CORRESPONDENCErnLetter FromrnBanausiarnby Michael McMahonrnThe Aptly Named WoodheadrnLovers of Gilbert and Sullivan will notrnneed to be reminded that the second actrnof The Gondoliers is set in “Barataria,” arnfictional land which is ruled by “arnmonarchy that’s tempered with republicanrnequality.” The opera sadrizes the inflexiblernsocial order of Victorian societyrnby turning it on its head and mocking thernno-less-absurd result. The plot, ofrncourse, is resolved by events as improbablernas they are comic: Everyone is happyrnat the end.rnLovers of learning could be forgivenrnfor thinking that, if W.S. Gilbert werernalive today, he would surely write a storyrnset in “Banausia,” a t)Tanny that’s temperedrnwith—and mediated through —rnthe illusion of educational equality.rnThat, too, would be the stor}’ of a worldrnturned upside-down, intellectually andrnculturally. It would be the story of contemporaryrnEnglish education. AndrnGilbert would have to strain his comic visionrnto its limit to come up with a happyrnending.rnWhy “Banausia”? Because in an exactrninversion of the values of ancient Athens,rnthose who rule contemporary Britainrnhave respect only for the practical outcomesrnof education, hi fact, for all theirrnuse of the E-word—the prime minister’srnscriptwriters have instructed him neverrnto mention it without repeating it twicernthereafter—few contemporary politiciansrnof any influence show any sign ofrnhaving the faintest idea what it means.rnWlien Mr. Blair says—again, and again,rnand again —that his priorities are “Education,rnEducation, Education,” he is notrnspeaking about education at all, but ofrntraining: of drudges, by drudges, forrndrudgery.rnIf anyone were ever to doubt this, hernneed only look at the brass plate on thernfront door of what used to be called thernMinistry of Education. It is now st^’lcdrnthe “Department for Education [as if, onrnthe evidence, anyone might think it wasrnagin’ it] and Employment.” The questionrn”Why do we have education?” isrnboth posed and answered on that plaque.rnIs it to liberate the mind, to hand on therncultural inheritance, and to pursuernknowledge and understanding for itsrnown sake? No: It is to prepare our childrenrnfor work. That’s why double-ministerrnDavid Blunkett is flogging a utilitarianrntwo-horse chariot, and that is why thernelegant, independent-spirited thoroughbredrnof Learning has been put out tornwhatever scant grass it can find.rnBut things are far worse than this.rnWhat has happened in England is notrnjust the debasement of education. It hasrnnot merely been diminished; it has beenrnper’erted—skillfully, and for a politicalrnpurpose. Education is no longer an independentrnfield of human activity supportedrnand encouraged by the government,rnbut a tightly controlled mediumrnthrough which that government exercisesrnpower—over the future, as well as thernpresent. Alan Ryan, warden of New Gollege,rnOxford, puts it concisely: “It’s allrnabout control, punishment, inspection,rntelling people how to do things.” Therernis still an educational elite, of course,rnthough it is no longer made up of thernlearned, but of the powerful—those whorncontrol education from without. Learningrnhas fallen victim to a kind of secularrnErastianism in which the greater is subordinatedrnto the lesser. Schools are nornlonger expected to be self-renewingrnfountains of learning, where educatedrnteachers re-invest their knowledge andrnwisdom in society; they are to be anti-intellectualrnboot camps in which a statescriptedrncurriculum is delivered.rnIn every primary school in the land, anrnhour is now spent teaching “literacy” —rnwhat we used to call reading and writingrn—from a script so detailed that almostrnthe only variation permitted is in thernnames of the children in the class. Startingrnnext year, mathematics will be taughtrnin the same way. Throughout the rest ofrnprimary and secondary schooling, thernnational curriculum dictates preciselyrnwhat will be taught, and the omnipotent,rninquisitorial malice of the inspectoraternmakes sure it is taught in precisely thernway the government wants.rnThis passion for centralized uniformityrnis boundless. At one comic extreme,rnthe government has commissioned arnnormative scheme of decoration and furnishingrnfor staff rooms—even thoughrnteachers these days hardly have time tornenter them except to clear their bulgingrnpigeonholes of obscenely wasteful quantitiesrnof paperwork. At the other, morernsinisterly, it has allocated one billionrnpounds to a computerization programrn(“one of the largest committed by anyrngovernment in the world”) that willrnconnect every school to what it calls arn”National Grid for Learning,” so thatrnteachers and pupils can access Whitehall-rnapproved lesson plans and learningrnmaterials. Launching the scheme lastrnNovember, ministers were anxious tornpoint out that they were not trying to usernthis new technology to “seize control ofrninformation that could be used in thernclassrooms,” but the practical outcome,rnof course, will be precisely that. Eor despiternits pitiful deference to the Mammonrnof market forces, New Labour isrncarefully nationalizing the one commodityrnthe market cannot control: thought.rnBut the introduction of the NationalrnGrid for Learning marks more than therntotalitarian reprogramming of the nationalrnmachinery of education. This, therndefinitive system of teaching by numbers,rnalso has the advantage of cuttingrnout the middleman—the teacher. Atrnleast, it reduces him or her to the status ofrna mere classroom assistant, whose job isrnto wander round the room in which thernchildren are latched on to their computersrnlike so many piglets on the fat sow ofrnthe state, picking up and re-attachingrnthose that drop off. This is a timely development.rnIt will hardly surprise thernreader to learn that secondary-teacher recruitmentrnin England is on the verybrinkrnof collapse. Despite the government’srnrecent (and offensively facile) advertisingrncampaign —”Nobody forgets arngood teacher!”—almost nobody wants tornbe one anymore. There are massivernshortfalls in most major subjects, with sornfew candidates offering themselves to berntrained to teach mathematics or sciencernthat the government has been forced tornoffer a £5,000 bonus to those that do.rnAnd yet, incredibly, the governmentrnrecenfly reduced the target figure for thisrnyear’s recruitment of putative teachers,rneven though colleges failed wretchedlyrnto meet the one that was set for 1998.rnThe announcement of this cut (of 13rnpercent) was made under cover of thernJUNE 1999/37rnrnrn