The item hardly made the morning news. Government inspectors had discovered 14 “failed” schools that had suddenly become successes. Some bright spark thought it worth asking why. The answer came as a bolt of lightning: that all had benefited from something called leadership. It was the one common thread.
When stuck for an answer to a problem, I turn to the maxim known as Ockham’s razor. It states: “Frustra fit per plura quod potest fieri per pauciora,” or do not apply many things to a task that can be done with few. It was brilliantly “razored” by the American marines to KISS, “keep it simple, stupid”.
In modern state education, Ockham’s razor is tantamount to knife crime. It lacks bureaucratic complexity. Its application demands no expertise, no grand staff, no research budget, no office blocks with atriums. Its mere mention endangers thousands of nonjobs, threatening to send former teachers now screwing up the school system back where they belong, in the schools.
Not a week passes without these people inventing for ministers a new and expensive quick fix for bad schools, an academy, a foundation, a trust, a “please look at me, I’m a minister” initiative. There is not a shred of evidence that any of these upheavals work, but each has its dedicated bureaucracy, its budget and its spin doctor.
Now along comes Ofsted, the schools inspectorate, and lets the cat out of the bag. If you want a good school, get the right head.
Sack bad heads and appoint good ones. Give them the money and leave them alone. If they do not work, sack them again. Good heads are not made, except in the forge of experience. Mostly they are born.
In his charming novel Mister Pip, Lloyd Jones tells of an educated man living on a Polynesian island from which civil war has driven all public servants. The islanders plead with him to teach their children, for which he has no skills, books or equipment. All he has is an old copy of Great Expectations, which becomes his sole teaching aid. He requires nothing but his own personality, and that of Dickens.
The answers to most institutional problems are that simple. Ofsted approached 14 schools that were so dysfunctional as to be under “special measures”. Each had shown dramatic improvement in 2003-7, in both exam performance and pupil behaviour. There had been a calculated programme of discipline, school uniform and subdivision into houses, and a promoting of school pride and identity.
While the report’s jargon was close to gibberish, the message was clear: only a highly motivated staff would deliver “a whole-school identity and sense of belonging . . . an evident pride in recognising collective achievement”.
Then came the sting. The inspectors found that all depended on the courage, risk-taking and autonomy of one person, the head teacher, and on that person being left alone. Indeed, “outside help can actually make things worse . . . with a potential to create more problems and slow the pace of improvement”. Local councils do best to disengage or, as the report put it, “manage robust exit strategies”.
This finding echoes a 2006 report that found one in five English schools did not have a permanent head at all, and one in three vacancies had to be readvertised. The reason was that targetry and crushing paperwork had greatly reduced the appeal of running a modern state school and teachers were just not interested. The chief task of an English school head is to man the battlements to fight off marauding bands of ministers and officials. As one said to me: “They make the hoodies at the school gate look like a bunch of patsies.”
Hansard reported that in one year under Labour the schools ministry sent out 3,840 pages of instructions to head teachers. Back in 2005 the “head teacher of the year” publicly attributed her success to “ignoring all government strategies”. In March 2006 the chief examiner, Ken Boston, confessed that at British schools the “assessment load is huge . . . far greater than in other countries and not necessary for the purpose”.
The centralisation of school administration has clearly not worked. The schools secretary, Ed Balls, admitted recently that we have “gone backwards” compared with the rest of Europe. He seemed bereft of any solution, other than yet more central initiatives.
Finding good leaders and then leaving them alone runs counter to Balls’s entire outlook and Treasury upbringing. As he and his schools minister, Andrew Adonis, showed last week in yet another reorganisation of secondary education, their preferred route to improvement is through targets, regulations, inspections and the humiliating threat of closure.
Balls publicly listed 638 schools on his hitlist, an act of mass demoralisation worthy of the Inquisition.
Towards the end of his career as a management pundit, the late C Northcote Parkinson retreated into what many saw as his least original phase. His famous “laws” had passed into the language, but none had had any effect. Paperwork still proliferated, work expanded to fill the time available and staff hired to do half-jobs still needed assistants.
The one common trait that Parkinson could detect in all management success was that will-o’-the-wisp, leadership. An inspirational and determined leader defied his laws and moved bureaucratic mountains. Nothing else could do the trick. Parkinson’s fans were contemptuous. How banal, they said. The genius had met old age.
The same response was given by the BBC to the Ofsted report on failing schools. Informed that the key lay in leadership, the interviewer remarked coldly: “But isn’t that a statement of the blindingly obvious?” and turned to the next item. The BBC worships at the shrine of management consultancy and gorges on complexity. It cannot handle Ockham’s razor. It loathes the simple answer.
Ofsted’s discovery is of wider application than just to schools. As we watch the agony that Alan Johnson and his predecessors have inflicted on the National Health Service, we see the same syndrome. When anything is wrong with a hospital or health centre, the cure lies in reorganisation. There must, to use the prime minister’s motto, be “solution through change”.
I think not. Public services are supplied by humans led by humans.
Whenever a hospital has in some sense failed, the cry is heard, “Bring back the matron”, and some eager minister promises it. He then appoints 10 administrators over her head. These administrators have to be paid “incentive bonuses” just to do their jobs, defined as not to lead but to meet an external target. Nothing works.
We eulogise the simplistic managerial skills of an Alan Sugar, yet refuse to apply the lesson to the public sector. Top-down public administration in Britain is now obsessively complex. Last week it was announced that “popular schools will be allowed to take up to 26 extra pupils a year above their official limit, ministers propose”. What on earth has such a detail to do with ministers? Such meddling reflects a lack of confidence in people to do good work. It ranks with the bonus fixation and targetry as a sure way of destroying professional self-esteem.
The cult of leadership was derided in the last century by the countervailing cult of management as shrouded in ugly connotations of superiority. The managerialists implied that running a human institution was a matter of technical skill, one that could be quantified, incentivised and taught.
This appealed to the control tendencies of Whitehall. It reflected a lack of faith in the ability of democrats to hold institutions to account, be they schools, hospitals, care homes, police forces or even prisons – despite such accountability operating across the rest of Europe to general public satisfaction. Not a single cabinet minister to my knowledge has ever run an institution and thus known what it is like to deal with a cabinet minister on the rampage.
Leadership is notoriously indefinable and therefore hard to ordain from above. It lies in unexpected and untutored places, possessed for instance by Tony Blair but sadly not by Gordon Brown. It is unpredictable but essential to the running of institutions, often revealed only by trial and error. Ofsted has detected it in 14 lucky schools. Will the rest get the message?
