On her first day at a selective school, Georgia Blain no longer
had to pretend not to know her multiplication tables to avoid being
teased. In her recent memoir Births Deaths Marriages, the
Australian novelist recalls that at her old school she had few
friends, as being smart made her "odd". But in her opportunity
class she discovered "my abilities were no longer something to be
ashamed about".
It's an experience shared by many children who go from a
comprehensive school to a selective school, yet it is rarely
considered in debates about schools.
Whenever there is public discussion about why local schools are
suffering from falling enrolments, selective schools are often
first to cop the blame.
It's a fair call. Selective schools draw high-achieving students
away from underfunded local schools, leaving them to cope with the
more educationally demanding students. Naturally, these schools
rank lower on HSC lists, further decreasing their attractiveness to
some parents.
But calls to curb selective schools frequently come from parents
and politicians, not students. If we are going to have an honest
public debate on this issue, we need to acknowledge the experiences
of students who went to selective schools to understand their value
and their shortcomings.
Like Blain, I began my schooling at a local primary school, in
the multicultural inner west of Sydney. I have fond memories of the
school, but I also remember feeling lost. Teachers often had their
hands full dealing with kids who were struggling with reading or
behavioural problems, and there was often not the time or the
resources to make the classes relevant for all.
Going to a selective high school was, for me, a bit like
stepping into the nerd dungeon Bart discovers in one episode of
The Simpsons; a secret room where the school brainiacs are
studying, talking and playing chess.
Selective schools are places where nerds are free to be nerds.
Knowledge of novels, poetry and politics suddenly became social
cachet. Classes often moved at a cracking pace, satisfying my
desire for more to read and learn. Girls were never made to feel
embarrassed for being smart and opinionated.
Of course, selective schools are not always an intellectually
stimulating bed of roses. Blain writes that while she no longer had
to be anxious about her intelligence at a selective school, knowing
she was not the brightest in the class now made her anxious about a
lack of ability. Mind-numbing conformity and ultra-competitiveness
are the scourge of most selective schools.
And undoubtedly my high school lacked the social diversity of my
primary school, at times feeding snobbish, narrow-minded attitudes
in the playground.
For many students, these problems are reason enough to avoid
selective schools.
A friend, Jesse Cox, is glad his parents sent him to a
comprehensive high school. Cox attends the University of Sydney
after gaining a stellar result in his HSC, and excels in art and
history.
"I think it's a bit of a myth that kids will be isolated in a
comprehensive school; it was not my experience at all," he says.
"The classes were really mixed, and kids still pushed each other in
a friendly way, not in the competitive way I would associate with a
selective school."
It is clear from the experiences of Cox and others that
selective schools do not have a monopoly on nurturing intelligent,
creative minds. It is also questionable whether they quantitatively
improve the academic performance of the students who attend
them.
Standing up for selective schools is a difficult point to argue.
Gifted children will probably achieve great things, no matter what
school they go to, and it's imperative that students who are
struggling to keep their heads above water are given the most
attention in public debate.
But for an honest and vigorous discussion about the best ways to
improve public education, the experiences of students and former
students must be considered. It would be dangerous to leave the
debate to ideological arguments alone.
Josephine Tovey
Pic: Andrew Quilty