Category Archives: Social Exclusion

Diane Reay’s “Miseducation”: a personal reflection (by Jo Ingold)

miseducation picMiseducation Inequality, education and the working classes by Diane Reay brings together threads from a wealth of Reay’s research on working-class experiences of education, as well as her own personal journey from working-classness to Professor at an elite institution. Reading Miseducation was enlightening for me on many levels, as well as being a bit of a sense-making process, both professionally and personally. I’ll admit right from the start that I’ve largely avoided talking about class in my academic work, largely because it has been too personal. So, (much like Miseducation itself) what follows is a reflection of Reay’s Miseducation that combines the academic and the personal.

Reay takes as her starting point Jackson and Marsden’s seminal 1966 book Education and the Working Class. A key difference between when Jackson and Marsden wrote their famous work and now is that back in the 1960s 60% of the population identified as working-class. Now this is only 40%. But Reay finds that a shocking level of class inequality still persists in the English education system. In particular, she highlights the significant increase in testing and the narrowing of the curriculum in schools (aspects of which I am only too aware now as a parent). Secondly, she points to the policy shift towards academies and free schools, which have increased selectivity, largely leaving working-class kids behind. A 2013 OECD report that Reay cites early in the book (p.50) concluded that schools in England are the most socially segregated in the developed world, especially for poor and migrant families.

In secondary school I was one of the working-class kids Reay talks about, who was ‘relegated’ to the bottom set (p.77). My local primary school (incidentally where my father had also gone to school) was what we would probably now call a ‘sink school’. My mother fought successfully to get me into a ‘better’ school in the ‘posher’ part of town. But when I got to high school I was put in the bottom set with not a single kid from my primary school, but with kids from our (poorer) part of town. This isn’t just about me having an overinflated sense of my own capabilities. Years after I left high school, my final year primary teacher told me that she’d tried to get me into a higher set, but didn’t win the argument with the school. At the time, my parents complained to the headteacher that I was finding the school work in the bottom set unchallenging. They were told that nothing could be done until after the end of the first year exams when, if I proved myself, I would be moved up. At the end of the year I was indeed moved up. But by then friendship groups had been established and I had effectively lost a year of secondary schooling.

Another rather strange and revealing example of how class impacts on working-class kids became apparent to me only a few years ago when I got hold of my medical notes. In these, I discovered (from Pre-Data Protection Act) that a clinician who I saw aged 15 had put in my notes that I had ‘aspirations that were likely beyond my academic abilities’. This was a clinician, not even a teacher! The importance of including this is to say that these are the kinds of assumptions and judgements made about working-class kids that Reay talks about, who start off life with the odds firmly stacked against them by many in positions of power.

Another key driver of inequalities for working class kids that Reay highlights are the class divisions in university education. In particular, she points to the exacerbation of a two-tier system of ‘elite’ and ‘inferior’ institutions largely as a result of recent funding changes. She argues that ‘Elitist processes masquerading as meritocracy are just as evident in the English education system as they were 50 years ago in the 1960s; but the primary engines of this pseudo meritocracy are no longer the grammar schools but the elite universities’ (p.178). Another, more pernicious, factor that Reay identifies is that failure is now seen as the fault of the working-class individual, rather than anything more systemic (p.180).

In relation to universities, Reay also powerfully talks about the cultural and social capital that you lack as an individual when you’re working-class and trying to gain entry to a university. No one in my family was familiar with the university environment. But I was lucky: I was helped by a few professionals for whom my mum cleaned. I was also awarded an assisted government place to attend an independent 6th Form. Without these, I don’t think I would have felt confident enough to apply to a Russell group university. Back in high school my mother paid for extra maths tutoring for me outside of school. But when (on the tutor’s advice) I told my head of maths that I’d like to do the higher paper to try to get an A grade (rather than the maximum C I could get by doing the lower paper) she told me that I could, but qualified it with: ‘you can always resit next year’. This stands out for me as a good example of the lowered expectations and constrained ambition that I felt during my compulsory education.

