are put on the agenda.

Concluding remarks The preceding considerations should have convinced the readers of the ameliorative quality of school autonomy concerning pedagogic and curricular innovation. However, some water must poured into the wine. School autonomy per se does not mean either quality or innovation. Warnings against 'school autonomy' must be added to the arguments in favour of its advantages. The first warning is based upon the fear that teachers might misuse their pedagogic freedom under the protective roof of school autonomy by establishing cells for the purpose of educating pupils against the norm of law and constitution. This point was raised in the (old) Federal Republic of Germany as a reaction to the students' revolt in 1968. It was the Bavarian Minister of Education, Hans Maier, who engaged himself in those debates in a passionate way; he suspected that leftist radical opponents of the constitution might infiltrate

schools by using 'school autonomy' as a slogan and pretext. Even when one does not want to go so far, the suspicion remains. Second, opponents of 'school autonomy' argue that adherents of this principle come forth with their demands without being able to clarify the demarcation of competencies. These critics have identified a problem which indeed needs to be clarified. There are many concepts of autonomy which give no clear information on whether it is the individual school or the local community which is to be the addressee of the demand. Inside the individual school one can observe a competition between headteacher autonomy and teacher (pedagogic) autonomy, as English and German history distinctly demonstrates. In large school units the headteacher's personality has given way to various forms of team management, consisting of headteacher, deputy headteachers, heads of departments with regard to organizational sections of subjects, etc. As far as pedagogic autonomy is concerned, the trend in Germany draws attention to the increasing power to be allocated to the teachers' conference which collectivizes the individual teacher's responsibilities to a greater or lesser extent. Compared to the roles of headteacher, team management, teachers' conference and teacher, the role of the pupil has in general been largely neglected. Considering the inclusion of the local environment one has to ask the further question of whether autonomy should be primarily granted to parents or to the citizens of the local community. International comparison gives evidence of both trends: Parents' Boards on the one hand, and Governing Bodies or School Boards on the other. In any case either side may feel discriminated against and try to block each other to a degree which may turn out to be detrimental to both of them and, consequently, to standard and 'ethos' of the school concerned. Third, the most serious objection is related to pedagogy and curriculum. In this area, overestimating the advantages of delegating autonomy to the 'grass roots' could lead, in the last resort, to underestimating regional, national and supranational needs. Such a neglect, in its turn, could become dangerous in a world which is getting

School Autonomy in the European Context

'smaller' and, in the present context, could cause disaster to education in Europe. In this respect the US model cannot be called encouraging, in so far as the authoritarian attitudes exercised by certain 'School boards', e.g. against undesired curricula! courses or units such as foreign languages and fine arts which are essential for pupils' education and upbringing, are viewed. Therefore warnings that 'autonomy' may result in anarchism should be listened to, even when their radical consequences might be questioned. Fourth, autonomy must be considered against the interdependence between school curriculum and examination system. It is true that on the one hand traditional schools suffer from rigid examination systems issued and controlled by central state authorities and restricting the freedom of choice to a greater or lesser extent. School autonomy can also be severely limited by external examination (testing) agencies. In such models the school is only left either to submit to the external requirements or to run the risk of preparing their pupils insufficiently and thus exercising detrimental effects on their future career. In this context one is reminded, for instance, of the 'compromises' the Free Waldorf Schools in Germany have indulged in, in so far as they have added an 'examination year' (grade 13) to their regular school years which have been shaped according to their own philosophy (Leber, 1991). This model, however, is not uncontested, because its opponents argue that the pupils get confronted with a suddenn change in their learning process and, moreover, in their personal development. The last objection is based on the assumption that autonomous schools must be run by exceptionally committed and competent teachers, while reality has to take account of the 'average' teacher. It seems that this argument must be taken seriously. Moreover, the fact that teachers lack commitment and, above all, are incompetent, must be traced back to deficiencies in teacher training. The European map consists of wide areas where the training programmes are only focused on subject matter and formal methodology, while the functions the teacher has to fulfil in school life as a whole and in tutoring extra school activities are

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neglected, if not disregarded entirely. In our time teachers must be trained for fulfilling their duties at three working places, namely in the classroom, in the school and in the local community. Teachers who have not been provided with an 'autonomy-oriented' training could turn the autonomy aim to its opposite, namely for lowering the quality of education and schooling instead of improving it. What are the final conclusions we have to draw from considering the issue of'school autonomy' in the mirror of controversial experiences and arguments? Let us start with the argument that the objections, which have been outlined above, point to some relevant obstacles. However, at the same time, they open the door to the identification of ways and means to overcome them. What is needed is the acknowledgement of the interdependence between school autonomy and regional (national, supranational) responsibility which makes us refer to our previous discussion on the relativity of the autonomy concept. Such recognition leads to conceiving an optimum of reasonable autonomy and to putting this concept into practice. This postulate includes innovations in teacher training to be connected with the development of an efficient in-service training for teachers, headteachers and also officials or experts in school administration and management. They must all be provided with the abilities which they need to fulfil the functions which are given by the position of today's school at the macro- and micro-levels of a democratic society. Without committed and qualified teachers, headteachers and also school inspectors, all approaches to devising and implementing school autonomy must lead to failure from the beginning. In this respect there is recent evidence from the experiences which have been had in particular in the states of Central and Eastern Europe, where school autonomy had often been misinterpreted as an panacea. The experience that ideologists from Western countries have done their 'best' to encourage such errors, reinforces the topicality of this empiric evidence. In such cases one should speak of 'decreed autonomy' which can be classed as the perverted opposite of what the initiators may have

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aimed at. Such decreed autonomy, however, may be encountered in many current concepts and practices in West European countries, too. Their counter-productive effects will be reinforced in situations where the 'recipients' suspect that the state authorities (mis)use deregulation and selfgovernment as a means to delegate troublesome responsibilities (such as the handling of curtailed budgets including the extension of classes and the non-appointment or dismissal of teachers) to the grass roots. Is it possible, finally, to draw cross-national conclusions from this chapter? Our answer can, of course, be given only in a tentative way. On the one hand continental European tradition shows that the initiatives taken by the absolute princes and continued by their liberal and democratic successors in power have lead to the establishment of education systems, supported by the legal medium of compulsory education for all children and adolescents. A great achievement of centralized state (or public) education systems consists in the central authorities providing for, at the least, tendential equity of educational opportunity, including school types and school levels. The sociopolitical function of central authorities should not only be regarded in view of their supervising responsibilities, but one has also to acknowledge their relevance as instruments of people's protection against the local arbitrariness which is often overlooked by critics of central school bureaucracies. Under this aspect the well-adjusted balance between individual school, local control and state guidance in the Danish education system indicates, in the European context, the farthestreaching deviation from the 'continental European role'. Apart from its historical roots, its solidity is certainly caused by the comparatively marked homogeneity of the national society which makes us hesitate to recommend its transferability to systems whose economic, political and socio-cultural coherence, based upon recent experiences or long traditions, is more dependent on the efficient operation of central agencies. On the other hand, the present period is generally characterized by increasing planning and bureaucratization of the social systems within

their national ranges. Moreover, the march of the European Union into socio-economic 'harmonization' signals the expansion of this process to at least the boundaries of this supranational association. There are good reasons for the desirability of this expansion, as long as it does not proceed at the cost of the freedom citizens in democratic countries are legitimated to claim and to enjoy, not only as voters of national (and supranational) parliaments, but also as agents of the local scene. In this context 'school autonomy' returns into our minds as an instrument of people's protection against arbitrariness at a7/the superordinate levels of supervision and control. It is true that the structural complexities of this instrument in general and its - manifest and latent - potentialities for conflict in particular complicate the task of making 'school autonomy' materialize in the decisionmaking at the macro-level of educational politics and, especially, at the micro-level of the everyday grass-roots practice. While paying full attention to these obstacles in their capacity as disturbing factors, we hold that it is worth making an effort to overcome them, as long as we are ready to recognize the following essentials which legitimate not only the survival of schools, but also their development and amelioration: 1

2

3

SSchools are needed as places where the necessary expertise is provided to give children and adolescents optimum opportunities to acquire knowledge, cognitive abilities and skills. Schools are challenged to reconsider the tasks of education and upbringing, the more so as the family has lost its previous position as the centre of pedagogy and socialization. Schools embody elements of continuity which need to be maintained against the short-term and hectic assaults of modernization and also against exaggerated concepts of post-modernity. This statement does not contradict their function as active contributors to introducing the young generation into the 'world of tomorrow'. This essential includes the postulate that schools must be aware (again) of being centres for the conveyance of values, restricted though its contribution may

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be in a world of growing complexity and uncertainty.

Referencess Botkin, J. W., Elmandjra, M. and Malitza, M. (1979) New Limits to Learning. Bridging the Human Gap. A report to the Club of Rome. Oxford: Pergamon. Breinholdt, O. (1994) The Danish hope. Paper presented to the Convegno Nazionale 'Autonomia delle scuole in Europa'. Vicenza: 15 December (unpublished). Deutscher Bildungsrat, Empfehlungen der Bildungskommission (1973) Zur Reform von Organisation und Verwaltungim Bildungswesen, Teil I: Verstdrkte Selbstdndigkeit der Schule und Partizipation der Lehrer, Schiller und Eltern. Stuttgart: Klett. Halasz, G. and Lukacs, P. (1990) Educational Policy for the Nineties. Theses for a New Concept of State Educational Policy. Budapest: Hungarian Institute for Educational Research. Homer, W. (1991) Von der Autonomie derPadagogik zur Autonomie des Schulsystems. Bildung und Erziehung, 44(4), 373-90. Hurrelmann, K. (1991) Autonome Schulen - 'gute' und 'gesunde' Schulen? Bildung und Erziehung, 44(4), 437-51. Kriiger-Potratz, M. and Kuebart, F. (1979) Schulreformen 'von unten' in der Sowjetunion. Das 'Manifest der padagogischen Erneuerer'. Pad extra, 12, 4-14. Leber, S. (1991) Chancen und Grenzen Freier Waldorfschulen. Bildung und Erziehung, 44(4), 409-26. Leclercq, J.-M. (1990) Die jungsten Entwicklungen in der Bildungspolitik Frankreichs in europaischer und in-

ternationaler Sicht. Bildung und Erziehung, 43(3), 267-77. Lumer-Hennebb'le, B. and Nyssen, E. (1988) Basisschulen in den Niederlanden. Kb'ln/Wien: Bb'hlau Verlag. Male, G. A. (1974) The Struggle for Power. Who Controls the Schools in England and the United States? Beverly Hills/London: Sage. Ministry of the Flemish Community (1994) Quality in education and personality development. Brussels: Department of Education. European Presidency Symposium of the Flemish Community, Antwerp, 29 Nov.-l Dec. 1993. Mitter, W. (1987) The teacher and the bureaucracy: Some considerations concluded from a Soviet case. Compare, 17(1), 47-60. Mitter, W. (1988) School autonomy in the European context. Ricerca Educativa, 5(4), 1-24. OECD (1989) Schools and Quality. An International Report. Paris: OECD. Pecherski, M. and Tudrej, J. (eds) (1983) Procesy samoregulacji woSwiacie. Problemy homoeostazy spolecznej. Warsaw/Krakow: Paristwowe Wydawnictwo Nalkowe. Rutter, M., Maughan, B., Mortimore, P. and Oustan, J. (1987) Fifteen Thousand Hours: Secondary Schools and Their Effects on Children. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Tulasiewicz, W. (1987) The development of the education system in England and Wales under the Conservative administration of Mrs. Thatcher. In P. D6brich and B. von Kopp (eds), Vergleichende Bildungsforschung, Festschrift filr Wolfgang Mitter zum 60. Geburtstag. Zeitschrift fur international erziehungs- und sozialwissenschaftliche Forschung, Sonderheft. Koln/Wien: Bohlau Verlag, pp. 189-219.

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The Case for Leaderless Schools

LYNNDAVIES This chapter is about a vision for the management of schools. However, it is not the conventional notion of Vision' in leadership: quite the contrary - it is about a vision of a school without a head at all. This heresy has a long personal history. On the first day of my first teaching job, the head took me into the stock-room. (This is not what you think.) He wanted to give me my allocation of art paper. My eyes gleamed as he took down several large sheets of coloured paper from the topmost shelf. He carefully selected one, and then proceeded to chop it in half on the guillotine. And then half again. And half again. And half again. And half again. Finally he presented me with 32 very small pieces of paper, and ushered me out. 'Main thing is', he said cheerily as he locked the door behind him, 'keep 'em warm.' I never saw him again; he took sick the next day, and did not reappear for the entire year I was there. So with that formative experience of Resource Management and of the Education Mission Statement, my teaching career began. Since then I have spent 27 years in various parts of the world chasing the elusive model of the Good Head. I have come to the conclusion that this search may be a chimera; worse, that the very focus on headship as embodied in one person may be deeply counter-productive for the professional world and work of the school. It is true that all the research on school effectiveness points to the presence of 'strong leadership' as being a central factor in the performance of a school. The personality and style of the head is seen as crucial in determining success. But what the research contrasts is schools with strong heads

and schools with weak heads. It does not contrast with schools which by design do not have a head at all. There is a difference between a school with an absent head and a school designed to operate without a singular leader. Saying schools could do without a head is of course like saying there is no God. Yet other professional organizations operate without pyramidal hierarchies. A GPs' practice, or a firm of lawyers, may have senior partners, but not a single 'head' who does very little actual doctoring or legalizing. The number of patients seen or clients dealt with may be smaller than numbers in a large secondary school, but it is not just a question of size. Other professional organizations pay much more attention to the importance of the actual practice. It is not clear that doctors have dreams of doing less medical work in order to administer other doctors. Yet the very acceptance of a head (or nowadays school manager) who does only tokenistic teaching acts to devalue the central purpose of the school — which is teaching and learning. One reason for the increasing deskilling and proletarianization of the teaching force (Lawn and Ozga, 1988) is the presence of, and unchallenged acceptance of, a superior being whose prime activity is NOT educating, NOT acting as a model for the classroom encounter. This is not the pattern in hospitals, where there may be a large cadre of administrators, but in parallel to, rather than automatically elevated above, the medics. Is there therefore something special about the profession of teaching which requires a different structure?

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The head's day Initially, the research on what a head actually does all day provides very few clues as to any specialness. Hall, Mackay and Morgan's classic study Headteachers at Work (1986) found the work of secondary heads fragmented, varying from 22 to 66 separate 'acts' per day. Teaching was admittedly the longest 'sustained activity', but this was usually one lesson at most; it was just that all the other activities were much shorter. Teaching in fact occupied more time than other 'leading professional' matters of curriculum and other educational policy. Routine administration dominated the time spent within the 'operations management' category. Only one head took a predominantly proactive and strategic stance, and appeared 'less at the mercy of events'. Little had changed since Wolcott's 1973 study, with a tendency of heads to respond to every problem as important, involving them in a multiplicity of 'little decisions'. Hall, Mackay and Morgan comment on the lack of prescription for the job of the head, leaving enormous scope for differing interpretations. Some spent much time in maintenance of buildings; others delegated this almost entirely. They varied considerably in the way they approached external relations, and the amount of time spent on this. Given this scope, and the possibility for divergent constructions of role, it is difficult to identify any one task which could not have been done by someone else. Across the Atlantic, Sealy (1992) found from shadowing primary heads in Barbados a similar pattern of fragmentation and differentiation. Onethird of all activities took less than five minutes. There were few occasions for any concentrated periods of time for development planning, discussion or teacher appraisal. None of the schools had a secretary, and only one a typewriter, so combined paper work and correspondence took up a large proportion of their time: 60 per cent of activities were performed in their offices. Only one out of four engaged in timetabled teaching. One head, on the other hand, spent ten times more than the others in counting money.

