There is no longer any justification for private schools in Britain

Labour is right to debate the future of these unjust institutions, which at last are no longer seen as untouchable writes Frances Ryan in The Guardian

 

Pupils at Harrow school, London: ‘Removing charitable status is rightly no longer seen as radical.’ Photograph: Alamy Stock Photo


A few years back, I finished a PhD on how to tackle Britain’s unequal life chances – which, among other measures, included abolishing private schools. Dusty academia seemed the home for this sort of proposal, one that has long filled endless papers but never quite makes it off the page and into reality.

That is no longer the case. In a few days, the Labour party will debate the future of private schools. The grassroots group Labour Against Private Schools (Laps) will bring a motion to the annual party conference in Brighton calling for the full integration of state and private schools, including nationalising the endowments of the hugely wealthy public schools. It has support from six constituency parties so far and the backing of senior party figures, with the shadow chancellor, John McDonnell, putting his weight behind the motion this week. A leaked memo to the Telegraph last week noted that the party is already considering making a manifesto pledge to remove tax breaks from the sector – while leaving the door open to getting rid of the schools altogether.

Removing charitable status is rightly no longer seen as radical. In 2017, that well-known lefty Michael Gove declared that private schools were “welfare junkies”, calling the VAT exemption “egregious state support to the already wealthy so that they might buy advantage for their own children”. The classic argument that private schools deserve tax breaks because they provide bursaries to poorer children is as thin as paper: in 2017, only 1% of private school pupils were schooled for free, while figures show “financial assistance” is considerably more likely to go to affluent middle-class families than children in need. 

It’s exciting, then, that the conversation is no longer restricted to this. For decades, private schools have held an untouchable air in this country. We know very well the damage they cause – both to the children whose education is harmed by losing advantaged peers and their influential parents, and to a society that is stifled by positions of power handed out on the basis of wealth rather than talent. We know how bizarre this set-up is – that 7% of schoolchildren will go on to control much of the media, the judiciary and parliament. And yet it is greeted with borderline rabid resistance by many commentators, while even those on the left have been reluctant to argue for comprehensive solutions. It typifies the worst of class privilege, where a small section of society is permitted to buy power and influence despite all the evidence of the damage that causes, and the rest of us must shrug our shoulders and accept this as an inevitability.

What feels different now is that these ideas are becoming mainstream at a tipping point in this country. Years of austerity have highlighted the resources gap between the highly funded private sector and the starved state sector. When many working-class children don’t have basic equipment in class, the dominance of elite schools feels even more obscene. The calamity of Eton alumni taking their turn at Downing Street, meanwhile, is now a real-time display of how dysfunctional a nation becomes when structured to be forever run by a tiny pocket of the wealthy.

The abolition of private schools is not an outlandish idea but rather an extension of what we already do. Societies constantly set limits on how far a parent can go in giving their child an advantage in life – that’s why it’s illegal for a mother to bribe a university admissions officer to give her son a place, and unethical for a father to do his daughter’s GCSE coursework. This is because it is widely understood that no matter how natural a parent’s desire to do the best for their child, it does not trump the good of society. Other countries, such as Finland, have already acted on this by slowly merging private and state schools.

When many working-class children don’t have basic equipment in class, the dominance of elite schools feels even more obscene

That the recent Telegraph front page had to rely on the retro “politics of envy” accusation to describe Labour’s ideas – akin to a playground cry of “You’re just jealous!” – shows how weak critics’ arguments are. In an era in which the damage of inequality is ever clearer and the movements to tackle it are growing stronger, those who cannot comprehend a desire to make life fairer for other people’s children sound increasingly out of touch.

It’s clear that tackling private schools alone is not enough to level the playing field, but that there are multiple causes of inequality doesn’t seem a good argument to ignore one of them.

The protection of a two-tier school system comes down to a fundamental question about what we think education should be. If we want the education system to be about giving every child a fair shot, then merging state and private schools is the logical move. The question is: what is really stopping our children being educated together?

The myth of self-created millionaires

The parasitical ultra-rich often deny the role of others in the acquisition of their wealth – and even seek to punish them for it

• 
• • George Monbiot
  • The Guardian, Monday 24 September 2012 20.30 BST

Illustration by Daniel Pudles

We could call it Romnesia: the ability of the very rich to forget the context in which they made their money. To forget their education, inheritance, family networks, contacts and introductions. To forget the workers whose labour enriched them. To forget the infrastructure and security, the educated workforce, the contracts, subsidies and bailouts the government provided.

Every political system requires a justifying myth. The Soviet Union had Alexey Stakhanov, the miner reputed to have extracted 100 tonnes of coal in six hours. The US had Richard Hunter, the hero of Horatio Alger's rags-to-riches tales.

