Today's Headlines: Ofsted Redefines Meaning Of Word 'Satisfactory'
I would like you to imagine for a moment that your hardest work is only ever officially graded by your boss as 'satisfactory'.
My heart sank a little as I read the BBC website today. Christine Gilbert, head of Ofsted, bless her cotton socks, is at it again. This time, she's worried about weak teachers who 'put off pupils'. They just put them right off, apparently. Because, just to include a cheap shot before I really get into it, the majority of pupils come out of their home in the morning well-shod, well-clothed and well-fed before we even get them into the classrooms. 'Can we come in early and study Mr XWiz?' they gleefully don't ever, ever cry. Later that day, as little 'Feenix-Gemstone Peaches-Babydoll' falls asleep during maths and you wonder if it was, perhaps, just a little too hard, you feel led to enquire as to bedtime: turns out to be around midnight, after she'd finished watching Saw. But enough; I want to be logical here. I want to highlight the major problem I have with Ofsted's influence on teaching at the moment. I don't think I'm going to manage it: brace yourself for a spew of ad hominem fun.
You see, I rather like the idea of Ofsted. I'm doing an important job, and I really should be accountable for it. I don't mind being observed, and I don't mind being told about the areas I can improve on, and I positively welcome hints on how to do it. I do like teaching, and I do want to be good at it. That said, I don't actually like being observed because it makes me nervous, I begin to worry, and basically my stress levels go through the roof. For no reason, really, because I'm usually awarded the label 'good'. I'm a 'good' teacher. Apparently. The holy grail of 'outstanding' is just beyond me at present, which is worrying since it really means 'good', and 'good' really means... ah... wait; I'm getting ahead of myself. Let's stop and explain how it all works:
You are observed, and there are four paragraphs which define what is unsatisfactory, satisfactory, good or outstanding. The inspector compares your performance to these example lessons, match it all up and go for a best fit. Then they tell you... eventually. They might call you 'Good', and while the paper says 'good' it doesn't mean 'good'. It means 'satisfactory'. But they don't call you 'satisfactory', because 'satisfactory' really means 'unsatisfactory', and they can't write 'unsatisfactory' because in reality 'unsatisfactory' means 'poor'. If you actually are poor enough to get a 'poor', then they kill you in the following day's assembly as part of a ritual to cast out bad teaching. This has only happened to one woodwork teacher from the south of England, and the Teaching Unions had plenty to say, so I doubt it'll happen again. (That was a joke, son, but not too far from the point.)
Allow me to quote the BBC website:
"Ms Gilbert said teaching rated as "satisfactory" was not good enough, especially in deprived areas."
'Satisfactory' is not good enough. I'm glad she doesn't teach English.
Now maybe I'm getting too excited about semantics, but doesn't the word 'satisfactory' imply that it'll do? I mean, lets consider this word in the context of everyday life, then consider it in the context of someone who's just taught their socks off in an effort to meet the Ofsted criteria for a 'satisfactory' lesson.
You're at your mother's house and she presents you with a slice of cake and a lovely mug of earl grey. How is it, she enquires, and you say 'Satisfactory'. You wake up in a lovely hospital bed, surrounded by crisp white nurses and beautifully-uniformed sheets. Or you're purchasing a new car. It does everything it's supposed to and it does it well. Girls stare, and men want to be your friend. Don't forget to tell them - it's 'satisfactory'. Or you're a teacher, and a band of ragtaggle muffagaggins plunge themselves into the room. There's a strange person in the corner, which means most of them want to stare into the corner rather than at you. You teach and teach and teach, but you're rather worried because the man in the corner might call you 'satisfactory'. As a result, everything you do is perfectly okay. It's fine. You're teaching to the standard required, the children are learning things, maybe even useful things. You're 'satisfactory', and - wait for it - it's not good enough. Particularly, as Chrissie implies, when poor people are involved.
I asked you earlier to imagine for a moment that your hardest work is only ever officially graded by your boss as 'satisfactory'. And remember... that's not good enough. How do you feel?
I growl at the word 'satisfactory'. Really - I audibly growl. I positively adore Ofsted's publication 'Inspection Matters' issue 14, which states quite unequivocally that although Ofsted's grade descriptors provide a useful framework for schools, there is no imperative to perform in-school assessments in the same way. Nevertheless, I'm subjected to a scrutiny for satisfaction every half term. (It's section A11, if you're interested.)
Remember, parents: a bad teacher is worse than drugs. You've got to put the blame somewhere for little Chardonnay-Hymen Britney and President-Robert Mugabe Smith not achieving, haven't you, and it can't possibly be their parents. Hands up, teachers - it's all our fault. Again.