Dadey and Harber's (1991) study of the job of headteachers in Africa revealed a multitude of daily activities which would never be found in any manual on The Role Of The Head'. These ranged from unblocking drains to cooking 15 chickens for the prize giving and end of term party, from lending the school's tarpaulin for a wedding to transporting the school chairs for a funeral. One can see the importance of school and community relations, but it is difficult to trace the use of much direct educational expertise in their daily tasks. In case such 'versatility' is seen as of necessity to be linked only with situations of extreme stringency. Similar findings emerged from a study of UK primary heads by Blease and Lever (1992). Heads believed planned teaching to be very important, but managed to spend only 4.24 per cent of their time doing it. Their diaries for a week revealed that 11 of them managed no curriculum development at all. Instead their entries read like 'Watered plants. Sold some tickets for tonight's performance. Made two notices "Ladies" and "Gents". Fitted light over piano.' Haigh (1992), in an amusing commentary on this study, maintained that there was justification for such activity, in that the lack of clerical support, and the fact that the head is often the only person not actually looking after children, can combine to sidetrack him or her into triviality. He also points out nonetheless how smoothly many primary schools run when the head is away, but when the secretary is ill, or the caretaker disappears, then the place collapses. 'Arguably, though, the absence of the head allows everyone to retreat from the ragged edge of irritability and settle down to a sensible andante con moto' (TES, 2 Oct. 1992, p. 13). Not only do heads do all manner of jobs unrelated to their pay and responsibility, but other people appear able to do them equally well — or badly. There are parellels to other taken-for-granted realities. In challenging the idea that there were universally 'natural' roles for women, anthropologists such as Margaret Mead were able to demonstrate that, apart from actual childbirth and breastfeeding, there was not one role considered as 'normal' for women or men in one society that was not to be found performed by the opposite sex in another society. Similarly, in headship, for almost

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every role considered as central by one head, one could find this role delegated or ignored by another. So the question remains, is there a headship equivalent of childbirth?

Current shifts in headteachers' roles Headteachers at Work was published in 1986 (Hall, Mackay and Morgan), and certainly in the UK at least, times have changed. All studies will point to an increasing complexity of the head's role, with delegated budgets, marketing and constant brokering between the latest government 'reforms' and the actual practice of curriculum, teaching and assessment. The argument would be that the importance of the head is becoming stronger rather than weaker. Yet it is possible to turn this claim upside down. If heads are suffering stress, if they are finding difficulties in dealing with increasing demands, this could be an argument for rethinking the notion of a single head. Otherwise it is the principle of 'if the pills don't work, take more pills.' One could alternatively try a different treatment. It could be that in an increasingly specialized age (Information Technology, communications, accounts, auditing, quality control, a range of 'clients'), single headship is an anachronism. It is also out of date in a postmodern world characterized by pluralism, liberal democracy and increasing relativism. We are seeing a growing divide between the head or Senior Management Team (SMT) and the bulk of classroom teachers, a divide between some supposedly expert 'executive' function and a 'practical' implementary one. In Ball's most recent discussion of power relations and teachers' work, (1994) he quotes a deputy head: I'm worried about this gap that is growing between teachers and teacher management. And it is an 'us and them'. And that is growing, and I can understand why it is growing. It is increasing because of things that are being given to schools to do. It is increasingly becoming a situation where a small group of people at the top, if you can use that phrase, are telling or encouraging, by any methods they can employ - and we're not very experienced managers, we're only

people who wanted to become teachers - we're having to use any methods we can to cajole, encourage, other people to actually do things, (p. 57).

Such a divide has enormous dangers and tensions, and it is time to find ways to build bridges again, and reinstate the centrality of teaching. It would be ironic in a post-industrial age if the Marxist problematic of the separation of hand and brain became the reality in educational institutions, not just between 'academic' and 'vocational' streams, but between the SMT and the working classes. Again, the role has shifted from being a headteacher, in the old sense of the word, to being what Ball calls a 'State vavasour', that is, a vassal between a Great Lord and other vassals under him. He quotes one head: I'm not overseeing so much as managing an imposed curriculum. That still requires a tremendous amount of work, but it doesn't require an executive function. It is much more management and clerical. At the end of the day, all I am doing is making sure the requirements are being met. (Ball, 1994, p. 59)

Ownership Ownership and empowerment therefore become key buzzwords in concerns about the micropolitics of schools. Successful innovation always points to a sense of ownership as being crucial to the acceptance of a new idea and its implementation (e.g. Warwick et al., 1992). Yet heads represent a continuous threat to this ownership of the enterprise by the teachers. In our research on heads in developing countries, we have found the stronger and the more influential the head, the less the teachers were inclined to make decisions, to take responsibility for their actions (Davies and Harber, in press). In a classic case in Pakistan, I was interviewing a head with a Pakistan colleague about the recent 'grant of autonomy' to their school (Iqbal and Davies, 1994). The principal said it was going splendidly, and staff were enjoying the freedom it brought. We asked him if we might distribute some questionnaires to staff, and he agreed wholeheartedly. My colleague was dismayed to find when analysing the returns that all

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42 were identical. They were in different handwritings, but said precisely the same thing, all uniformly positive about the school. It was clear that the head had instructed them exactly what they should write, and, moreover, they had obeyed. What price autonomy, we thought? Increasingly we hear about 'vision' and 'mission', and the question therefore arises about where this vision resides. As Fullan pointed out: The high-powered, charismatic head who 'radically transforms' a school in four or five years can also be blinding and misleading as a role model. It is a limited strategy, because such leaders are in very short supply. But, more fundamentally, it is fragile because so much depends on the personal strength and presence of that particular leader ... vision is blinding in cases where ... it is the head's role to manipulate the culture and the teacher's role to conform to the head's vision. (TES, 19 June 1992)

I am similarly unhappy about Grundy's (1993) picture of the 'emancipatory' leader as one who 'will have flexible working arrangements which provide the opportunity and obligation for reading and discussion not available to other members of the educational community' (p. 173). While agreeing with the importance of critical reflection in education, I find the idea that a leader is the one who should somehow be given more space to do this does not appear particularly educative. I also cannot see it appealing to the busy classroom teacher if the head is getting more pay AND slouching around reading. Heads should not have a monopoly on critical thinking time. Angus (1994), in an excellent critique of 'the self-managing school', homes in on the fundamental control ethic in 'vision', as portrayed by such technicist and apolitical management theorists: Shrewd leaders are expected to manipulate people and situations so that the leader's 'vision' is willingly shared by followers. Active leaders incorporate the desires and needs of followers into a corporate agenda. ... It seems that Caldwell and Spinks uncritically endorse current management thinking in which it is believed that leaders of vision are able to bring about a negotiated order which accords with their own definitions and purposes and ensures that any change is directed into reasonable, predicable channels by their own overriding moral force. Other

organisational participants, such as teachers, parents and students, if mentioned at all, are generally viewed as essentially passive recipients of the leader's vision. (1994, p. 85)

This version of the 'self-managing school' is therefore curiously innocent of the micro-politics and the essentially contested nature of school culture. The leader 'implants the vision in the structures and processes of the organisation' (Caldwell and Spinks, 1988, p. 174), and the only skill required by others is to slot into it. As Angus comments, The elitist implication of this view is that leaders are more visionary and trustworthy than anyone else. The general approach seems totally consistent with a long tradition of managerial reforms which have attempted to secure the consent of subordinates and build it into otherwise unchanged forms of management control. (1994, p. 86)

It is this aspect of control which is the most disturbing about contemporary versions of leadership, for it has become even more hidden behind the rhetorics of self-governance and autonomy. Hatcher, in a recent critique of 'market relationships and the management of teachers' (1994) questioned whether there had been a real transformation from 'fordist' to 'post-fordist' production methods and relationships which was to have then transferred itself to education. 'Post-fordism' was supposed to be characterized by a system of adaptable machinery, adaptable workers, flatter hierarchies and the breakdown of the division between mental and manual labour (Brown and Lauder, 1992). Hatcher found in contrast indeed a new managerial professionalism emerging in school management, particularly through devolved budgets and centralized curricula, but that this professionalism was distinct from that of classroom teachers and also sought to express an independence from the Conservative agenda. The coercive power of the market was limited in education, and government policy had been increasingly discredited. Heads' 'growing assertiveness' led to campaigns against the publication of test scores. But the overall thrust of the new managerial professionalism is to strengthen the position of head-

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teachers against school governors and over classroom teachers, as is demonstrated by the NAHT's lobbying of government for the power to appoint classroom teachers to be taken away from governors and given exclusively to heads. (Hatcher, 1994, p. 59)

Heads have been responsible for mediating and managing the intensification of teachers' work. There is also increased regulation, in the name of accountability and 'total quality control'. Hatcher points out how even policy sociology focuses increasingly on senior management rather than teachers: Bowe et al.'s book Reforming Education and Changing Schools (1992) had a critical but top-down view. 'Of the numerous extracts from interviews with secondary school staff, 164 are from management, from heads to heads of departments, and only 14 are from ordinary classroom teachers' (p. 44). Hatcher's is therefore a disturbing account of how government policy, increased assertiveness of heads and policy research all conspire to promote a new managerial focus in schools; teachers are fighting a rearguard action to prevent being co-opted into 'human resource management' techniques thinly disguised by the rhetoric of 'teamwork'.

Critiques of 'leadership' Contemporary critiques of the whole notion of 'leadership' are particularly salient here. Many stem from a feminist viewpoint which challenges masculinist notions of hegemonic leadership (Blackmore and Kenway, 1993). Patriarchal leadership reveals itself especially in militaristic and sporting models. As I have argued elsewhere (Davies, 1994), the languages and metaphors of management are clues to the ethos of the school and the style base to its head. The history of much educational leadership derives from the boys' public school, in turn derived from military establishments. Heads will talk of 'marshalling the troops' or 'patrolling the corridors'. Assemblies resemble parade grounds, with uniform inspection and neat ranks of conscripts. Girls' schools are not exempt from this pattern, modelled as many are on similar

independent school lines; feminist analyses of educational leadership do not necessarily claim that female heads have been indisputably more collegial or less hierarchical, rather that the available models of 'the good leader' to be found in management textbooks are predicated on the traits displayed by previous male commander figures, or business tycoons. Only recently has there come the realization that more 'feminine' or familial styles of management are in fact more suitable for educational institutions, with this realization being reflected in management training (Gray, 1987). However, while line management may have been replaced by a metaphor of 'the team', the sporting connotations can still engender a competitive ethos, particularly in times when schools are pitted against other schools in the league tables, and market share is an overriding consideration. The closeness between military and sporting images for schools is revealed in the designation of 'captain': armies and sports teams have in common the need to defeat an enemy. When schools are conceived as having the same fundamental rationale of being ready for battle, it is of course understandable why no one can conceive of their having no captain. 'Naturally', there must be basic obedience and there must be a general to make the ultimate swift and tactical decision. What is curious is that there has been so little questioning of the relevance of combative models for schools, when education should have so little to do with fighting an enemy and more parallels with medicine or social work organization. The need to discipline large and often unwilling 'cohorts' is of course a key to the persistence of military regimes; when schools are internally viewed as battlegrounds, then co-operation with other units of the armed forces is not high on the agenda, and even firmer images of leadership are called for. This is why women were for so long seen as 'unsuitable' for heading mixed or boys' schools, a situation still persisting in many parts of the world, officially and unofficially (Davies and Gunawardena, 1992). It is indicative that the present UK government is putting so much interest into the return of competitive sport in schools, bemoaning the recent softer emphasis on basic physical fitness and wanting 'Britain to be Great'

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again in the world sporting stakes. It will also of course make a man of the pupil once more: the interest is not really in women's netball or table tennis, but in the combination of world-class cricket/rugby and macho discipline which did us so proud in our nineteenth-century colonization of the world. It is not therefore until we can lose our image of schools having to be run by a team captain that we could ever conceive of alternatives to single headship. Governments of course find headship very useful, for it is much easier to incorporate heads into ruling-class ideologies than it is the mass of teachers. One has only to make schools compete against each other for prestige and funds, and their leaders will close ranks. This is not to say that associations such as the National Association of Headteachers in the UK have not fought rearguard actions against government policy at key times; but I would argue that this has been when individual school autonomy and status has been threatened, for example with regard to testing and assessment. There was less resistance to the disenfranchising of pupils with the demise of political education and other potential sites for empowerment. But we will return to the uneasy position of accountability, and to whom, later on.

Alternatives to headship Feminist critiques of 'leadership' are mostly aimed at providing alternative, more androgynous or feminized versions, in order to move towards greater emancipatory praxis and less bureaucratized or brutalized school administration. However, there is little in their analyses to suggest doing away with someone in charge altogether, more that 'leadership' is an inappropriate term for the empowering person who would genuinely facilitate an equitable institution. It is instructive therefore to spend time imagining what a completely leaderless school would look like, if only to attempt to establish the absolute bare essentials of what a head is for.

The obvious model would be some sort of cooperative, on the lines of worker co-operatives in industry and publishing (or as mentioned earlier, for medical or legal practices). In Switzerland, some small primary schools located in German cantons do not have a principal (Ribbins, 1995). I was intrigued, too, by the description by one of my students of a school in Hong Kong where the teachers employed a manager rather than the other way round. The model was that the teachers collectively decided on educational and curriculum matters, and used the fee budget to buy in someone to do routine administration plus a bursar to deal with finance. The key difference from conventional organizations was that management was a tool for the teachers, not a controller in its own right. The size and financial base to the school would clearly influence the degree to which the decisionmaking structure could be entirely flat, but it is possible to conceive of various representational models which would genuinely share power without a single figurehead. There are hints in split primary schools which have an infant and junior head in the same building; heads of department or 'house' could therefore be the ultimate group which bore responsibility collectively for policy. A federal system might on the other hand evolve a range of different positions of responsibility - pastoral care, external relations, staff development, School Council - and these would act to bring together the concerns of various groupings within the school. Toogood (1992) described the 'minischool' system at Madeley Court School, where line management was replaced by a 'clusternetwork' model. Children in the first three years of this large comprehensive school learned in one of six mini-schools, each with its own head. All matters, from appointment, team selection, in-service training, promotion and personal/professional development were a collective responsibility through an elected Staff Development Board. The small school, the 'base', gave a child a sense of belonging and ownership, but the federal form of management also meant that the teachers grew in professionalism and solidarity. The leaderless school would then not be the totally anarchic one, and would require normal

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divisions of labour and complementary forms of expertise; it is just that they are not seen as being mediated through one overarching line manager. Research on what teachers expect from a head (e.g. Nias, 1980) show teachers not wanting to be involved in every daily decision that is made, and respecting the head who is able to take the decisions but using truly consultative procedures. Thus a federal system requires some form of representative democracy, with some people franchised to take decisions and take responsibility. This entails some experimentation for the democracy not to be all-consuming in terms of time. A frank account by Andrews (1989) revealed the mistakes one school made in establishing a democratic structure with 'constituencies' and with all staff voting on decisions at a staff meeting. The 'counting of raised hands' did not necessarily represent a consensus, and cultures of opposition sprang up, to try to get votes and influence results. The school found that for good decisions to be made, the processes had to be kept small scale, and directly relevant to those discussing them; and those persons had to accept direct responsibility for the decision that was made. For groups to be able to take their own decisions, there must nonetheless be some common set of principles and values which governs change across the institution and across these groups; Quinton Kynaston School recognized the need for consultative team structures in order to arrive again at some form of social solidarity. Andrews mentions his initial pleasure at a new timetable policy going to a vote and being passed by a 60:40 majority, but then feeling he should be disappointed: This disappointment comes from an acceptance that a 60:40 split in staff opinion did not necessarily represent a 'Shared Ownership' of the decisionmaking process, neither did it suggest an acceptance of the ideas and proposals which called for a decision to be made. Nor, arguably, did it represent the involvement of all staff in the embracing of that change. What that particular vote did represent in my opinion was the division of the staff into winners and losers. (Andrews, 1989, p. 151)

Andrews saw a key role for the head in arriving at a consensus on principles, but that still begs the question of ownership of those principles. If the

staff do not agree on them, then the role of the head remains to impose them on the minority; if they do agree, then that role of co-ordinator becomes redundant. Much work around equity policy in institutions has had to tackle the balance between imposed and negotiated equality. There appears a time when contract compliance, when conditionality seems the only way to make people behave equitably, for no amount of negotiation or consultation will prevent people taking more than their fair share of resources or playing the game by different rules. Yet the work of the Equal Opportunities Committee in my own institution gives some hope that this compliance does not have to be imposed through the power of a head of school. For example, the committee (with a convenor who was a relatively new and relatively young member of staff) drew up a set of principles on which new appointments of temporary staff should be made (after some instances of old-boy/girl networking and 'Jobs For The Lads'). This was passed by the full School Committee, and since then procedures for full job descriptions, advertising and interviewing have been more or less kept to, often in the face of attempted short cuts by more powerful people who worked on what they saw as deeper principles of opportunism and profit for the organization. The point is that the role of this committee is often to keep the more powerful - even the head - on track, not the other way round. Principles there must be, to guide federal decision-making; but heads do not have to be the keepers nor the originators of these principles. It is in fact dangerous if they are. The other tension is between permanence or stability and ongoing accountability to an electorate with the possibility of change. If the head were simply replaced by an appointed Senior Management Team, then little would alter in terms of divides between executive and workers. In commenting on the Audit Commission's version of 'collaborative management' as typified by the head's control of the School Development Plan, Ball states: 'The SDP signifies and celebrates the exclusion and subjection of the teacher' (1994, p. 61). The same might be said for a highly bounded Senior Management Team. A nice case-study was

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reported of South Manchester High School (Fletcher, 1992) where the Senior Management Team was replaced by the School Management Team, and where membership was widened to include other teachers 'respected by staff. All nine members took turns to clerk and chair meetings; anyone could put items on the agenda; the head did not veto the minutes. There was certainly a redistribution of power, with more women on the team, and space for anyone who wanted to take part for a term. The head and his two deputies did meet outside the management team, but were to make decisions only on personnel matters, and had to report these decisions to the team. However, there was still some cynicism both within the team and from those outside it. One team member thought the definition of 'personnel' had broadened, and there were areas where curriculum and personnel mixed, implying the head and deputies were still taking a large share of control. One teacher saw the management team as a device for preventing action. 'If you go into the head and say something and he doesn't like it, he says, "I'll have to consult the senior management team ... " If he likes it, he says "Yes".' There was certainly a feeling among some teachers that the school management team was about managing consensus in the school as anything else. One teacher was uneasy with the apparent ambiguity of [the head's] approach. 'At least if you've got autocracy everybody knows where they stand.' (Fletcher, 1992, p. 15)

A senior management team which appears to be ventriloquized by the head is no open democracy; but nor is a group which is appointed or selfappointed. For real ownership, there is no substitute for the election of members for set periods who are then accountable to their electorate. This has the disadvantage of the possibility of change if people feel inadequately represented or consulted; but there are also advantages of rotation of duty and cycles of responsibility. My model therefore for the leaderless school would have the conventional matrix of a number of interwoven groupings of teachers and pupils, and multiple memberships of those groupings (for formal curriculum, for pastoral/leamng bases, for physical maintenance of the school); and it would have some system of elected posts for students and

staff to represent the interests of those groupings. Differences in pay would have to be there, for my view is that people need rewarding for particular jobs or for long service; but apart from the normal incremental points, these differentials would be linked to the precise job undertaken, and confined to that period of office. In practice in many electoral work systems, the same people get re-elected on a continuous basis if they are seen to be doing a good job and are happy; but the possibility for new blood must always be there. The federal school might of course decide to create a number of more permanent posts (such as bursar or marketing manager); but these should never be seen as superordinate to the teaching panel who co-ordinate policy and principle.

