I Went to a State School: Pity Party NOT Necessary!
05:50
June 2012, Alumni Auditorium, University of
Exeter: my first open day. I’m sitting in my first ever lecture
theatre, in a huge swivelly chair that is a million miles away from the hard
plastic ones I’ve spent the past 13 years of my education in. I’m looking
around, anxious with anticipation. I'm one in a sea of faces who in the following years may
become my peers, study buddies, and closest friends. Right now, they’re competition. (I've never been ruthlessly competitive, but I know what it looks like, and open days hold a distinctive air of "ambition at any cost".) I know very little about UCAS and university life. I don’t know the difference
between formative and summative; heck, I don’t even know what the grading
system is within this shiny play world for academics and education-enthusiasts.
I know one thing and that’s that I want this. I want it like I’ve never wanted
anything. I want to be a part of a world that lies within my fingertips.
At the end of this welcome talk, the
speaker asks for any questions and mothers and fathers galore ask about loans
and finance, subjects and study, societies and sports, the favouring of state
schools... 4 years down the line, a University of Exeter graduate, this woman’s
question still rings in my head: so, will my child be at a disadvantage,
because you must admit a certain number of *ahem* children from *ahem* state
schools? She looked around that auditorium, as I did, and encouraged nods from
fellow parents. I cringed, squirmed and sank in my seat a little. Extremely
grateful for my education, and perhaps naively, I had never thought my school
name would be scrutinized alongside my grades.
I got into Exeter because I worked my arse
off. Going to put that out there now. And I hate to think that anyone saw my
offer of a place as a strategic move. I’ve never had extra tuition. I wasn't allowed to take textbooks home, because there simply weren't enough to go round. I wasn’t
coached on interview techniques and styles. I wrote my personal statement
myself…and chased my teachers to get it back to me ASAP. I went to a state
school, and I wasn’t a government pawn in the chess game of “social mobility”.
I’m also going to make it very clear at
this point that I in no-way mean to “shame” or degrade those who have been
privately educated – you are some of my closest friends, and many of you work
very similarly to myself. This world is not black and white. I am not, under any circumstances, claiming state schools to be one way, and private schools another. You are as much a pawn in this game as I am - you are just encouraged to believe you have the potential to choose your next move. Regardless, and keeping to the matter in hand, you too are at a Russell Group University, because
you worked your arse off to get there. And when push comes to shove, we both had to work hard enough to stay there, and we both had to work hard enough to be worthy of the degree we received from there. And, whilst a school's name may very well stand for something, I'm not sure it stands for the late nights working on an essay, the weekends spent in the library, or the pile of books that practically broke my back...and though we may have come from differing educational means, I know I'm not alone in that.
Let me give you an insight into my state
school life, in all its glory! My secondary school was a large comprehensive,
with an incredibly mixed demographic. The school itself was old,
oversubscribed, and in need of a major refurb/rebuild; the gym smelt of feet
and the computer suites were sporadic, thus gold-dust, but it achieved
excellent results, attracted inspirational staff and aimed to serve children
from all walks of life – economically, academically, and pastorally, in the
classroom, on the playing field, on the stage, and emotionally. My state school wasn’t state
of the art, and being evacuated from maths because someone was throwing chairs, or being on lockdown because someone stole chemicals from the science lab, was fairly normal, if not a little inconvenient. But, my GSCE exams
weren’t any easier and my coursework markers were no more lenient. And I
really, really do NOT need to be pitied for my state school education!
I know I’m talking from an element of
privilege: my school, whilst far from perfect and at times a little chaotic,
was not a bad state school. It was not a failing state school. Some of my
classes had in excess of 40 students in them, and trust me, you don’t know a
“good teacher” until you’ve seen them perform a first class education under those
conditions! In other classes, there’d be days where 80% would point blank
refuse to cooperate – if you’re in the 20% that want to be there, you’re in the
major-minority, and that means being massively responsible for your own
education. When you’re in a class that is failing, and the teacher knows they
need to get X students achieving a C/D, that’s the level that teacher is going
to have to work to – because it’s better for a class to be majority “average”,
than have 2/3 students hitting A*s and the rest fail. It’s a cutthroat world
and it tests how much you want something. But I was lucky, my school had a
second to none senior leadership team, and they ran a tight ship. I was proud
of my school – immensely so, in fact. And I still am. I wouldn’t change my
education for the world…it’s taught me a lot, about people and life and
determination, about drive and business and perseverance.
Last month, at a party, I was talking to a
lady about university and Exeter and she suddenly said “so, tell me, did you
meet anyone who was publically educated?!”. I blushed and stammered, “urmm,
well, yes, I’m publically educated”, to which, bemusingly, she patted me on the
back and said, “well I never, well done you!”. Whilst I acknoweldged her praise
with gratitude, I couldn’t help feeling it was a little unnecessary…admittedly,
there were times when school felt like a battlefield, yes, but I think that’s
pretty standard, whether privately or publically funded! Really, the pity party is NOT necessary!
I find it almost amusing, how hung up
people seem to be on the educational front, and I find it really amusing that I
was so naïve to the nastiness and sheer bitterness that seems to lurk within
it. Whatever you think of public/private schools, it’s children who are
ultimately hurt by your words. At my public speaking competitions, we’d,
inevitably, compete against private schools, many of whom assumed the trophies were theirs before we even took our seats - and parents were often the worst. Given, your uniform
was often nicer, and you’d possibly had more time to train, but really, we
weren’t that different, we all had to capture the same audience, and, well, couldn’t we just have focused on the matter
in hand and let the best team win?!
I’m proud of my state school. And I’m proud
of myself. But, I’m not proud of my accomplishments simply because I went to a
state school! Pride isn’t, or at least shouldn’t be, institutional. Whilst I’m
grateful to my school, I’m not simply a product of it. And whilst I wore my
uniform dutifully, said uniform was not a qualification that earned me my place
at university.
I don’t believe money can buy education.
I
don’t believe money can buy you out of teenager torment.
I don’t believe that
my place at university was simply granted to fill a government requirement.
And
I don’t believe I need to be pitied because I “survived” a state school
education!
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