Both stories contained a germ of truth. Stakhanov worked hard for a cause in which he believed, but his remarkable output was probably faked. When Alger wrote his novels, some poor people had become very rich in the US. But the further from its ideals (productivity in the Soviet Union's case, opportunity in the US) a system strays, the more fervently its justifying myths are propounded.

As the developed nations succumb to extreme inequality and social immobility, the myth of the self-made man becomes ever more potent. It is used to justify its polar opposite: an unassailable rent-seeking class, deploying its inherited money to finance the seizure of other people's wealth.

The crudest exponent of Romnesia is the Australian mining magnate Gina Rinehart. "There is no monopoly on becoming a millionaire," she insists. "If you're jealous of those with more money, don't just sit there and complain; do something to make more money yourselves – spend less time drinking or smoking and socialising and more time working … Remember our roots, and create your own success."

Remembering her roots is what Rinehart fails to do. She forgot to add that if you want to become a millionaire – in her case a billionaire – it helps to inherit an iron ore mine and a fortune from your father and to ride a spectacular commodities boom. Had she spent her life lying in bed and throwing darts at the wall, she would still be stupendously rich.

Rich lists are stuffed with people who either inherited their money or who made it through rent-seeking activities: by means other than innovation and productive effort. They're a catalogue of speculators, property barons, dukes, IT monopolists, loan sharks, bank chiefs, oil sheikhs, mining magnates, oligarchs and chief executives paid out of all proportion to any value they generate. Looters, in short. The richest mining barons are those to whom governments sold natural resources for a song. Russian, Mexican and British oligarchs acquired underpriced public assets through privatisation, and now run a toll-booth economy. Bankers use incomprehensible instruments to fleece their clients and the taxpayer. But as rentiers capture the economy, the opposite story must be told.

Scarcely a Republican speech fails to reprise the Richard Hunter narrative, and almost all these rags-to-riches tales turn out to be bunkum. "Everything that Ann and I have," Mitt Romney claims, "we earned the old-fashioned way". Old fashioned like Blackbeard, perhaps. Two searing exposures in Rolling Stone magazine document the leveraged buyouts which destroyed viable companies, value and jobs, and the costly federal bailoutwhich saved Romney's political skin.

Romney personifies economic parasitism. The financial sector has become a job-destroying, home-breaking, life-crushing machine, which impoverishes others to enrich itself. The tighter its grip on politics, the more its representatives must tell the opposite story: of life-affirming enterprise, innovation and investment, of brave entrepreneurs making their fortunes out of nothing but grit and wit.

There is an obvious flip side to this story. "Anyone can make it – I did without help", translates as "I refuse to pay taxes to help other people, as they can help themselves": whether or not they inherited an iron ore mine from daddy. In the article in which she urged the poor to emulate her, Rinehart also proposed that the minimum wage should be reduced. Who needs fair pay if anyone can become a millionaire?

In 2010, the richest 1% in the US captured an astonishing 93% of that year's gain in incomes. In the same year, corporate chief executives made, on average, 243 times as much as the median worker (in 1965 the ratio was 10 times lower). Between 1970 and 2010, the Gini coefficient, which measures inequality, rose in the US from 0.35 to 0.44: an astounding leap.

As for social mobility, of the rich countries listed by the OECD, the three in which men's earnings are most likely to resemble their father's are, in this order, the UK, Italy and the US. If you are born poor or born rich in these nations, you are likely to stay that way. It is no coincidence that these three countries all promote themselves as lands of unparalleled opportunity.

Equal opportunity, self-creation, heroic individualism: these are the myths that predatory capitalism requires for its political survival. Romnesia permits the ultra-rich both to deny the role of other people in the creation of their own wealth and to deny help to those less fortunate than themselves. A century ago, entrepreneurs sought to pass themselves off as parasites: they adopted the style and manner of the titled, rentier class. Today the parasites claim to be entrepreneurs.

An Article against MBAs

Bloodless bean-counters rule over us – where are the leaders?

The inexorable march of the managerialists is creating resentment and social division. 

Charles Moore in The Telegraph

Recently, a man got in touch with me who works for the defence services contractor QinetiQ. He wanted to complain about the way it was run. The company, in his view, suffers from “managerialism”.

Managerialists, he says, are “a group who consider themselves separate from the organisations they join”. They are not interested in the content of the work their organisation performs. They are a caste of people who think they know how to manage. They have studied “The 24-hour MBA”. There is a clear benefit from their management, for them: they arrange their own very high salaries and bonuses. Then they can leave quickly with something that looks good on the CV. The benefit to the company is less clear.

I also spoke to a former senior employee of QinetiQ. He corroborated my informant’s points with gusto. He said managerialists were particularly unsuited to industries such as QinetiQ’s, where scientific knowledge is all. He put it simply: “People who are making bits of technology, or servicing them, should know about technology.”

Skills are not infinitely transferable. “You used to be the editor of a broadsheet newspaper,” he said to me. “How do you think a former chief executive of Ford would perform if he suddenly came and edited a national title?” (or, he politely didn’t say, if the reverse were to happen).