Issues in good governance Let us now examine the obvious arguments for and against such a collective. We could take as a framework the four principles of good government identified by the Overseas Development Administration for their aid programmes to developing countries: legitimacy, accountability, human rights and administrative competence (British Council, 1993). In terms of legitimacy, the internal legitimacy would be met by having elected positions of any 'power', but there may be problems of external legitimacy as the public would not know whom to recognize as spokesperson and 'authority'. One could conceive of an 'external affairs' post on a rotational basis, whereby one teacher was overall responsible for dealing with parents and governors and representing the school to the local authority or national government; but if this starts to take over the teaching role, and involves instant decision-making away from the scrutiny of the panel, it starts to become indistinguishable from the previous role of the head, and requires shifts in internal legitimacy. Having a 'PR person' who is employed simply to articulate policy, not make it - as is the pattern in much business - is also possible; that would work if the representatives from other schools were of a similar status,

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but might be difficult if the PR person were dealing with other traditional, more powerful, heads. External legitimacy may therefore, if only temporarily, be a problem for the leaderless school. Accountability has already been alluded to. The benefits of corporate ownership are that everyone is accountable for his or her own actions, and does not pass the buck 'up the line'; the disadvantages are of identifying who is ultimately responsible if things go wrong. At present this accountability is carried by the head and, in the UK, the governing body; even if responsibility is delegated, these bodies are eventually answerable to the 'clients' of the school. It is much more difficult to make an entire panel accountable or answerable, and it requires much trust and faith to do this on a rotational basis. It is not impossible, however, and in spite of the jokes where I work about being 'Queen for a Day' when someone steps in to be acting head in the head's absence, serious amounts of accountability can be transferred. It is a question of whether the enormous gains in personal and group accountability are still outweighed by the apparent need for a final accountability vested in one overarching person. Other areas of accountability such as appraisal and mentoring must also be tackled, but in this instance the successes and techniques of peer appraisal can be brought into play when the 'seniority' runs out - or even if it does not. The idea of performance-related pay does not enter such a scenario, with or without a head. PRP is clearly part of the ideology of control of teachers in market-based times; the increased processes of surveillance, regulation and deskilling has meant the attempted replacement of national collective bargaining by determination of an individual salary at school level through 'appraisal'. Discretionary payments should have no place in a professional organization, still less in one where 'performance' is so notoriously difficult to attribute. While appraisal and review would be central to the eventual consensus on principles in a leaderless institution, PRP is part of divide and rule, the attempt to pit teachers against each other. The human rights question is therefore perhaps easier to identify. All-powerful heads are no guarantee of equal or human rights for all personnel

(staff and pupils) in their school, and can be quite the opposite. And if human rights cannot be guaranteed permanently in an institution except by powerful intervention by the head, then it would go only skin-deep. The time when it appears that an individual head can be important is when initially attempting to rescue a school from authoritarian or reactionary regimes. The former is characterized by Trafford's (1993) account of democratizing Woverhampton Grammar School; the latter by Riseborough's portrayal of Stan Fast humanizing a violent and unjust Inequality Street school (1993). The acid test of both endeavours will be of course the extent to which human rights remain permanently as the bedrock for both schools, were their heads to leave. Competence, finally, gives no clear clues as to whether a head is really necessary. Both individuals and panels can vary along dimensions of competence, and it would be impossible to generalize; but it is difficult to remove an incompetent head, and much easier to reconstitute a panel. I have mentioned the problems of the divide between 'management' and 'teachers', and this is sometimes the result of 'expertise' having been gained through additional training or exposure to other types of organization. But we all know of the 'Peter principle' whereby someone is promoted to the level of his or her incompetence, and there is no reason why different forms of expertise and competence cannot be gained by the classroom teacher as he or she remains primarily teaching. A leaderless school would entail a very close examination of divisions of labour and areas of expertise to ensure that all areas of competence were covered. This is not to be done through manuals and ticklists of 'competencies' for each person, as in the managerial control endeavours such as the Management Charter Initiative; for as Ouston (1993) points out, it is combinations fitted to particular contexts which are important. 'The management team as a whole has to have the required competences ... rather than the individual' (p. 214). Complementary competences are sometimes difficult for authoritarian line managers to comprehend. I recall arguing with a senior that I did not want to take on a second area of work within

Th e Case for Lea derless Sch ools 313

my research role, and that this would be better performed by a second person. His argument was that my existing experience made me ideal for doing both aspects and avoiding tension; my argument was that he got two for the price of one. My assertiveness training won the day, and there are now two of us working happily together on respective angles to that job. I was already working as a pair with another colleague for the international side; it was also instructive that a different senior person tried to persuade me to take on the extended research role on the grounds that I could let this colleague take on a 'leadership' role for the international side instead of me. This became a running joke between us for a while, as we played at leaders; but the whole incident brought home the mind-sets of senior colleagues who cannot conceive of jobs except in terms of leaders and followers, and who are uneasy about the long-term prospects of real job-sharing. In the four areas of good governance, then, with some lateral thinking and some challenges to line management, I can envisage better governance in the long term within leaderless schools in the areas of human rights and competence, and some advantages and some aspects to be resolved in the areas of legitimacy and accountability. I suspect that the key areas of a head's role which are the most difficult to share are those of the 'figurehead' and 'troubleshooter'. Hall, Mackay and Morgan's (1986) heads all enacted a figurehead role with regard to pupils in different ways, the model of appropriate behaviour, the repository for codes of conduct, the final arbiter in areas of discipline. In Ball's research on power relations, we find in fact the head as ventriloquized by the SMT with regard to parents: We sat down beforehand in the Senior Management Team and said 'What do we want the Head to say?' And, basically, it was, appear traditional, conservative with a small 'c' and emphasise traditional things like hard work, discipline ... and keep it short, sharp and keep it to those areas. (1994, p. 52)

The head did so; but it was important it came from her. In developing country contexts particularly, the head may be seen as the influential person in the community, the sage and adviser (Dadey and

Harber, 1991), and community support would be better galvanized through this personage than through a group of what appeared to be lower status teachers. This is not to say that individual teachers could not be equally competent in community relations, merely that in hierarchical cultures, the imposition of a non-hierarchical institution may be a hostage to fortune. The head is the symbol of the school and bearer of its ceremony to those outside; except in an animist society, people prefer one God to a number of lesser gods. The other key area is that of crisis or school 'failure'. Torrington and Weightman (1989) in their detailed observations of 24 heads were reluctant to identify one management style which was preferable, as effective heads were often effective in different ways. They made a distinction between a prescriptive style, imposing centralized order, standards, routines and close monitoring; a leadership style with a head promoting a sense of purpose and mission; and a collegia! style which emphasized collaboration and teamwork. They also contrasted stable and turbulent times, and which headship style would be appropriate when. They were concerned about prescription becoming the new orthodoxy in school management, and while this centralized order was good when there was a major crisis, in other ways it did not deal with unpredictability. The current 'innovation overload' for schools made for much that was unpredictable and needed managing in ways other than by prescription. Strong leadership was sometimes the answer: 'In turbulent times such as an amalgamation, a strong leader can embody what needs to be done and help the business of creating new purpose. However, because strong leaders so embody the unity of the school it becomes heresy to attack them' (Torrington and Weightman, 1989, p. 226, my italics). Collegial styles are best for innovation; but Torrington and Weightman maintain that when there is a shortage of competent people, a high percentage of temporary staff, a number of inexperienced staff or conflicting loyalties, the school will be poorly served by collegial managing and organizing. This description fits so many schools in contexts of stringency that one is constrained to defer to their experience.

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Yet I would still maintain that unitary headship is not the only model for school management, and that it might best be seen as a temporary measure to avert crisis. The continued presence of a strong leader will continue to ensure that staff inexperienced in management will remain inexperienced, that conflicting loyalties will continue to be unresolved, merely buried under the guise of conformity to the mission. The goal which many democratic heads jokingly refer to is to do themselves out of a job. Whether this desire to devolve power completely and just become part of the collective is a real one, has yet to be put to the test. I have a colleague in Trinidad, for example, who is interested in establishing a leaderless schools project, but has not attracted financial or material support. We would be interested in hearing any experiences or ideas around creating a leaderless schools movement. If that is not a contradiction in terms. Probably, however, schools will always have heads. This chapter has none the less questioned the apparently inexorable expansion in the focus on 'strong leadership' and on the head as the central bearer of school effectiveness. I would want to deconstruct the increasingly taken-forgranted notions that effectiveness = leadership = The One Right Person At The Top. The chapter has therefore used the concept of a leaderless school in order to explore the actual justification for single and permanent headship. Looking at what heads actually do all day, and at whether they are indispensable, provides little help. In the current ideologies of school control, it would seem that heads are cementing divides between teachers and management, while being incorporated into centralized 'reforms'. It may be that they are simply the least worst of all the alternatives, and that teacherled schools would in the end mean schools run in the interests of teachers, not of the children. (The ultimate leaderless school would of course be run by the learners, who would employ teachers, who would in turn employ managers . . . .) However, the immense problems around 'leadership' would mean that co-operative structures would provide some solutions, and a significant working model for children in our otherwise competitive, marketdriven times. The fundamental question is of returning power to those who engage in the praxis.

Fortunately, of course, pupils still know who mediates control in a school. When she was eight and in Miss O'Neill's class, my daughter announced she wanted to be a teacher. 'Wouldn't you like to be a headteacher?' I asked, always going for the career push. 'No', she said firmly, 'I want to be a proper teacher, like Miss O'Neill.'

References Andrews, S. (1989) The ignominy of raised hands. In C. Harber and R. Meighan (eds), The Democratic School. Ticknall: Education Now. Angus, L. (1994) Sociological analysis and education management: the social context of the self-managing school. British Journal of Sociology of Education, 15(1), 79-92. Ball, S. (1994) Education Reform: A Critical and PostStructural Approach. Buckingham: Open University Press. Blackmore, J. (1993) 'In the shadow of men': the historical construction of educational administration as a 'masculinist' enterprise. In J. Blackmore and J. Kenway (eds), Gender Matters in Educational Administration and Policy. London: Palmer. Blackmore, J. and Kenway, J. (eds) (1993) Gender Matters in Educational Administration and Policy. London: Palmer. Blease, D. and Lever, D. (1992) What do Primary Headteachers really do? Educational Studies 18(2), 185-99. Bowe, R. and Ball, S. with Gold, A. (1992) Reforming Education and Changing Schools. London: Routledge. British Council (1993) Good Government. Development Priorities: Guidelines. London: British Council. Brown, P. and Lauder, H. (eds) (1992) Education for Economic Survival. London: Routledge. Caldwell, B. and Spinks, J. (1988) The Self-Managing School. Lewes: Palmer. Dadey, A. and Harber, C. (1991) Training and Professional Support for Headship in Africa. Commonwealth Secretariat, London. Davies, L. (1994) Beyond Authoritarian School Management: The Challenge for Transparency. Ticknall: Education Now. Davies, L. and Gunawardena, C. (1992) Women and Men in Educational Management: An International Inquiry. Paris: HEP. Fletcher, M. (1992) Welcome to the ruling Class. Times Educational Supplement, Management File, October.

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Fullan, M. (1992) No need for a latter-day Napoleon. Times Educational Supplement, 19 June, p. 16. Gray, H. (1987) Problems in helping headteachers to learn about management. Educational Management and Administration, (15)1, 35-42. Grundy, S. (1993) Educational leadership as emancipatory praxis. In J. Blackmore and J. Kenway (eds), Gender Matters in Educational Administration and Policy. London: Palmer. Haigh, G. (1992) Watered down reality of a head's life. Times Educational Supplement, 2 Oct., p. 13. Hall, V., Mackay, H. and Morgan, C. (1986) Headteachers at Work. Milton Keynes: Open University Press. Hatcher, R. (1994) Market relationships and the management of teachers. British Journal of Sociology of Education, 15(1), 41-62. Iqbal, Z. and Davies, L. (1994) The early impact of the grant of autonomy to government educational institutions in Pakistan. Journal of Education Policy, 9(3), 197-210. Lawn, M. and Ozga, J. (1988) The educational worker? A reassessment of teachers. In J. Ozga (ed.), Schoolwork. Milton Keynes: Open University Press. Nias, J. (1980) Leadership styles and job satisfaction in primary schools. In T. Bush,}. Goodey and C. Riches, (eds), Approaches to School Management. London: Harper and Row.

Ouston, J. (1993) Management competences, school effectiveness and education management. Educational Management and Administration, 21(4), 212-22. Ribbins, P. (1995) Understanding contemporary leaders and leadership in education: values and vision. In J. Bell and B. Harrison (eds), Visions and Values in Managing Education. London: David Fulton. Riseborough, G. (1993) Primary headship, state policy and the challenge of the 1990s: an exceptional story that disproves the rule. Journal of Education Policy, 8(2), 155-74. Sealy, G. (1992) The task of the primary school principal in Barbados. Unpublished MEd dissertation, University of Birmingham. Toogood, P. (1992) Minischooling: making the large and impersonal into small and human again. In R. Meighan and P. Toogood (eds), Anatomy of Choice in Education. Ticknall: Education Now. Torrington, D. and Weightman, J. (1989) The Reality of School Management. Oxford: Blackwell. Trafford, B. (1993) Sharing Power in Schools: Raising Standards. Ticknall: Education Now. Warwick, D., Reimers, F. and McGinn, N. (1992) The Implementation of educational innovation: lessons from Pakistan. International Journal of Educational Development 12(1) 297-308. Wolcott, H. (1973) The Man in the Principal's Office. New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston.

27

The Case for School Leadership

BRIAN FIDLER Introductionn

Examples of poor leadership

Leadership in schools is certainly a fascinating and vital topic to debate. A recent Secretary of State for Education and Science in England, the late Keith Joseph, referred to headteachers as the nearest thing to a magic wand for transforming schools (HoC, 1986). Leadership is, however, a topic surrounded by difficulties, and research, so far, has yielded relatively little of value. There are, I believe, a number of frameworks for conceptualizing and analysing leadership which allow us to make some progress in making sense of a very complicated area. In the past I have subsumed leadership within the general term 'management'; however, in writing this chapter I can more fully appreciate why it needs to be singled out for particular study. Both leadership and management of organizations are essential for their successful operation and there is a great deal of overlap particularly in respect of motivating people and giving a sense of purpose to the organization. As those familiar with the concept of force-field analysis will be aware, it is generally less stressful to seek to weaken the opposing forces before seeking to enhance the driving forces for any change. I shall therefore seek to refute some arguments against leadership before going on to identify a positive case for leadership and give a range of leadership approaches which may be applicable in specific situations.

