On Saturday night in Melbourne, a 16-year-old missed her grandmother’s birthday so she could stay at home for an extra two hours’ study. Yesterday morning in Sydney, another student — this time a 17-year-old — vomited repeatedly before breakfast, exam anxiety crippling her chances of the exam mark she is banking on. And in Brisbane, another student was told she was banned from bringing a sanitary napkin into the exam room. Why? It might be an aid for cheating.
The stories go on, all revolving around the process of securing a silly double-digit number called an ATAR. Forget being naughty or nice this Christmas, this number will deliver merriment or distress by signalling who will be selected into specific university courses and who will miss out.
It is tortuous and old-fashioned and absolutely irrelevant to the people students become — professionally and personally. But perhaps even more significantly, it measures none of the qualities that will dictate how they fare once they’ve joined the workforce.
What are the skills and talents we want in our politicians and chief executives, teachers and nurses? A medical specialist able to diagnose an illness is crucial, but so is their bedside manner and communication skills.
Former Australian of the Year and co-inventor of the cervical cancer vaccine Professor Ian Frazer — whose work saves millions of women’s lives — was not the top of his class. Yes, he was bright. But it was perseverance that ensured he didn’t give up — for days and weeks and years — on the breakthrough needed to progress a vaccine.
Curiosity is important. So is comprehension and understanding and critical thinking. But emotional intelligence and teamwork and the ability to tell your story trumps those. Indeed if Donald Trump had any of those traits he might still be in the White House. And if Scott Morrison, despite his background in marketing, was able to engage the nation on any issue — from COVID to climate change — he’d be sitting in a much better place.
It’s not just politicians, but the examples are everywhere of leaders whose talents don’t match the office they hold. And if COVID does nothing else, surely it can influence what is needed in future.
In theory, we know this. The education system is played with by every incoming government and inquiry after inquiry after inquiry leads nowhere. (Even the stellar job done through lockdown doesn’t seem enough to provide an impetus for a fat and deserving teacher pay rise). But in practice, it seems we — parents too — are happy to go along with a system that is making many children physically sick, and GPs and psychiatrists busier than they ever have been.
Self-harm is up. School refusal is up. Eating disorders and almost every mental health challenge is up. COVID is a big part of it, but the enormous pressures and expectations put on our senior students is a contributing factor.
Parents need to cop some of the blame. While we talk about the importance of a new and more flexible system, we celebrate harder when our children’s marks provide awards, when they stand out in academic pursuits.
This year some universities increased the number of early entries, particularly for students in Victoria. This was a small recognition that many Victorian students are COVID casualties; almost two years of remote learning has destroyed motivation levels and long-term goals.
But what was the consequence of that in some schools? Some students were asked to hold off accepting those offers, and work to get the highest score possible (which no doubt would help in school comparisons and marketing opportunities).
The different way the ATAR is calculated in different states also points to an inability to create a future-focused education system. Surely, if an ATAR score is the best avenue to determine university entry, shouldn’t it be based on the same assessment of marks whether you are in Victoria or South Australia or Queensland?
But perhaps the best illustration of how old-fashioned and immovable the system is in assessing tomorrow’s leaders is in how students are tested — in big, uncomfortable and often cold halls where adults pace up and down looking for wrongdoing.
Who shouldn’t we trust here? Pencil cases have to be transparent, as do rulers. Tissues are forbidden. Someone follows students to the toilet. Surely there’s a better way to engage and encourage and nurture and educate the politicians and CEOs and teachers of tomorrow.
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