The lack of knowledge at the top of a firm obviously creates a practical problem – “You don’t have people to get under the bonnet. They can only kick the tyres and change the oil.” They don’t understand the needs of the core customer. It also, in his view, creates a moral problem. The workers cannot respect their bosses. Management becomes “not symbiotic, but parasitic”.

I do not know whether these men are right about QinetiQ. I have no experience of the company and no technical expertise. One must also allow for the fact that, in any organisation, there are people with axes to grind. But I did find the way they talked striking. It seemed to accord with so many things I hear about life in so many organisations.

It is a big complaint, for example, about the modern National Health Service. Nowadays, on the dubious principle that all businesses and services are essentially the same, managers are a non-medical breed. The effect can be laughable. I heard of a case in which the managers told the doctors in a big hospital to save money by sending all their instruments away to a centralised off-site sterilising unit. Fine, said one mischievous consultant, but in that case may I have a second set of instruments so that I can work on my patients in emergencies? The managers, having no idea about his instruments, thought he probably could. “That’ll be £2 million then,” he said.

Comparable problems afflict the Armed Forces. They have fought several wars in the past 15 years, dealing with a Ministry of Defence staffed by people who know nothing about war. More generally in the Civil Service, it has become common to reduce specialist skills – language training in the Foreign Office, for example – and to move able people around from department to department. The present permanent secretary of the Home Office had never worked there before she took her present post at the beginning of last year. Since it is a department of fantastic complexity, it is perhaps not surprising that it has recently taken a series of tumbles on such issues as deportations and borders.

You find this hollowing-out everywhere. In schools, the head who does not teach is now a familiar, indeed dominant figure. University vice-chancellors, instead of being dons who move from their subject into administration for a period of their lives, are now virtually lifelong managers, with hugely increased salaries to match. It is even commonplace for charities to be run by people with no commitment to the charity’s specific purpose, but proud possession of what they call the necessary “skill-sets”, such as corporate governance.

With the rise of the managerialist comes a special language – a weird combination of semi-spiritual banality (“unlocking energies”), euphemism, and legalese. If you want to see the difference between people steeped in their trade and people steeped in managerialism, compare the testimony, at the Leveson Inquiry, of the Murdochs, father and son. The wicked old man spoke in the language, simultaneously sharp and blunt, of people who know and run their business. The evasive son adopted the locutions taught in business-school courses, honed by big law firms, footnoted by anxious compliance officers.

My friend at QinetiQ draws my attention to some of the usages which predominate where managerialism rules. The system of internal communications becomes a platform not for sharing knowledge but for propaganda. Human Resources invent things like the Personal Improvement Programme, which is really a means of punishing staff. “Consultation”, he says, is a word meaning that managerialists “tell you what they are going to do, 30 days before they do it”.

These habits are now pervasive across industry and the public services. “Diversity” is always “celebrated”, but it never means diversity of thought. The people who tell you they are “passionate about” X or Y are usually the most bloodless ones in the outfit.

In such cultures, just as the experts, the professionals and the technicians bitterly resent the managerialists for neither understanding nor caring, so the managerialists secretly detest the professionals who, they believe, get in the way of their rationalisations. They are desperate to “let go” of such people. Very unhappy organisations result.

A few weeks ago, after Dr Rowan Williams had given notice of his retirement as Archbishop of Canterbury, there was a story about his potential successor, Dr John Sentamu, the Archbishop of York. Dr Sentamu’s critics, apparently, had been saying that he was too much like an African tribal chief. Friends of Dr Sentamu were angry at what they saw as a racial slur.

But it struck me that the qualities of a tribal chief are now shockingly rare in big modern organisations. They might be just the job, and not only for the poor old C of E. The point about a tribe is that it unites its members by ties that are very hard to break. Tribalism, for sure, can be a bad thing, but a tribe understands matters of life and death. It recognises the importance of yesterday and tomorrow as much as today. It maintains the interest of the whole over that of a particular part. The chief of the tribe is not a manager: he is a leader.

No one sensible thinks that a large organisation can exist without being managed. Old stagers in companies, regiments, professions and, in my own experience, newspapers, easily over-romanticise their achievements and are unfair about the poor “bean-counters” who make the sums add up. But management should not dominate. As Lord Slim, who brilliantly led the British Army through the Burma campaign, put it: “Managers are necessary; leaders are essential.” We now have unprecedented numbers of the former, not so many of the latter.

Because, since the credit crunch, Everything Is Different Now, this problem is causing real social division. It explains much of the rage about executive pay. It is not so much the numerical difference between the top and the bottom which causes the anger, as the sense about why that difference exists. It has been arranged by the managerialists. It may even be the chief purpose of the managerialists’ working lives, as they edge towards the exit with the largest portable share of the takings available.