If there were many demonstrable examples of good leadership in the literature and in common experience it would be rather easier to make the case for the essential nature of leadership. However, examples of inappropriate and poor leadership abound, at least from the perspective of those involved. Of course this may arise because of the inherent difficulties of judging leadership or from the selective reporting of negative instances. Even this may be looked at another way - this is strong evidence for the expectations of others about the behaviour of leaders and evidence of a need for effective leadership which is manifested by its absence. In the few instances where the work of headteachers has been analysed, the findings show that it consists of multiple short reactive tasks and is very fragmented. This is also found in the work of managers in other organizations (Stewart, 1976, 1982), although these results do not have a simple interpretation (Hales, 1986; Stewart, 1989). However, it is middle managers in other organizations who have similar working days, not chief executives. As Jenkins (1985) points out, the contrast between chief executives in industry and headteachers in schools is the lack of time which heads set aside for long-term strategic planning. This does suggest that the leadership demonstrated in schools is largely reactive rather than part of an overall strategy and that headteachers have, in general, not examined and thought deeply about their leadership behaviour. All this does not invalidate the case for leadership but does re-

The Case for School Leadership

inforce the view that not all those in leadership positions can be expected to show appropriate leadership without some form of preparation and development.

Alternatives to headship Handy (1984) points out that some other professional organizations operate without a leader. Doubtless what is taken as the norm is a professional practice of self-employed partners. Professionals employed within multi-professional organizations and all those who work in organizations which operate as bureaucracies will almost certainly have a leader/manager. Those professional practices where lack of leadership is least likely to be a problem are those where a single professional is able to provide a complete service for each client. Where more than one professional is involved and each provides only a component of the complete service, then coordination at the very least is required to ensure that the client receives satisfactory treatment. While it should be open to any group of teachers as proprietors of a private school to engage administrators and run the school as a collective, this is not appropriate for schools which are publicly funded. The parents who use state schools have a restricted choice of school and should not have to suffer the vagaries of a collective of publicly funded teachers. Clear lines of accountability to one person are essential. Comparisons between public perceptions of accountability at central government level in the person of a minister compared to the lack of accountability at local government level where there is only a committee have been extensively discussed (Regan, 1980). A professional administrator model would also be unsuitable for schools since they are valueladen institutions. Almost every decision is valueladen and judgemental. Headship has two competing imperatives - the managerial and the moral (Sergiovanni 1991). It is not the case that a neutral 'efficient' administrator could or should take such

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decisions. Schools need to keep constantly in mind effectiveness as well as efficiency. Schools need to be guided by their purpose and this needs constant reinterpretation and attention rather than being seen as non-problematic. These arguments are particularly strong in a system which has expectations of schools which extend beyond cognitive learning and encompass the social and moral dimensions of education as the education system in the UK does. The few examples of schools which have attempted a form of democracy in terms of participative decision-making under a permanent headteacher have received attention because of their unusual operation (Watts, 1976). Reports from teachers within the schools have been less than favourable and this particular form of operation has generally not survived a change of headship. Collegiality, as this form of participative selfgovernment is called, is not without its drawbacks even in higher education. Accountability and power are both problems in a collegial organization. As Noble and Pym (1970) identified, once a committee makes a decision everybody is responsible and nobody is responsible. However, not only is there a problem of accountability, there are more insidious problems. The more power is dispersed the more everybody feels powerless rather than empowered. Perhaps there is a critical mass of power which, once diluted, makes everyone unable to function. Even worse, power may be usurped by those who are unethical, politically astute or personally domineering. However, despite the official rhetoric about participative decision-making (Fidler, 1984), the reality is that university vice-chancellors have enormous amounts of personal power and influence such that the initiative is not always lost in committees. The proponents of collegiality take it as selfevident that if teachers are given the freedom to operate, they will operate in the best interests of the school. Never are the effects on children, parents and the community adequately considered. The discussion is entirely in terms of what might be best for the teaching staff (and generally, not even all the staff). This is sheer self-indulgence at

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the expense of the client and taxpayer. While conscientious teachers will have the interests of children guiding their actions, what about those who lose sight of children's interests or who are not competent? The headteacher is in position to safeguard the interests of the children and parents against the self-interest of the teachers. It is no accident that the self-governing universities of Oxford and Cambridge had to be reformed by Act of Parliament in the nineteenth century (Curtis, 1948). They had fallen into lethargy and corruption and operated in their own self-interests rather than those of the students they were ostensibly meant to serve. It is because there is no one with superordinate power that it is so difficult to improve a situation of collegiate decision-making. This could only be accomplished by a universal uprising. Given the diffuse accountability, apportioning lack of competence to individual members of a committee is extraordinarily difficult. Leaving aside the problem of apportioning individual responsibility within corporate decisions, there are formidable difficulties in judging single leadership. There are two aspects to judging leadership: a. the process of leading or leadership behaviours; b. outcomes for the school as a result of leading. Although the expectation is that the two are connected in some way, it is quite possible to envisage situations where the leader uses recognizably suitable processes but the results are poor, and, conversely, where leadership is criticized by participants but the results for the school are good. This is not to suggest that the process of judging the performance of a school is either straightforward or easy but to suggest that there is an extra level of difficulty involved in judging leadership. Some bases for judging leadership behaviour are by reference to: i. general moral and philosophical principles; ii. theoretical leadership prescriptions; iii. its relationship to school outcomes;

iv. personal subjective attitudes. The most persuasive of these is the relationship to school outcomes. However, there is no body of research evidence which gives valid predictions relating school outcomes to earlier leadership behaviour. (Some research approaches would even deny that this is possible in principle.) Thus, at the time, only (i), (ii) and (iv) are bases for judgement of leadership behaviour. While a judgement can also be made about school outcomes, this is not directly related to, and hence not a valid judgement of, leadership behaviour. This has implications for the assessment of headteachers. While it may be difficult to remove an incompetent head, there are procedures for doing so and equally important there are safeguards against politically motivated attempts to remove unpopular but competent heads. It should be clear that the crucial importance of the post of headteacher means that he or she should be accountable for the success, or lack of it, of the school. Where schools are failing, there must be a prima-facie case for removing the headteacher. Even if he or she is personally competent but cannot lead the school to success, he or she has to go for the sake of teachers and students. The ultimate test of the effectiveness of the headteacher is the performance of his or her school.

Leadership and management All the leadership in an organization should not be embodied in one person. This is related to the issue of whether leadership is part of management or not. As numerous writers concur (Schb'n, 1984), while managers are in a position to exercise leadership, not all managers will exhibit leadership and some non-managers may exhibit leadership. It follows from this that most people in management positions within an organization should be showing leadership in their area of work; there will also be others on particular occasions and on particular issues who also will be displaying leadership. It

The Case for School Leadershipp 319

follows that there should be delegated leadership in schools. While continuity of leadership is desirable, remaining in a leadership position in the same school for too long is generally not good for the institution. The proposal to have limited tenure whereby heads are given five-year renewable contracts seems to have a number of merits. For heads who are not proving very successful, but are not incompetent, it would provide a natural break and a positive decision would be required to renew the contract of the head. Those who are incompetent should be removed anyway and the successful would have their contracts renewed with alacrity. Ten years might be regarded as the normal maximum time of service in any one school. This proposal also requires further adjustments. Either headteachers should be appointed to headship rather later in their careers so that their contract ceases to be renewed around normal retirement age or heads should be appointed in their early forties as at present and should expect to retire in their middle fifties. The present situation of appointing heads in their late thirties or early forties when there are decreasing career opportunities for them to go on to after headship is a disaster waiting to happen. This is likely to be particularly so in primary schools when there are fewer others in a position and with time to contribute to leadership in the school. Whereas heads of such schools could move on in the past to lectureships in colleges or advisory roles with LEAs, these positions either have reduced in number and/or are not financially comparable or are no longer readily available. It is a concomitant of appointing leaders for a substantial period that the selection process should be a very thorough and well-informed one. The evidence from research on selecting heads in the 1980s gave a great deal of cause for concern on these grounds (Morgan et al., 1983). While the advice given as a result of this investigation is, in the main, sound, it rather treats the whole process as a technical exercise. I have argued elsewhere (Fidler, 1992b) that while there is a technical dimension - heads need to have the skills to do the job - there are additional requirements. The person being appointed will be required to make

decisions on issues that were not even contemplated at the time of appointment and thus there is a great act of trust involved in making the appointment. In addition to assessing technical skills, the governing body has to appoint someone who they think shares the values which they wish to see in their headteacher. Thus they are appointing a person and not just a technician. Reacting to a technical view of leadership might suggest that the opposite extreme, the 'heroic' school of leadership, is an appropriate model. However, the charismatic leadership of Arnold of Rugby and other great men and women has provoked a reaction and a wish to emphasize processes of management which more ordinary mortals might practise and which might be developed rather than being wholly innate. Murphy (1988), a former theorist, when faced with the realities of management, drew attention to the need to recognize the 'unheroic' side of leadership. This consisted of the antitheses of'strong management'. He argued that these features were essential to good management: developing a shared vision (as well as defining a personal vision) asking questions (as well as having answers) coping with weakness (as well as displaying strength) listening and acknowledging (as well as talking and persuading) depending on others (as well as exercising power) (p. 655)

Is a leadership function necessary? A natural reaction to the 'great men' account of leadership is to deny that any form of appointed leadership is necessary in organizations. Even if a rational analysis throws up functions which have to be discharged for successful group effort, e.g. planning, organizing, co-ordinating, etc., it is tempting to assume that who carries out these functions, indeed whether one person needs to carry them all out, is irrelevant.

320 Brian Fidler

Where more than one person works at a task some form of co-ordination is necessary - deciding who does what, how to adjust the work of each to take account of the other. In the simplest organizations this can be done by mutual adjustment (Mintzberg, 1983). This is providing the need is recognized and if there is willing co-operation from both parties. As the task involves more people and gets more complex, mutual adjustment ceases to be effective and some form of supervision is necessary. This introduces the concept of management as a function which needs to be discharged in some way. In this formulation, managers are appointed to carry out these tasks and they also have to provide leadership. Managers have to be proactive and innovative by spotting new opportunities and persuading employees to be willing followers. This obviates any necessity for a study of leadership but is replaced by a study of management styles. These are regarded as ways of doing things which are used by every manager rather than being the prerogative only of the 'born leaders'. They are regarded as teachable skills, and theories become necessary to give guidance on how to choose the appropriate management style. The alternative is to regard management as synonymous with administration or the reactive, steady-state operation of an organization. In this case any change or reaction to a crisis requires spontaneous leadership. A number of writers on leadership in the USA (Bennis, 1984) have taken this second, and less customary, view, and this has been echoed in the educational leadership literature following reports bemoaning the need for leadership in America's schools (Bolman and Deal, 1994). Undoubtedly there is a tension between the needs of good administration and the needs of proactive change which this formulation exposes. Even where charismatic leadership exists, in order to accomplish tasks successfully the processes of management have to be used - planning, organizing, staffing, controlling and evaluating. In this sense leadership and management are complementary. Equally, when juxtaposing innovation and routine, innovation is more likely to be

successfully accomplished when the systematic management processes are applied to it.

What is the evidence for the necessity for leadership? In some senses much of the evidence could be regarded as tautological. Where a school is not operating well this is regarded as symptomatic of poor leadership and where it is working well this is evidence of good leadership. Thus many of the professional endorsements of leadership in schools could be dismissed, although the sheer weight of them would be somewhat daunting. The new framework for the inspection of schools devised by the Office for Standards in Education (1994) has an assessment of leadership within the section on management. Thus every report on schools in England will have a section which comments on the leadership of the headteacher. However, the descriptions are not particularly illuminating from a critical perspective. Phrases such as 'strong leadership' and 'good leadership' are used which come with no further explanation (Northam, 1994). Stronger evidence might come from research on leadership. Research on leadership in the 1950s got rather bogged down looking for traits of leadership. This was on the quite rational basis that if only successful leaders could be identified before appointment, the success of an organization would be assured. However, the empirical evidence revealed that the traits of leadership were very varied and inconsistent. Immegart (1988), after reviewing the extensive reviews of research findings on leadership, concluded that the traits of intelligence, dominance, self-confidence and high energy/activity level are most often associated with successful leadership but beyond this group the findings are inconsistent. Much research on leadership in the 1960s and 1970s employed the same conceptual framework as that used to identify management styles. This asserted that leader behaviour is made up of two independent components (Reddin, 1970). One is

The Case for School Leadership

concerned with initiating structures or results of the work process and the other is concerned with consideration of or relationships with the workforce. While the early formulations of this theory of management styles asserted that there was one best style, research soon showed that the situation was more complicated. Other key variables in choosing a leadership style were the nature of, and the expectations of, followers and the nature of the task to be undertaken. Thus situational or contingency theories of leadership were proposed. The appropriate leadership style depended upon other things. Research showed that leader behaviour needs to be related to a number of organizational variables - satisfaction and productivity, the nature of the task, organizational structure and climate, occupational level of employees, group cohesiveness and harmony, motivation, organizational conflict, group characteristics, bureaucracy and innovation (Immegart, 1988). Thus the appropriate leadership style depends on the context. As always, theoretical constructs run the tightrope between trying to take every factor into account and being more accurate at the expense of becoming increasingly complex, or trying to oversimplify in the interests of memorability but failing to capture the important aspects of the situation. One well-known formulation is that of Hersey and Blanchard (1988) based on earlier work by Fiedler (1967). While the empirical support for this formulation is weak (Yukl, 1989), it remains a useful model for thinking about the dimensions of leadership and factors which might influence the choice of an appropriate style. While participation is generally regarded as desirable (and indeed this precept is the very foundation of collegiality), research has shown that the situation is more complicated. Sometimes participation is effective and sometimes it is not (Yukl, 1989). Attempts have been made to try to predict in what circumstances participation is worthwhile (Bridges, 1967; Vroom and Yetton, 1973; see Fidler et al., 1991 for a discussion). Some evidence is now emerging of the success of these schemes (Vroom and Jago, 1988).

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Does leadership have to be permanent? It has earlier been argued that leadership should be permanent but not of indefinite duration. The alternative argument that leadership should be only temporary is tantamount to saying either that there are no skills of leadership or that they are so plentiful as to be possessed by everyone. Such assertions are demonstrably false. Leaders need some inherent qualities of a general kind and they also need a framework for analysing their practice to provide a basis for developing their skills of leadership. From the foregoing account of the lengths to which managers need to go to learn about the effects of different management styles and the need to learn from experience of their application in different situations, it borders on the reckless to suggest that leadership should change frequently. As it has been shown that not all are capable of leadership, the chance of such a person being allocated the task must rate as a potential disaster. Even if the person appointed is capable of developing leadership skills, the time and effort involved by the person and the forbearance of followers while they make their mistakes in trying to practise what they have learned sounds like the usual triumph of hope over experience.

Interrelationship with other aspects of management A leader within an organization also has to be able to manage. The definition of management which I use is the art of achieving results, using resources efficiently, by working with and through people (Fidler and Bowles, 1989). Management functions include managing finance, managing staff and managing the process which achieves results. The management processes of planning, organizing and evaluating also need to be employed. Thus whatever leadership style is used, the more routine competences of management need also to be

322 Brian Fidler

present to ensure that aims are translated into results.

Types of leadership Bolman and Deal (1991) identify four frameworks of leadership. These are structural, human relations, political and symbolic. They recognize that appropriate leadership needs to be situational but they also recognize that individual leaders will have a preferred if not dominant style which reflects their own personality. Each style has advantages but should not be regarded as exclusive. They identify successful combinations where a particular style of a chief executive is complemented by a different style from another senior manager in the organization. The result of analysing the leader's style and comparing this with the needs of the organization at that particular time may throw up additional requirements in order for the organization to be successful. The structural framework is largely focused on a rational view of management. Leadership concentrates on rational analysis and operating the formal mechanism through a hierarchy of control. The human relations framework concentrates on the behavioural aspects of management and harnessing the motivation and commitment of employees. Individuals are delegated substantial tasks and allowed the freedom to perform them in their own ways by taking initiative. Much of management training has emphasized these human relations skills. The political framework recognizes that individuals both within and without the organization have their own private agendas of interests. Thus there will be seats of power which may lead to conflicts if skilful political arts of forming coalitions, bargaining and negotiation are not used (Hoyle, 1986). The symbolic framework is also referred to as visionary leadership and Burns (1978) also used the term 'transformational leadership' for a similar activity. Each of these terms helps to sketch the

facets of this most recent of frameworks. Transformational leadership is contrasted with steadystate or transactional leadership. Transactional leadership is concerned with carrying out routine tasks rather than taking on new challenges. Visionary leadership is concerned with providing for followers insights into the nature of new challenges and what is to be achieved. This is more than just related to an immediate task and represents a distant improved future. It provides followers with a rationale for their work. The vision of the future may be drawn up collaboratively but the leader has the task of articulating this in a compelling way. Finally, the symbolism comes in to give meaning to the task and to formulate acts which demonstrate the new approach and inspire and give confidence to organization members.

Leadership in schools Leadership in professionally staffed organizations poses additional complications compared to leadership in other organizations (Hughes, 1985). All the foregoing requirements of leadership apply. The leader needs to act as chief executive in a managerial capacity and as a leader in the symbolic and political senses. However, the leader of a professionally staffed organization also needs to be the leading professional or at least a leading professional. He or she must espouse professional values and possess appropriate professional knowledge and judgement. Duignan and Macpherson (1992) in their theory of educative leadership, ascribe a 'realm of ideas' to judgements about what is of value and what is significant in the education of children. They see this as a third component, in addition to management and leadership, which is required of an educational leader. The lack of priority given to teaching in school is a cause for concern. However, this should not be redressed by the head teaching. This is misguided on at least four counts. First, the experience of a head when teaching is not the same as that of more

Th e Case for Sch ool Leadership

junior teachers both as regards their familiarity with their subject matter and also as regards how they are treated by their pupils. Second, a head teaching in a classroom, however good the teaching may be, does not spread his or her influence beyond that immediate group of children. It does not spread to other teachers and other children. Third, the head is unlikely to be able to give his or her full energy to teaching because it has to be balanced by a concern for other things. This is well attested in research on heads of small schools who of necessity have a substantial teaching load. Even while teaching, the head may be interrupted by emergencies and therefore the children being taught may have a less than satisfactory experience. Fourth, if the head is teaching, who is doing the high level thinking, intelligence gathering and planning of strategy? If it is difficult to accord high priority to teaching, it is of some interest to ponder why this is and to consider if there are alternative ways of enhancing its status than by the head teaching. Part of the difficulty is undoubtedly to do with the status of teaching as an activity. It does not have the attributes of a true profession (Fidler, 1992a) and as schools most closely resemble bureaucracies, status accords with position in the bureaucracy. The status of teaching could be enhanced if teaching had a clearer technology and teachers required longer and more stringent training more akin to medical training before becoming fully qualified to practise. However, a fundamental problem is how to assess the activity of teaching. Teachers most of all have been unwilling to accept the evaluation of teaching. If teaching could be evaluated, status could be accorded to those whose teaching had been identified as of high quality. This could be reflected in pay and prestige. This would give status to high quality teaching rather than teaching per se. It is unlikely that teaching could ever be highly regarded since it does not involve a life-threatening process as the other major professions do. As Lortie (1969, p. 24) observed 'No one ever died of a split infinitive' is a quip which throws the less-than-vital nature of teaching knowledge into relief.

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There are also few, if any, other professions where the task can be done well by some without training at all. What leaders in education also have to be aware of is the nature of the teaching force. As Lortie (1975) and Cusick (1981) have pointed out from work in the USA, teachers are an example of an uncommitted profession. This reflects the lack of a professional ethic to which individuals commit themselves and the fact that for many teachers teaching is one of many activities in their lives and its priority is balanced with other competing interests. Thus special skills will be required to get members of such an uncommitted profession to raise the profile and priority of their teaching work. School leaders in the UK have no framework for 'instructional leadership', to use terminology from the USA, or the management of learning or management of the curriculum as we should probably call it here. In our literature there is a dearth of writing on how to manage the curriculum. It is an irony that at the centre of school management is a vacuum. While policy-making on the curriculum usually in a consultative or participative manner is discussed in our literature, there are no 'frameworks for thinking' with which to plan to influence what teachers actually do in classrooms. The assumption is that all teachers go into their classrooms, close the door and implement the agreed policy. We don't actually have the evidence about whether they do or they don't but evidence from other countries is that they don't. Much more effort is required to influence classroom processes. I have a real concern that this vacuum at the heart of school management opens up the possibility that non-teachers could become heads of schools. There is some evidence from the independent sector that this works no worse than having those from a professional educational background as heads. So long as there is no explicit body of knowledge about the curriculum, about how children learn and about how to influence teachers on these matters, and which is part of the expected repertoire of head teachers, the way to appointing non-teachers to headships is open.

324 Brian Fidler

Work from the USA which proposes structural, cultural and interpersonal linkages to influence teachers' classroom actions seems to me to offer a fruitful approach to conceptualizing the ways in which head teachers could influence what teachers do in classrooms (Firestone and Wilson, 1985). The structural dimension consists of all the systems and processes which the organizational structure of the school provides as formal influence processes on teachers, e.g. policies, rules, resources, etc. The cultural dimension is that subtle and ever present set of expectations about 'the way we do things here': the taken-for-granted assumptions about institutional norms of behaviour and value. The interpersonal dimension is the one-to-one direct influence of working together. While countless studies of school effectiveness in the USA find some association between effective schools and the leadership of the principal, this is usually behaviour of a general kind (Hallinger and Leithwood, 1994) and studies that have specifically looked for a relationship between instructional leadership activities and effective schools have failed to find a clear effect (Leitner, 1994). However, this may be due to methodological difficulties in the research. As Hallinger and Leithwood (1994) point out, the measured effect of principal behaviour is much less than might be expected from the professional literature which ascribes such importance to the work of the principal.

include the power to give meaning to the work of the organization and inspire organization members to contribute fully. Leaders need to surround themselves with others whose skills complement their own. A permanent leader is the repository of the organization's need for long-term success. It is his or her responsibility to consider the needs of pupils and parents and others whom the school serves and ensure that the school serves these needs. Appointing a permanent headteacher is not without its dangers. The post involves a great responsibility and this must be recognized by the job holder. Heading a school, more than any other leadership position, involves a moral and ethical dimension. Great efforts need to be made to select the holder of the office. He or she needs not only to be managerially competent but also be professionally competent and to hold the values which are to pervade the school. However competent when appointed, there is a continuing need to develop managerially, professionally and in terms of better leadership. Finally, the appointed leader should delegate responsibility to others and share decisionmaking. In this way the needs of the organization are served and individuals develop their own leadership skills.

Referencess Conclusion There appears to be a strong psychological need for leadership, particularly in times of uncertainty and crisis. The need for such a focus is true both for those within and those outside the organization. There is a need to believe that there is someone who, if only he or she can be convinced of the need for action, can mobilize effort to get things done. The skills which a leader should possess incorporate those of good management and in addition

Bennis, W. (1984) Transformative power and leadership. In T. J. Sergiovanni and J. E. Corbally (eds), Leadership and Organizational Culture: New Perspectivess on Administrative Theory and Practice. Urbana, IL: University of Illinois Press. Bolman, L. G. and Deal, T. E. (1991) Reframing Organizations: Artistry, Choice and Leadership, San Fransisco: lossey-Bass. Bolman, L. G. and Deal, T. E. (1994) Looking for leadership: another search party's report. Educational Administration Quarterly, 30(1), 77-96. Bridges, E. M. (1967) A model for shared decision making in the school principalship. Educational Administration Quarterly, 3(1), 49-61.

The Case for School Leadership

Burns, J. M. (1978) Leadership. New York: Harper and Row. w. Curtis, S. J. (1948) History of Education in Great Britain. Cambridge: University Tutorial Press. Cusick, P. A. (1981) A study of networks among professional staffs of secondary schools. Educational Administration Quarterly, 17(3), 114-38. Duignan, P. A. and Macpherson, R. J. S. (1992) A practical theory of educative leadership. In P. A. Duignan and R. J. S. Macpherson (eds), Educative Leadership: A Practical Theory for New Administrators and Managers. London: Palmer. Fidler, B. (1984) Leadership in post-compulsory education. In P. Harling (ed.), New Directions in Educational Leadership. Lewes: Palmer. Fidler, B. (1992a) Problems of appraisal in education. In B. Fidler and R. Cooper (eds), Staff Appraisal and Staff Management in Schools and Colleges: A Guide to Implementation. Harlow: Longman. Fidler, B. (1992b) How to get the top job. Times Educational Supplement, 21 Feb., p. 17. Fidler, B. and Bowles, G. (eds) (1989) Effective Local Management of Schools: A Strategic Approach. Harlow: Longman. Fidler, B., Bowles, G. with Hart, J. (1991) ELMS Workbook: Planning Your School's Strategy. Harlow: Longman. Fiedler, F. J. (1967) A Theory of Leadership Effectiveness. New York: McGraw-Hill. Firestone, W. A. and Wilson, B. L. (1985) Using bureaucratic and cultural linkages to improve instruction: the principal's contribution. Educational Administration Quarterly, 21(2), 7-30. Hales, C. P. (1986) What do managers do? A critical review of the evidence. Journal of Management Studies, 23(1), 88-115. Hallinger, P. and Leithwood, K. (1994) Introduction: exploring the impact of principal leadership. School Effectivenessss and School Improvement, 5(3), 206-18. Handy, C. (1984) Taken for Granted? Schools as Organizations. York: Longman Resource Unit. Hersey, P. and Blanchard, K. (1988) Management of Organizational Behavior: Utilizing Human Resources (5th edn). Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall. House of Commons (HoC) (1986) Achievement in the Primary School: Third Report from the Education, Science and Arts Committee Session 1985-86. Vol. II: Minutes of Evidence and Appendices. London: HMSO. Hoyle, E. (1986) The Politics of School Management. London: Hodder and Stoughton. Hughes, M. (1985) Leadership in professionally staffed organisations. In M. Hughes, P. Ribbins and H. Thomas (eds), Managing Education: The System and the Institution. London: Cassell.

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Immegart, G. L. (1988) Leadership and leader behavior. In N. J. Boyan (ed.), Handbook of Research on Educational Administration. New York: Longman, pp. 259-77. Jenkins, H. O. (1985) Job perceptions of senior managers in schools and manufacturing industry. Educational Management and Administration, 13(1), 1-11. Leitner, D. (1994) Do principals affect student outcomes: an organizational perspective. School Effectiveness and School Improvement, 5(3), 219-38. Lortie, D. C. (1969) The balance of control and autonomy in elementary school teaching. In A. Etzioni (ed.), The Semi-Professions and Their Organization: Teachers, Nurses, Social Workers. New York: The Free Press. Lortie, D. C. (1975) Schoolteacher. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Mintzberg, H. (1983) Structure in Fives: Designing Effective Organizations. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: PrenticeHall. Morgan, C., Hall, V. and Mackay, H. (1983) The Selection of Secondary School Headteachers. Milton Keynes: Open University Press. Murphy, J. T. (1988) The unheroic side of leadership: notes from the swamp. Phi Delta Kappan, 69(9), May, 654-59. Noble, T. and Pym, B. (1970) Collegial authority and the receding locus of power. British Journal of Sociology, 21,431-45. Northam, J. (1994) Ofsted Reports on the Inspection of Schools. Paper presented at the BERA Annual Conference, Oxford. Office for Standards in Education (OFSTED) (1994) Framework for the Inspection of Schools. London: HMSO. Reddin, W. J. (1970) Managerial Effectiveness. New York: McGraw-Hill. Regan, D. E. (1980) A Headless State: The Unaccountable Executive in British Local Government. Inaugural lecture, University of Nottingham. Schb'n, D. A. (1984) Leadership as reflection-in-action. In T. J. Sergiovanni and J. E. Corbally (eds), Leadership and Organizational Culture: New Perspectives on Administrative Theory and Practice. Urbana, IL: University of Illinois Press. Sergiovanni, T. J. (1991) The Principalship: A Reflective: Practice Perspective (2nd edn). Boston: Allyn & Bacon. Stewart, R. (1976) Contrasts in Management. Maidenhead: McGraw-Hill. Stewart, R. (1982) Choices for Managers. Maidenhead: McGraw-Hill. Stewart, R. (1989) Studies of managerial jobs and behaviour: the ways forward. Journal of Management Studies, 26(1), 1-10.

326 Brian Fidler Vroom.V. H. andJago.A. G. (1988) The New Leadership:: Managing Participation in Organizations. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall. Vroom, V. H. and Yetton, P. W. (1973) Leadership andd Decision-Making. Pittsburgh, PA: University of Pittsburgh Press.

Wvatt, J. (1976) Sharing it out: the role of the head in participatory government. Reprinted in T. Bush, R. Glather, J. Goodey and C. Riches (1980) Approaches to School Management. London: Harper and Row. Yukl, G. A. (1989) Leadership in Organizations (2nd edn). Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall.

Name Index

Please note that this is an index of individuals; names of organizations etc. will be found in the Subject Index. Abbott, D. (in Pollard) 201 Adler, M. 128,131 Ajono, T. (in Dalin) 204 Alexander, R. 257 Anderson, D. 269, 270 Anderson, L. 256 Anderson, P. 162 Anderson, T.L. 190 Andrews, S. 310 Andrieu, M.J. 66 Angus, L. 258, 307 Apple, M. 65, 200 Archer, M.S. 17 Arensberg, C. 96 Aristotle 163, 164,165 Atchoarena, D. 63; present volume 59-64 Austin, A.G. 275n2, 287n2 Axelrod, R. 189 Bacchus, M.K. 200 Bacyn, V.K. 224 Bailey, C. 251 Bailey, F.G. 150 Bailey, P. 235 Baizen, A. (in Dalin) 204 Baker, M. 148 Balibar, E. 84, 85 Ball, S.J. 19, 69, 70, 129, 133, 150, 160, 197, 249, 306, 310, 313; (in Bowe) 308; (in Gewirtz) 249 Banks, J.A. 211,212-13 Barcan, A. 275n2, 280 Barnard, C. 66, 67, 84 Barrat, B. 148 Barry, B. 166 Bate, R. 190 Bauer, P. T. 175 Baxter, J. 277nl4 Beazley, Kim 44 Becher, T. 199 Beck, J. 257 Beeby, C.E. 41-2,43-4,46 Bellah, R.N. 274 Benjamin, B. 156 Bennell, P. 29, 117 Bennis, W. 320

Berg, E.J. 90 Berger, P.I. 175 Bertrand, O. 56 Beyer, L.E. 200 Blackmore, J. 69, 308 Blanchard, K. 96, 321 Blease, D. 305 Blomberg, D. 268, 272 Boli.J. 5,17 Bollag, B. 215, 218 Bolman, L.G. 320, 322 Bolton, E. 133 Botkin, J.W. 299 Bottery, M. 257 Bouchez, E. 66 Boulton, P. 131 Bowe, R. 150, 308; (in Ball) 133; (in Gewirtz) 249 Bowles, G. 321 Bowles, S. 76 Boyd, W. 150 Bray, M. xviii, 18 Breinholdt, O. 293 Brewster, C. 237 Bridges, E.M. 321 Broadfoot, P. 17, 200; (in Pollard) 201 Brown, D.J. 18,19 Brown, P. 70, 71, 307 Browne, Sheila 136,137 Bryk, A. 266 Buber, M. 272 Buchanan, J.M. 173 Buchert, L. xx, 117 Buckland, P. 30 Burchill, J. 141 Burdin, J.L. 217 Burns, J.M. 322 Bush, George 127 Bush, T. 132,133 Butler, J.E. 211 Button, K. 70 Byram, M. 67 Caiden, N. 53 Caillods, F. 56, 63 Caines, John 142

328 Name Index Caldwell, B. 258, 307 Callaghan, James 136,138 Callan, E. 273 Callinicos, A. 159 Cameron, I. 232 Campbell, R.J. 140 Capra, F. 237 Carl, J. 17, 20 Carnoy, M. 71 Can, W. 71 Carron, G. 57, 63 Casson, R. and Associates lllnl Cecchini, P. 85 Chapman, D.W. 18 Cheng Kai-ming 116 Chistolini, S. 67 Chitty, C. xviii, 197, 201 Christiansen, N.F. 81, 85 Chubb, J.E. 19, 22, 158, 171, 181, 261 Clark, M. 268 Clarke, Kenneth 235, 236 Clay, J. 67 Clouser, R.A. 274 Cohen, D.K. 19 Cohen, M.D. 55 Cohen, S. 152 Colclough, C. Illn2 ColdronJ. 131 Cole, M. 67 Coleman, M. (in Bush) 132, 133 Collins, C.B. 29 Condorcet, Marquis de 70 Connell, W.F. 270 Conyers, D. 6, 56 Coombs, Philip 52, 53, 54 Cope, B. 238 Cornbleth, C. 230, 231, 235, 236, 237 Coulby, D. 65, 67, 78, 79 Cox, C. 247 Croll, P. (in Pollard) 201 Crossley, M. 197,198, 199, 200, 201, 202, 203, 205; present volume 197-206 Crozier, M. 54 Cummings, W.K. 17, 20 Cusick, P.A. 323 Dadey, A. 305, 313 Dale, R. 153-4 Dalin, P. 199, 203, 204 Damibe, Aime 53 David, M. 131 Davies, B. 256 Davies, L. 306, 308; present volume 304-14 Dawkins, W. 121 Deakin, R. 247, 268, 273, 274, 276-7nlO; present volume 254-62, 266-67; response to 264-5 Deal, T.E. 320, 322 Dean, C. 217 Deenick, T. 270, 276n9 Delors, Jacques 82 Denison 117-18 Dennett, S. 277nl4

Dibaba, B.(in Dalin) 204 Doll, W.E., Jr. 230, 231, 236-7 Dore, R. xx Downes, D. 130 Downs, A. 173 Dreze, J. 167 Duignan, P.A. 322 Dunn, J. 162 Dworkin, R. 162 Earl, A. 67 Echols, F. 131,160 Edwards, T. 19,131; present volume 127-33 Edwards, T. (in Whitty) 131 Egana, L. 22 Eggleston, J. 199 Elliott, J. 204 Elmandjra, M. (in Botkin) 299 Elmore, Richard 45-6 Ernest, P. 257, 258 Eshiwani, G. 197 Ewert, G.D. 71 Fagerlind, I. 47 Fanon, Franz 81-2 Farrell, J.P. 202 Fayol, Henri 50, 59 Fidler, B. 317, 319, 321, 323; present volume 316-24 Fiedler, F. J. 321 Field, F. 175,177 Finegold, D. 197 Firestone, W.A. 324 Fishkin, J. 181 Fitz, J. 131; (in Edwards) 131; (in Power) 131 Fleming, D.B. 275n4 Fleming, M. 70 Fletcher, M. 310-11 Flew, A. 129, 247, 273 Flude, M. xviii Flynn, J. 84 Forojalla, S.B. 53 Foster, G.M. 96, 105 Fowler, S. 259-60 Fox, R.S. 199 Freire, P. 281 Fukayama, F. 12 Fullan, M. 44, 46, 47, 150,199, 203, 307 Gadamer, H.G. 166 Galskov, E.S. 224 Ganderton, P.S. 237; present volume 229-38 Garrett, R.M. 205; present volume 197-206 Gershunsky, B.S. 17 Gewirtz, S. 131, 249; (in Ball) 133; (in Whitty) 131 Giddens, A. 149,156, 275n5 Gillespie, R.R. 29 Gilligan, C. 165, 259 Gintis, H. 76 Giroux, H. 257 GleickJ. 237 Glenn, C. 127,130

Name Indexx 329 Glover, D. (in Bush) 132, 133 Godet, M. 64 Gold, A. (in Bowe and Ball) 150, 308 Golding, P. 154 Goodin, G.R. 177 Goodman, P. 281 Gould, 167 Cowers, A. 270 Graham, D. 201, 202 Gray, H. 308 Gray,}. 175,192 Greeley, A. 257 Green, D.G. 177 Green, H. 258 Greenfeld, K.T. 217 Greer, J. 257 Gross, N. 203 Grundtvig, Nikolai Frederik 293 Grundy, S. 307 Gunardwardena, G.B. 17, 20 Gunawardena, C. 308 Guthrie, J. 29, 69 Haahr, J.H. 68 Habermas, J. 12, 70-1, 166, 167 Hackett, G. 260 Haigh, G. 305 Halasz, G. 292 Hales, C.P. 316 Hall, V. 305, 306, 313 Hallak, J. 61, 63, 204 Hallinger, P. 324 Halls, W.D. (in Husen) 69 Halpin, D. (in Fitz) 131; (in Power) 131 Halsey, A.H. 71 Hammer, M. xviii Hampshire, J. 167 Handy, C. 92-3, 94, 96,102,103,106, 317 Hanson, E.M. 17, 19, 21-2 Harber, C. 305, 306, 313 Hargreaves, A. 199, 258 Hargreaves, D. 129 Harrop, B. 201 Hartnett, A. 235 Hatcher, R. 307-8 Havelock, R.G. 198 Hawes, H.W.R. 199, 203 Haydon, G. 167 Hayek, F.A. 162,173, 176,178 Heaver, R. 97 Hegewisch, A. 237 Held, D. 163 Herriott, R.E. 203 Hersey, P. 96, 321 Hewitt, A. 112, 120 Heyneman, S.P. 202 Hill, B.V. 284, 285, 287nn4&7; present volume 280-6 Hills, P. 56 Hinchcliffe, K. xx Hirsch, F. 160, 175 Hirschmann, A.O. 161, 177

Hirst, P.H. 272-3 Hodgkinson, C. 258 Hoeksema, R. 281 Hofmeyr, M. 30 Holmes, B. 30 Holmes, M. 260 Holt, John 281 Holt, Maurice 46 Honko, L. 221 Horner, W. 295 Hornsby-Smith, M. 257 Horvath, A. 21 Houghton-James, H. 84 Howard, D. 275n4 Hoyle, E. 258, 322 Hughes, F. 271 Hughes, M. 322 Hunt, T.C. 275n4 Hunter, J. 131 Hurrelmann, K. 297 Hurst, P. 96 Husen, T. 69,199 Hutton, W. 114 lenaga, S. 217 Illich, I. 281 lion, L. xvii, 229 Immegart, G.L. 320, 321 Inbar, D. 63 Inkeles, A. 94 Iqbal, Z. 306 Iredale, R. Illn4; present volume 107-11 Jago, A.G. 321 Jahan, M. (in Dalin) 204 Jamieson, I. 70, 71 Jenkins, H.O. 316 Johnson, D. 201 Johnson, Richard 280, 283, 286-7nl Jonathan, R. 127, 160, 161, 162, 175-6, 180, 188-9 Jones, A. 273, 274 Jones, B. 153 Jones, B.C. 268 Jones, P. 197 Jordan, B. 165 Joseph, Sir Keith 137,138-9, 140, 141-2, 316 Kalantzis, M. 238 Kallas, T. 226 Kaluba, H. present volume 101-4; response to 105-6 Kann, U. 119 Kappeler, A. 223 Karlsen, G.E. 15 Kelly, A.V. 200, 201, 203 Kennedy, R. xvii Kenway, J. 308 Kinchloe, J.L. 235 King, K. xx, 91, 92,116, 117 Kirp, D.L. 215 Koontz, H. 50 Korten, D. 56

330 Name Index Kostomarov, V. 223, 224 Kriiger-Potratz, M. 292 Kuebart, F. 292 Kuz'min, M.M. 225 Kuzmin, M.N. 224 Kuznets, 175 Lambert, I.P.M. 261, 268, 269, 272, 274, 276n6, 277nnl2&13; present volume 268-75 Latorre, C.L. 22 Lauder, H. 70, 71, 307 Lauglo, J. 3,7; present volume 3-15 Laura, R.S. 268, 273 Laver, M. 181 Lawlor, S. 140 Lawn, M. 304 Lawton, D. 197, 202, 205, 257 Lazoutova, M.M. 225, 226 Leach, F. 91-2, 94, 95; present volume 89-99, 105-6; response to 101-4 Leahy, M. 268, 273 Leal, D.R. 190 Lebar, S. 301 Leclercq, J.-M. 66, 67, 293 Lee, V. 266 Le Grand, J. 177 Leithwood, K. 324 Leitner, D. 324 Leo, J. 214 Lever, D. 305 Levin, H. 55, 71, 204 Lewin, K. 89, Illn2 Lewy, A. 205 Leys, C. 113,114 Lillis, K. xviii, 18, 95,198 Linz, J.J. 221 Little, A. 206 Lockheed, M. xix, 19,197, 204 Lonbay, J. 65, 84 Long, R. 268, 269, 270, 271, 276n7 Lornie, R. 198 Lortie, D.C. 323 Lowe, J. 66, 69 Luchtenberg, S. 68 Ludington, Sybil 212 Lukacs, P. 292 Lumer-Hennebole, B. 294 Lundgren, U.P. 12 Lyotard, J.F. 71 McCarthy, M.M. 216 Macdonald, B. 203 McElhinney, E. 257 McFarland, L. 197 McGinn, N.F. xvii, 17, 113, 197 (in Warwick) 306; present volume 17-23 McGrath, H. 54 MacGregor, John 142 McHugh, N. 117 Maclntyre, A. 164, 165, 259 MacKay, H. 305, 306, 313 McKenzie, P. 255

McLaughlin, T.H. 268, 273, 274, 275 McLennan, William 156 Maclure, J.S. 47 Maclure, S. 199 MacPherson, A. (in Echols) 131, 160 Macpherson, C.B. 159 Macpherson, R.J.S. 322 Maddaus, J. 127 Magendzo, A. 22 Magri, L. 82, 85 Maier, Hans 300 Major, John 150,154 Male, G.A. 294 Malitza, M. (in Botkin) 299 Mannheim, K. 23 March, J.G. 55 Marginson, S. 269, 270, 275n3 Marks, J. 247 Marsh, C. 197 Marshall, P. 274 Martin, W.T. 198 Maslen, G. 217 Maxwell, E. 217 Mead, Margaret 305 Meighan, R. 247 Meiklejohn, J.M.D. 232 Menzies, Robert 281 Meyer, J.W. 5,17 Mezirow 71 Michel, C. 70 Middleton, J.R. 273 Mihaly, O. 21 Miles, M. (in Dalin) 204 Miliband, D. 161,174, 175-6 Mill, John Stuart 167, 266 Miller, H. (in Gewirtz) 131 Mintzberg, H. 17, 64, 320 Mitter, W. 70, 221, 222, 292, 293; present volume 221-6, 291-302 Moe, T. 19,22,158,171,181,261 Moll, H. 268 Monnet, Jean 65 Moon, B. 29 Morales-Gomez, D.A. 56 Morgan, C. 305, 306, 313, 319 Moris, J. 96 Morris, J. 190 Morris, P. 197 Mosley, P. 114 Mulcahy, D.G. 68 Muller, W.C. 84 Murby, M. 202 Murdoch, G. 154 Murnane, R.J. 19 Murphy, J. 70 Murphy, J.T. 319 Naish, M. 235 Neave, G. 70, 75 NiasJ. 258,310 Niebuhr, H.R. 277nl3 Niehoff, A. 96

Name Index 331 Noble, T. 317 Noddings, N. 259 Nolan, Lord 157 Norman, R. 259 Northam, J. 320 Novak, M. 173 Novoa, A. 66 Nyssen, E. 294 Oakeshott, M. 162 O'Keeffe, B. 247, 268, 272, 276n6 Okin, S.M. 165 Olsen, J.P. 55 O'Riordan, T. 230 Osborn, M. (in Pollard) 201 Oswald, M. 268, 269 Ouston, J. 312 Oxenham, J. xx Ozga, J. 304 Pack, S. 159 Page, E.G. 85 Palmer, J. 82 Palomba, D. 67 Parfit, D. 181, 183 Park, S. 238 Pasigna, A. 20 Pateman, C. 165 Patten, John 217 Pecherski, M. 292 Peck, B.T. 66 Peretti, A. de 66 Pereyra, M.A. 66 Perkin, H. 9 Perry, H. 201 Peshkin, A. 268, 275 Pestalozzi, Heinrich 291 Fetch, J. (in Adler) 131 Peters, R.S. 201 Petersen, Peter 291 Pierce, L.C. 69 Pinck, B.C. 198 Plank, D.N. 22 Plant, R. 128 Pollard, A. 201 Pomfret, A. 199, 203 Pope Edwards, C. 259 Poppleton, P. 17 Power, S. 131; (in Fitz) 131 Poyntz, C. 248, 251 Prawda, J. 18, 19 Prideaux, D. 270, 275n4 Pring, R. 251 Psacharopoulos, G. xix, 53, 69, 117 Pullin, R.T. 17 Putnam, R. 181 Putrenko, T. 226 Pym, B. 317 Ramirez, P.O. 5,17 Ramsay, H. 68, 76

Ranson, S. 167, 181, 184; present volume 158-68, 180-4; response to 171-9, 185-93 Raudenbush, S. 20 Rault, C. 66, 67 Rawls, J. 166, 259 Rayangu, V. 225 Rayner, Sir Derek 137 Raz, J. 188-9 Reagan, Ronald 127 Reddin, W.J. 320 Regan, D.E. 317 Reich, R.B. 22, 23 Reimer, E. 281 Reimers, F. (in Warwick) 306 Reiterer, A.F. 221 Renan, Ernest 222 Reynolds, D. 204 Ribbens, J. (in David) 131 Ribbins, P. 309 Richardson, W. 197 Riddell, R.C. Illn9 Riker, W. 178 Riseborough, G. 312 Rix, A. 121 Rohrs, H. 68, 81-2 Rojas, C. (in Dalin) 204 Rokeach, M. 257 Rondinelli, D. 56 Rose, C. 238 Rose, S.D. 268, 274, 275n4 Ross, G. 66, 68, 76 Rossi, P. 257 Rubinson, R. 17 Rudnitsky, H. 212, 214 Rust, V.D. 12 Rutter, M. 296, 297 Ryba, R. 66,68, 78, 79; present volume 74-80,87-8; response to 81-5 Sacks, Chief Rabbi Jonathan 129 Sadler, Sir Michael 5 Saha, L. 47 Sakakibara 122 Saleyev, V.A. 223 Sampson, A. 203-4 Sampson, E. 259 Sandel, M. 259 Sarason, S. 41 Sawamura, N. 122 Sayed, Y. 26, 29, 30-1; present volume 25-32 Schmelkes, S. 20 Schmitter, P.C. 85 Schon, D.A. 318 Schultz 118 Scotford Archer, M. 5 Scott, R. 270 Scott, Archdeacon Thomas H. 280 Scott-Stevens, S. 95,106 Sealy, G. 305 Seldon, A. 173, 177

332 Name Index

Sen, A. 162,167 Sergiovanni, T. 258, 317 Sexton, S. 127,128, 129,131-2, 247 Shaeffer, S. 56 Sharma, Y. 216 Sharp, R. 69 Shaw, J. 66, 84 Shephard, Gillian 148,150 Shortt, J. 268, 273 Shweder, R. 259 Simey, M. 165 Simon, H. 55 Simonds, Robert 216 Sivanandan, A. 85 Skilbeck, M. 197,199, 204 Sleeter, C. 211-12 Smith, Adam 159,172-3, 176, 178 Smith, D.H. 94 Sonko-Godwin, P. 218 Southworth, G. (in Nias) 258 Sowell, Thomas 185 Speck, C. 270, 275n4 Spence, J.E. 114 Spinks, J. 258, 307 Spitzberg, I.J. 94-5 Stenhouse, L. 203, 204, 230 Stewart,]. 167,181,184 Stewart, R. 316 Stiegelbauer, S. (in Fullan) 150 Streek, W. 85 Street, S. 17 Stronks, C.G. 268, 272 Stuart, Nick 138 Sultana, R. 67, 69, 72n2; present volume 65-72, 81-5; response to 74-80, 87-8 Sungailia, H. 237 Susokolov, A.A. 224 Sutherland, S. 137 Swartz, R. 238 Tappan, M. 259 Taylor, C. 165 Taylor, M. 189 Taylor, Sir William 142-3 Temple, Archbishop 169n6 Thaman, K.M. 198, 205 Thatcher, Margaret 82 Thiessen, E.J. 268, 273-4 Thomas, N. 135-6 Thomas, R.M. 210, 217; present volume 209-20 Titmuss, R.M. 159,165 Toffler, A. 229, 236, 237 Tollison, R.D. 173 Tolstoy, Leo 291 Tomlinson, J. 160; present volume 135-43, 156-7; response to 145-6

Toogood, P. 247, 309 Tooley, J. 158, 172, 175, 176, 180, 184, 188, 192; present volume 171-9, 185-93; response to 180-4 Torrington, D. 313 Trafford, B. 312 Tudrej, J. (in Pecherski) 292 Tuijnam, A. (in Husen) 69 Tulaciewicz, W. 294 Tullock, G. 173,178 Turner, B.S. 268 Turner, J. xvii Twain, Mark 72 Tweedie, A. (in Adler) 131 Ulrich, C. 19, 21-2 Van Brummelen, H. 268, 272, 276n9, 277nl3 Vaniscotte, F. 66, 67 Varady, T. 221 Vedder, P. 206 Verspoor, A. xix, 19, 63,197 Vroom, V.H. 321 Vulliamy, G. 205 Walford, G. 190, 247, 248, 249, 251, 252, 255, 256, 258; (in Gewirtz) 131; present volume 247-52, 264-5; response to 266-7 Walker, R. 203 Wallace, M. 150; present volume 145-6, 147-55; response to 156-7 Wallis, S. 44, 45 Walsh, B.J. 273 Warwick, D. 306 Watson, K. xvii, xviii, 199 Watt.J. 317 Weightman, J. 313 Weiler, H. 12, 53 Weirich, H. (in Koontz) 50 Welch, A.R. 202 Welsh, T. 19 Wertsch, J. 259 West, A. (in David) 131 West, E.G. 172, 176 West, S. 258 Wheeler, C. 20 Whitehead, C. 47; present volume 41-7 Whitty, G. 19,131; (in Edwards) 131 Wildavski, A. 53 Williams, J.H. 17,20 Williams, R. 257 Williams, S. 177 Willms, D. 131; (in Echols) 131,160 Wilson, B.L. 324 Wilterdink, N. 67 Windham, D.M. 18 Winkler, D. 18

Name Index 333 Witheral, C. 259 Wolcott, H. 305 Woodcock, G. 8 Wouters, L. 85 Wright, V. 86

Yasutomo, D. 121 Yeomans, R. (in Nias) Yetton, P.W. 321 Young, M. 70, 71 Yukl, G.A. 321

Yamada 121

Zimet, M. 20

258

Subject Index

Aborigines 217 Accelerated Christian Education (ACE) 269, 271, 277nl4,281,286 accelerated learning 238 action programmes (EU) 67, 69 administration versus management 51, 54 admissions 128, 130 quota policies 214 to faith-based schools 250, 255, 260, 261, 264, 267 Africa aid to 113,114, 116,119,121 educational 107,108,110-11 project aid 90, 92, 94-5,102,103, 104,106 curriculum reform in 198,199 economic situation in 60 headteachers in 305 migration from 113,114 sub-Saharan xx, 60, 113, 114,116 see also individual countries African Education Programme 198,199 aid 107-11,112-22 accountancy systems and 110, 111 effectiveness of 107,113,114 future of 61, 98-9,110-11 infrastructure support 107-8,109, 119-20 literature on 91-2,102 national plans for 110-11 policy-based 114-15, 119-20 educational 115-21 Japanese 117-19,120-1 political rationale for 89, 101, 104,108,112-13, 114,121 in Japan 120-1 project aid 89-99,101-4,105-6,108-9,114, 119-20 cross-cultural transfer and 94-5, 97, 103-4 design of 92, 102 evaluation of 91,102 management of 92, 96, 98-9, 102,109-10 motivation and 96-7, 98-9, 104 organizational culture and 92-3, 95-6, 97, 98, 99, 102-3, 105-66 perceptions of 108-9 reconceptualization of 98-9 regional differences and 104, 105 staff development and 90, 94-5 total figures for 113,114

Algeria, Islamic fundamentalists in 215 alternative Christian schools 268-75, 280-6 ANC (African National Congress), educational policies of 25, 26-8, 29, 32 Andhra Pradesh Primary Education Project (APPEP) 107,109 Armenia 224, 225 Arrow's theorem 191-2 Asia aid to 90, 97,107 economic situation in 60 Japanese aid to 120,121 work relationships in 237 see also individual countries Asian Institute of Technology (Bangkok) 108 Asmara, University of 110-11 assessment xvii, 197, 202, 206 see also examinations Assessment of Performance Unit 136 Assisted Places Scheme 130-1,132 Attainment Targets, in geography 2 3 3-4,235, 241-22 Australia 237, 238, 257, 268-9 alternative Christian schools in 268-75, 280-6 educational reforms in 41, 44-5, 46-7 geography curriculum in 231,233,235,240 home schooling in 281,282 multiculturalism in 217-18 Australian Association of Christian Schools (AACS) 270 Australian Capital Territory 269 Australian Christian Forum on Education 286 Austria, faith-based schools in 276n6 Baltic Republics 222, 224, 225, 226 Bangkok, Asian Institute of Technology 108 Bangladesh 7 Barbados 305 BBC Nine O'clock News 148 Beazley Report (1984) 44 Belgium 6 belief systems 2 5 7-8 Blackheath (Australia) 271 Borda count 191 Botswana, University of 108 Brazil 22 Brisbane 270 Bristol, Oak Hill School 254-5, 256, 260, 261, 264-5, 267

Subject Index 335 Britain see United Kingdom British Council 109 Brixton 185 Bulgaria xix Bulletin (Australia) 46-7 bureaucracy bureaucratic centralism 6,13 decentralization versus 3-5,14,15 European Union and 70 planning and 49, 53, 54, 56-7 Buryatia 224, 226 Calvin Christian School 270 Cambridge, University of 318 Canada xvii, xix, 6 faith-based schools in 257, 276n6 capitalism consumer choice and 161,175 European Union and 68-9, 71, 76-7, 84, 85 'late capitalism' 12-13 media and 147, 153-5 catchment areas 128 Catholic schools in America 266 in Australia 268, 269, 280-1, 287n8 in the Netherlands 294 in the United Kingdom 249 centralization bureaucratic centralism 3-5, 6, 13, 14, 15 of curriculum control 197, 198-200, 204-5 case for 200-3 decentralization versus 3-5, 14,15, 17, 20-1, 22-3 school autonomy and 291-5, 297-8, 302 in South Africa 25-6, 28-9, 30, 31-2 Centre for British Teachers (CfBT) 102 Centre for Policy Studies 129, 140-1 chaos theory 237 Chechenia 226 Chile 10,19, 22 China 5,11, 116 Chinese, ethnic 210 choice see consumer choice Choice and Diversity (DBS) 129-30 Christian Century 215-16 Christian Community Schools (CCS) 270-1, 281 Christian Parent-Controlled Schools (CPCS) 270, 273, 276n8, 281 Christian schools alternative Christian schools 268-75, 280-6 in Australia 268-75, 280-6 indoctrination by 266, 273-4, 284 intolerance and 250-2, 256-7, 260, 264, 266-7, 282 lobbying for 255-6 in the United Kingdom 247-52, 254-62, 264-5, 266-7, 268, 276n6 Christian Schools Association of Queensland 270 Christian Schools Campaign 247, 248, 249, 256-7, 264 Christian Schools Trust 248, 276n6 Church of England 249

Chuvashian 224 citizen panels 181,191-2 Citizen's Charter 143 citizenship 259,282 learning society and 163,165,167, 168 city technology colleges 131,132,261 class see social class coalitions 210-11 collegiality 317-18 colonial territories 51 bureaucratic centralism in 4-5 history of 217-18 Comenius Fund 75-6 Commission of the European Communities

65, 67,

68, 69, 70, 75-6, 77, 78, 84-5

Commonwealth of Independent States (CIS) 222-6 Commonwealth Secretariat 119 communities community forums 1167-8 curriculum and 203-4 faith-based schools and 259-60, 261-2, 264, 267, 270, 275 learning society and 163,165,167-8 populist localism 3, 4, 7-8, 12 school autonomy and 295, 297, 300 Confederation of British Industry (CBI) 202-3 conflict management 112-13 consumer choice 19,127-33,158-62, 254 faith-based schools and 249, 250, 252, 258-9 social status and 160-1, 162,175-6 corporal punishment 248 cost benefit analysis 55 cost of education see finance Council of Europe 295 Council of Ministers (EU) 75, 76, 77, 78, 84, 85 creationism, teaching of 251 critical thinking 238 culture 257 educational aid and 118-19 multicultural curriculum planning 209-20 national curriculum and 201, 202, 203-4, 205-6 'socialist patriotism' 222,223-4 curriculum xvii, xix, 20, 21 in Australia 44-5 centralization and 197, 198-203, 204-5 diversity and 129 Europeanization of 65, 70, 71, 78, 79 faith-based schools and 248, 251-2, 261 geography 231-6 case studies 232-4, 239-43 headteacher and 305, 306, 323 HM Inspectorate and 136,137, 145 national culture and 201, 202, 203-4, 205-6 philosophy and 230-1, 236-7 policy 197-206, 236 multicultural 209-20 public opinion and 200 in Russian Federation 225 school autonomy and 297, 298-300, 301 in South Africa 26 teachers and 44, 47,199, 201-2, 203, 204, 205 traditional 129, 130

336 Subject Index see also National Curriculum Czechoslovakia/Czech Republic xix, 218, 222, 276n6 decentralization xix, 3-15 backdrop to 111-14 centralization versus 3-5,14,15, 17, 20-1, 22-3 critique of 17-23 of curriculum control 197, 200, 204-5 case for 203-4 effectiveness and 19-20 efficiency and 3, 4, 6, 9-10,11, 14, 18-19 forms of 3,4,5-11 implications of 3,4 integration versus 17, 22-3 planning and 60-1 relevance and 20-1 school autonomy 291-302 in South Africa 25-32 decision-making collegiality and 317-18 decentralization and 18-19, 21-2, 23 leaderless schools and 309-14 in South Africa 26-7, 28, 29-30 deconcentration 3, 4, 6,15 democracy decentralization and 18, 21-2, 23, 291, 295, 302 participatory democracy 3, 4, 8, 11, 12, 14 in developing countries 660-1 European Union and 68, 71, 79, 83, 84-5 leaderless schools and 310, 311 learning society and 163-8,171 local failure of 158 see also local education authorities (LEAs) market versus 158-62,168,171-9,180-1, 184, 190-3 media and 178 middle classes and 175, 190-1, 192 multicultural constituencies and 213 planning and 60-1 school autonomy and 291, 295, 302 self-interest and 173 shortcomings of 190-3 South African education and 26, 27, 29, 30-1 Denmark aid from 113,117 decentralization in 7, 8, 11 European Union and 82 faith-based schools in 257, 276n6 school autonomy in 292, 293-4, 302 Deutscher Bildungsrat 292-3 developing countries xvii, xx, xxi-xxii bureaucratic centralism in 4-5 curriculum policy in 197, 198, 199, 201, 202, 203, 204-5, 206 decentralization in 7-8 educational planning in 59-61, 62-4 globalization and 60-1 headteachers in 306-7, 313 heterogeneity of 60 planning in 49-57

populism in 7-8 primary education in 202 development aid see aid educational planning and 51-7 Development of African Education (DAE) 102,105 dilemma, prisoner's dilemma 161,175-6,181-4, 188-90 diversity xvii consumer choice and 129-33 decentralization and 20, 21, 22 faith-based schools and 249, 259, 260, 264, 265, 267 market authenticity and 1187-8 National Curriculum and 129 of schools 130-1, 160,173-4 Eastern Europe curriculum development in 205-6 educational aid to 115 faith-based schools in 257 lustration legislation in 218 migration from 114 school autonomy in 292, 296, 301 Education Act (1944) 257 Education Act (1980) 257 Education Act (1992) 140, 141, 143 Education Act (1993) 129,158 'opting in' under 247, 254, 255-6, 257, 259, 260, 261 Education Reform Act 1988 (ERA) xvii, 129, 132, 199-200, 203-4 Education Renewal Strategy (ERS) project (South Africa) 25,26,28-9,32 educational planning see planning effectiveness aid intervention 107,113,114 decentralization and 19-20 headteacher and 304, 313, 314, 317, 318, 324 school autonomy and 296 vision and 258 efficiency xvii, xix curriculum and 201-2 decentralization and 3, 4, 6, 9-10, 11, 14, 18-19 management and 10 professional autonomy and 99-10 egalitarianism, universalistic 114-15 Egypt, Islamic fundamentalists in 215 employment see labour force England and Wales 45 Christian schools in 247-52, 254-62, 264-5, 266-7, 268, 276n6 consumer choice in 127-33 curriculum reform in 199-200, 201-2, 203-4, 205 headteachers in 305, 306 inspection in see Her Majesty's Inspectorate school autonomy in 294 see also individual topics English teaching faith-based schools and 252 KELT Programme 109,110

Subject Index environmental problems 189-90 'epistemic problem' 192 ERASMUS programme 75-6 Eritrea 110-11 Estonia 224, 225, 226 ethnic groups decentralization and 20, 23 in former Soviet Union 221-6 multicultural curriculum planning and 210, 211-12, 213-14, 216, 217, 218-19 'Section 11* funding and 149 Europe (continental) curriculum reform in 199 faith-based schools in 276n6 immigration in 113-14 school autonomy in 291-302 work relationships in 237 European Court 66, 84 European Parliament 76, 77, 85 European Trades Union Council 68-9, 77 European Union (EU) xxii, 302 capitalism and 68-70, 71, 76-7, 84, 85 educational agenda of 65-72, 74-80, 81-4, 87-8 developing world and 117 governance of 77-8, 83-4 interventions by 65-6, 69-70, 74-6, 78-80, 83, 87 subsidiarity within 77-8, 83, 84, 87 evangelical Christian schools 247, 248, 249-50 case study 254-5, 256, 260, 261, 264-5, 267 evolution, teaching of 251 examinations 197, 202 publication of results of 129, 130, 131 school autonomy and 295, 301 'exit'/'voice' options 133, 161-2, 177 extra-curricular activities 297-8 failing schools 128, 130, 132, 193 headteacher and 318 faith-based schools 7, 50 alternative Christian schools 268-75, 280-6 in Australia 257, 268-75, 280-6 indoctrination by 266, 273-4, 284 intolerance and 250-2, 256-7, 260, 264, 266-7, 282 in the Netherlands 294 in the United Kingdom 247-52, 254-62, 264-5, 266-7, 268, 276n6 federalism 6-7, 11 fee-paying schools see private schools female education 116, 117, 118 finance xvii, xix-xx cost benefit analysis 55 curriculum and 202, 205 decentralization and 6, 13-14 in South Africa 26 see also market(s) food, provision of 186-7,188, 189, 190, 192-3 France xviii centralization in 4, 13, 23 faith-based schools in 257, 276n6 hierarchy of schools in 174

337

immigration policies of 113 school autonomy in 292, 293 teacher training in 157 Funding Agency for Schools 255, 256, 261 further education, HM Inspectorate and 139,141 Gambia, The 218 game theory, prisoner's dilemma 161,175-6, 181-4, 188-90 GCSE geography 231,235 gender female education 116, 117,118 multicultural curriculum planning and 209, 210, 211, 212,214 genre literacy 238 geography curricula 2231-6 case studies 232-4, 239-43 Georgia 224, 225 Germany aid from 112 crisis of legitimacy in 12 faith-based schools in 257, 276n6 hierarchy of schools in 174 multiculturalism in 226 school autonomy in 292-3, 295, 300, 301 teachers in 295 West-East resource transfer by 112,113,121 globalization 60,114,121,237 good schools 130, 131-2, 296 governing bodies of Christian schools 269-70, 272, 284 multiculturalism and 216 school autonomy and 294, 300 in the United States 216 government(s) xvii, 193 consumer choice and 128, 132, 133,161,171-2, 176 curricula and 199-200, 202-3, 206, 236 multiculturalism and 216-17 HM Inspectorate and 135-43, 145-6 market tinkering by 1185-8 media and 147-55,156-7 statistics from 156 grammar schools 129,130 grant-maintained schools/status 131,132, 133, 254, 267, 294 application for 256, 261, 267 constraints to opt out 159-60 HM Inspectorate and 141 lobbying for 255-6 media coverage of 148, 149 opposition to 256, 267 'opting in' to 247, 248, 249, 252, 254-62 see also faith-based schools headteacher(s) alternatives to 309-14, 317-18 appointment of 319 assessment of 320 case against 304-14 case for 316-24 effectiveness and 304, 313, 314, 317, 318, 324

338 Subject Index management by 307-8,318-22 non-teacher as 323 poor performance of 316-17 removal of 318, 319 retirement of 319 roles of 305-6, 310, 313, 314 team captain 308-9 school autonomy and 300, 301 style of 313 tenure of 319 work of 305-6, 316 Her Majesty's Inspectorate (HMI) 135-43,145-6 culture of 135 headteachers and 320 independence of 136,137, 138-9, 141,143, 145-6, 156-7 media coverage of 148, 156-7 privatization of 141, 143,145-6,157 1992 reforms of 140-1,143, 145-6 1982 review of 137-9, 140, 142 school autonomy and 301 training provided by 141,142,145-6 higher education collegiality 317-18 expansion of xx, 190-1 Hindus faith-based schools and 248, 249-50 multicultural curriculum planning and 214 history multicultural curriculum planning and 209-10, 212, 213-14,215, 217-18 Russian/Soviet 223 home schooling, in Australia 281, 282 Hong Kong 175, 216, 309 human resource theory 55 human rights see rights Hungary 20-1, 257, 276n6, 292 Icthus Primary School 259 IMF (International Monetary Fund) 51,105,121 immigration 113-14 independent schools Assisted Places Scheme 130-1, 132 HM Inspectorate and 139 National Curriculum and 131 see also private schools India 6, 107,109 Indonesia, multiculturalism in 214 industrialization 49, 53 inspection see Her Majesty's Inspectorate integration, versus decentralization 17, 22-3 interest groups curriculum reform and 200, 206 media and 148-9,150-1,152,153-5,156 multicultural curriculum planning and 209-20 international agencies 5 aid policies of 61 curriculum policies of 197 planning and 49, 51, 52, 55-6, 57, 61, 62-4 see also individual organizations international aid see aid

International Conference on Educational Planning (1968) 63 International Institute of Educational Planning (HEP) 52, 53, 56-7, 61, 62-4, 204 International Working Group on Education (IWGE) 112 Islam see Muslims Islamia Primary School 257 ITN, News at Ten 148 Japan xviii, 69 aid from 89, 92,108,112, 113, 120-1 educational aid 117-19,120-1 goals of 120-1 history books in 217 post-war rehabilitation of 120 work relationships in 237 Japan International Co-operation Agency (JICA) 117-19 Jewish schools 249 Kazakh 224 Key English Language Teaching (KELT) Programme 109,110 Kingston (Tasmania) 270 koranic schools 50 Korea, South 175 labour force changes in 114 curriculum and 199, 237 educational aid and 115, 117-18 European Union and 68-70, 71-2 Soviet 224 see also vocational education Labour Party (UK) 260 language(s) educational aid and 109,110 English teaching 109, 110, 252 Latin 43 multicultural curriculum planning and 209-10, 213, 214, 216 Russian 223-4, 225, 226 'late capitalism' 12-13 Latin America 7, 56, 60 Latin teaching: in New Zealand 43 Latvia 225 leadership alternatives to 309-14, 317-18 case against 304-14 case for 316-24 critiques of 308-9 effectiveness and 258 management and 318-22 poor 316-17 style of 313, 320-1, 322 vision and 258 see also headteacher(s) learning society, theory of 163-8,171 legitimation crisis 12-13,14 less developed countries see developing countries liberalism 3, 4,11-12, 14, 30

Subject Index European Union and 71-2 faith-based schools and 259, 266, 268, 273-4, 275 school autonomy and 302 Lingua programme 67, 75, 76 literature multicultural curriculum planning and 209, 214, 218 Russian/Soviet 223-4 Lithuania 225 local education authorities (LEAs) 158 Christian schools and 247, 252 curriculum and 203-4, 205 failing schools and 128, 132 grant-maintained schools and 258, 259, 260, 267 faith-based schools 256, 257, 258, 260 HM Inspectorate and 135, 136-7, 138, 139-40, 141 learning society and 167, 168 Lords, House of 256, 267 Maastricht, Treaty of 65, 66, 69, 71, 74, 75, 77, 82, 84 Madeley Court School 309 Malaysia 108,213 Malta education system in 5 European Union and 82, 83 management xvii, xix, 50-1, 53-4 of aid projects 92, 96, 98-9, 102,109-10 collegiality 317-18 critiques of 308 of curriculum 323 headteacher and 307-8 leaderless schools and 309-14 leadership and 318-22 planning versus 59-64 management by objectives 3, 4, 6, 9-10, 14,15 market(s) 158-62, 168, 171-9,180-4, 185-93 aid policies and 114,117, 121 authenticity of 171-2, 180,185-8 decentralization and 3, 4, 10-11, 14, 19-20 democracy versus 158-62, 168, 171-9, 180-1, 184,190-3 environmental problems and 190 European Union and 68-70, 71, 76-7, 84, 85 food provision and 186-7, 188, 189, 190, 192 HM Inspectorate and 140, 141-2, 143, 145-6 planning and 61-2 prisoner's dilemma and 161,175-6,181-4, 188-90 self-interest and 159,161, 172-3, 175-6,183-4 social status and 160-1, 162, 175-6 see also consumer choice Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT) 198 mathematics 258 media 147-55,156-7 consensual view of 153 democracy and 178 government statistics and 156 interest groups and 148-9, 150-1, 152, 153-5, 156

339

media professionals 147, 148-50, 151, 153-5, 157 multicultural constituencies and 215 'news values' of 148, 152 Mexico 20 middle classes, and democracy 175, 190-1, 192 mini-schools 309 modernism, and National Curriculum 230-1, 236 morality faith-based schools and 252 learning society and 165,166,168 Mt Evelyn (Victoria) 270 Mountains Christian Academy 271 Mozambique 102 multiculturalism xvii, xxiv-xxv curriculum planning and 209-20 cultural groups and 209-18 problems with 218-19 in former Soviet Union 221-6 multicultural constituencies 210-11 participants in 211-12 rationales of 212-14 strategies of 214-18 see also religion Muslim Educational Trust 247 Muslim Parliament 247 Muslims faith-based schools and 7, 247, 248, 249-50, 252,255 multicultural curriculum planning and 214, 215 National Association of Headteachers (NAHT) 308, 309 National Commission on Education 1127-8 National Curriculum 200-2 AIDS education in 250-1 de-skilling and 232, 234-6 diversity and 129 faith-based schools and 248, 251-2, 261 'fitness for purpose' of 229-38 future needs and 229-30, 236-8 geography in 231, 233-6, 238, 241-3 HM Inspectorate and 156 independent schools and 131 introduction of 128, 129, 199-200, 201-2, 203-4 teachers and 235, 236 National Education Policy Investigation (NEPI) project (South Africa) 25, 26-7, 28, 29-31 National Union of Teachers, and national tests 149 Nationalist Party (South Africa) 25, 26, 28-9, 32 Netherlands aid from 114,118 faith-based schools in 257, 276n6 school autonomy in 292, 294 new Christian schools see Christian schools New Right xviii curriculum and 129 faith-based schools and 247, 252, 256 HM Inspectorate and 135, 139-40,143, 145 markets and 162, 178 media and 156, 157 New Schools Policy (Australia) 269

3400 Subject Index x

New S outh Wales 218 Christian schools in 270, 271, 280 geography curriculum of 231, 233, 235, 240 New York City 20 New Zealand xix, 41-4, 46 'news values', of media 148, 152 newspapers 149, 150,152,153 see also media North America see Canada; United States Northern Territory 269 Norway aid from 113 decentralization in 7, 8, 11,13 Oak Hill School (Bristol) 254-5, 256, 260, 261, 264-5, 267 Organization for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD) 5 Development Assistance Committee (DAC) 113, 120 reports cited 18, 47, 95, 129-30, 296, 298 Official Development Assistance see aid Office for Standards in Education (OFSTED) 140, 141, 142-3, 145, 146, 157, 261, 267, 320 O level geography 231, 232-3, 234-5, 239 Open University 135 'opting in' 247, 248, 249, 252, 254-62 'opting out' see grant-maintained schools Overseas Development Administration (ODA) 107, 109, 110, 116 Oxford, University of 318 Pakistan 306-7 Papua New Guinea 198, 203, 204-5 parents Christian schools and 247, 248-50, 251, 252, 255-6, 258-9, 264, 267 in Australia 269-73, 281-6 decentralization and 19-20 populist localism 3, 4, 7-8, 12 effectiveness and 258 'exit'/'voice' options of 133,161-2,177 HM Inspectorate and 137,138, 143,148 home schooling and 281, 282 leaderless schools and 317 learning society and 168 media influence on 152-3 multiculturalism and 216 National Curriculum and 236 resources of 1160-1 school autonomy and 294, 297, 300 in South Africa 28, 29, 31, 32 see also consumer choice Parent's Charter, updated 1131-2 participatory democracy 3,4,8,11,12, 14 pedagogic professionalism 3,4, 8-9,14 Perth (Australia) 270 Physical Science Study Committee (PSSC) (USA) 198, 199 planning, versus management 59-64 Plowden Report (1967) 136, 140 Poland 276n6, 292

populist localism 3,4, 7-8, 12 post-modernism 12,14, 15 faith-based schools and 254, 258 headteachers and 306 National Curriculum and 230-1, 236, 237 pre-school education 154 press see newspapers primary schools aid policy and 115-16, 117, 118 Christian 248 curriculum of 201, 202 headteachers of 305, 319 HM Inspectorate and 136,139, 140 media coverage of 149, 152-3 New Zealand 42-3 sex education in 149, 152 prisoner's dilemma 161, 175-6, 181-4, 188-90 private schools xix-xx aid policy and 115 Assisted Places Scheme 130-1, 132 decentralization and 19, 22 liberalism and 11 in Netherlands 294 pre-school education in 154 see a7so faith-based schools professionalism distrust of 140, 157 leadership and 322 pedagogic professionalism 3, 4, 8-9,14 of teachers 9-10,47,323 professionals, media 147, 148-50, 151,153-5,157 project aid see aid Prussia, educational policies of 295 Public Instruction Act 1880 (Australia) 268 quality xix, 323 curriculum and 201-2, 206 decentralization and 3, 4, 19-20, 22 school autonomy and 296 Queensland 270 Quinton Kynaston School 310 radio 150,152 see also media Rayner review (1982) 137-9, 140, 142 Regents Park Christian Community High School 270 relevance, and decentralization 220-1 religion(s) multicultural curriculum planning and 209, 210, 214, 215-16, 217, 218, 219 see a7so faith-based schools Research Development and Diffusion (ROD) strategy 198,199, 201 Research Institute of Development Assistance (Japan) 121 right wing politics see New Right rights head teacher and 312 South African education and 29, 30 see also consumer choice Roman Catholic Church see Catholic schools

Subject Index 341 Romania, faith-based schools in 257, 276n6 Rome, Treaty of 65, 66, 69, 75 Round Table of European Industrialists 68, 76, 77 Royal Statistical Society 156 Russia/Russian Federation 223, 224-5, 226, 276n6 see also Soviet Union, former Russian language 223-4, 225, 226 school(s) autonomy of 291-302 combative models of 308-9 community forums and 1167-8 diversity of 130-1, 160, 173-4 failing 128, 130, 132, 193, 318 hierarchy of 160, 174, 180-1, 190 leaderless 309-14 mini-schools 309 successful 130,131-2, 296 see also individual types of school school-based curriculum development (SBCD) 197, 200, 204-5 case for 203-4 Scotland consumer choice in 128 hierarchy of schools in 160 media coverage of 148 Secondary Schools Community Extension Project (SSCEP) 203,204-5 'Section 11' funding 149, 152 Select Committee on Education and Science, 1968 Report on HMI135-6, 138 selection 130,131-2, 249 faith-based schools and 247, 249, 250 market and 173-4 special interests and 132 self, concept of 259 learning and 163,164, 166 self-interest, market and 159, 161, 172-3, 175-6, 183-4 Senegal 218 Senior Management Team (SMT) 306, 310-11, 313 sex education, media coverage of 149, 152 Seychelles 103 Sikhs 248 Singapore 175, 201 Single European Act 69 Single European Market 67, 68, 76, 84, 85 Small Schools Movement 247 Social Charter, European 68, 82 social class/status consumer choice and 160-1, 162,175-6 democracy in action and 175, 190-1, 192 socialism 11, 52, 175 SOCRATES Programme 75-6 'soundbites' 150 South Africa aid to 110 apartheid education in 25-6, 29 centralization in 13 decentralization in 25-32 national curriculum of 201 South Manchester High School 310-11

South-East Asia 108,120, 121,175, 201, 213 Soviet Union former 17, 51, 222, 223-4, 292 educational aid to 115 migration from 114 multicultural education in 221-6 Spain 6-7, 21-2, 276n6 sport, in schools 308-9 Sri Lanka 20 state xx-xxi bureaucratic centralism and 4-5 communitarianism and 260 curriculum reform and 199, 202-3 decentralization and 6 European Union and 84-5 faith-based schools and 247, 248-9, 252, 258, 260-1, 262, 267, 285-6 legitimation crisis and 112-13 market tinkering by 1185-8 media and 154 national history of 5 parents and 248-9, 250, 252 planning and 49-57, 60-1, 62 school autonomy and 2291-5 in South Africa 225-8 see also centralization; decentralization; government(s) Statements of Attainment, in geography 233-4 statistics, official 156 sub-Saharan Africa xx, 60,113, 114,116 subsidiarity 77-8, 83, 84, 87 successful schools 130, 131-2, 296 Sudan 92, 94, 95,103, 104, 106 Swann Report (1985) 257 Sweden, aid from 11, 113, 117,199, 292 Switzerland 276n6, 309 Sydney 270, 280 tabloid newspapers 149,150,153 Taiwan 175 Tarahuma Indians 20 Tartarstan 224,226 Tasmania 269, 270 teacher(s) xx, 41-7, 42 aid projects and 95, 108 centralization and 17 child-centred approach of 42-3 collegiality and 317-18 curriculum and 44, 47, 199, 201-2, 203, 204, 205, 235, 236 decentralization and 3,4, 8-9,11, 14,19-20 development of 204 efficiency drives and 99-10 European Union and 70 evaluation of 323 faith-based schools and 248, 250, 251, 255, 261, 266 in Australia 271, 272, 273, 283-4, 285, 286 headteacher and 304, 306-8, 309, 310-11, 313, 314, 323-4 headteacher as 304, 305, 306, 322-3 HM Inspectorate and 135,136, 137, 138,140, 141,142,145

342

Subject Index x

individual nature of 41-2 leaderless schools and 309-14, 317-18 media and 149, 152 multiculturalism and 217-18, 219, 225 pay of xx,19,312 professionalism of 9-10,11, 47, 323 school autonomy and 295, 297, 298, 299, 300, 301 in Soviet Union/Russia 17, 225 training of xx, 8-9,157, 301, 323 HM Inspectorate and 141, 142, 145-6 technology/technical education aid for 115,119 city technology colleges 131, 132, 261 curriculum and 230-1, 237 European Union and 70, 71 metric/imperial systems in 21 school autonomy and 298 supermarket technology 185 television 148,150, 152, 153 see also media tests admission 250 national, union boycott of 149,150 Thailand 20 thinking, concepts of 238, 298-9 timetables 297, 299-300 training aid and 90, 94-5,115-16,118,119 European Union and 69-70, 75-7 HM Inspectorate and 141, 142, 145-6 planning of 63—4 teacher xx, 8-9,141,142,145-6, 157, 301, 323 see also vocational education Trinidad 314 Tunisian Textbook Project 110 Udmurtian 224 UNESCO 5, 51, 52, 61, 63 HEP 52, 53, 56-7, 61, 62-4, 204 reports cited xvii, xix, 64 UNICEF 77 Unit Curriculum (Australia) 44-5 United Kingdom xvii-xviii, xix aid from 89,112, 113, 116-17, 121 educational 107,108,109, 110 European Union and 79, 82 immigration policies of 113, 114 labour force in 114 market in 10,158,171-2, 185-8, 192 media in 147-55,156-7,178 multiculturalism in 216-17 sports in 308-9 see also England and Wales; Scotland; and also individual l topics United Nations 51, 52,113 United States xvii, 10,158

aid from 108,109,113 consumer choice in 127 curriculum reform in 21, 198, 199, 201, 203 decentralization in 19, 20, 23 faith-based schools in 266, 268, 275, 276n6 higher education in 55 immigration policies of 113,114 leadership in 320 multicultural curriculum planning in 210, 211-12, 213-14, 215-16 national planning by 51 populism in 7 school autonomy in 293, 296, 301 teachers in 45, 323, 324 technical schools in 21 work relationships in 237 universalistic egalitarianism 114-15 universities collegiality in 317,318 expansion of xx, 190-1 international aid to 108,110-11 Vanbergen Report (1988) 68 Victoria 270 Vietnam 11 vision faith-based schools and 258, 259, 260, 275 headteacher and 307 leadership and 322 vocational education aid for 115,118,119 European Union and 66, 69-70 school autonomy and 298 'voice'/'exit' options 133,161-2,177 voluntary aided schools 247, 252, 255, 257, 260 voucher systems 176 welfare, middle classes, appropriation of 175, 190-1, 192 Western Australia 44-5, 270 Wollongong 270 Wolverhampton Grammar School 312 women, educational aid and 116, 117, 118 workforce see labour force World Bank 5,51,52 aid policies of 92, 105,107,108,115-16, 117-18, 119, 121 education policies of 197, 202 reports cited xvii, xix-xx, 115,116, 197, 202 World Conference on Education for All (1990) 63, 109 Yakutian 224 'Yellow Book' 136,138 Youth for Europe 75 Zambia 102,108