One of the most powerful aspects of the book for me was where Reay talks about how the working-classes find themselves having left one class (working) and yet not feeling like a true member of another (the ‘bolting on of middle classness’) (p.104). Reay suggests that social mobility for the working classes represents ‘a fragile balance between realising potential and maintaining a sense of authenticity’, resulting in individuals being uncomfortably ‘caught between two worlds’ (p.108). Lynsey Hanley also talks powerfully about this from her own experience in Respectable. This process of social mobility can be wounding, resulting in a ‘disconnect’ for individuals and a feeling of being ‘adrift’ from social and family ties. The political discourse of social mobility as an unquestionable good, Reay argues, doesn’t really get to grips with this aspect.

My own personal experience of social mobility is of a huge gulf between myself and my wider family and community that came about because I went to university and that will likely never be resolved. ‘Why would you want to go to University?’ they asked. The fact that I went to University and moved away underscored another aspect of this fracture highlighted by Reay: what social mobility says about those who are left behind. Reay rightly asks what the point is in striving for equality with more-privileged others if the process creates inequalities between you and the people you love’? (pp 114-5). In the epilogue she cites the powerful words of Bourdieu: ‘to be able to live in a world that is not mine I must try to understand both things: what it means to have an academic mind…and at the same time what was lost in acquiring it’ (pp 197-8).

Finally, a further critical aspect for me that Reay talks about is how as academics we can become ensnared in ‘dominant representations’ of the working classes and that it is important not to ‘romanticise’ the experience of working-classness (p.198). Instead, she highlights the diversity of ‘working-classness’. This helped me to make sense of my own class background. My experience of growing up working class was largely about being fearful and ashamed. Constant stress about having enough money to live on, of having utilities cut off and having to lie about this to friends to save face. My mum was shocked when I asked to have free school meals as she didn’t want me to look ‘outwardly poor’ to others. My parents didn’t claim Family Credit for largely the same reason (although this left us even poorer). My parents were not part of the politically enlightened, ‘radical’ working class that was Reay’s background, but were more the ‘aspirant’ working-class talked about in Jackson and Marsden’s classic work. However, their aspirations were really for me, rather than for themselves. For them, education was the gateway to a much better life for me than the one they experienced. My dad was a time-served joiner, but could only find work on building sites throughout his life. He wasn’t a member of a union (except when there was a closed shop) and, in common with his family and peers, he voted Conservative. My mum largely worked in shops and as a cleaner and waitress. Both struggled from one low-paying insecure job to another (my mum regularly had at least two jobs), with poor health as a result.

The ‘classedness’ of my education was largely a part of my life that, for good or ill, I didn’t really notice at the time: what Reay refers to as ‘the living out of class on both conscious and unconscious levels’ (p.155). Reay says she’s still upset that, for the majority of people that both she and Jackson and Marsden interviewed, their working-class backgrounds were something they wanted to forget (p.8). This resonated deeply with me. But it is critical not to forget. In Miseducation Reay strikes exactly the right chord, successfully managing to achieve her aim of ‘cutting across the grain’ of what she has become professionally (p.198) to be reflexive about her own experiences. Reay’s Miseducation is a timely exposė of how current government policies, the education ‘system’ but, critically, social values and attitudes to ‘inequality, welfare and difference’ (p.174) are still failing, and as a result limiting the potential of so many.

Dr Jo Ingold is a Lecturer in Human Resource Management and Public Policy and is a member of CERIC.

Miseducation by Diane Reay is published by Policy Press’ 21st Century Standpoints series, in association with the British Sociological Association

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Alexandra Seehaus (Visiting Fellow, CERIC) reviews Oliver Nachtwey’s book, currently only available in German.

Alex Seehaus

Alex Seehaus, Visiting Fellow, CERIC

Oliver Nachtwey’s “The descent society. On Rebellion in the Regressive Modern Age”

Running up a downwards escalator

The election results to the German Parliament on Sunday 24th made a far right nationalist party (Alternative für Deutschland “Alternative for Germany” ) the third biggest party in the Lower House of Parliament. While among the electorate there are nationalist, racists, and neo-nazis, a huge number of people declared they voted for them out of protest against the existing government. Many of those engaging in a protest vote were members of the middle classes with middle incomes, who are afraid to lose their status and class position, due to the increase of migrants and refugees and an increased insecurity. To place this in context and understand some of this background to this turn of events, it is worthwhile to read Oliver Nachtwey’s book which explores changed mobility patterns in German society.

Oliver Nachtwey has offered a staggering account of this phenomenon in Germany, which has made it into the top selling lists of the online bookshop Amazon Germany and was recently awarded with the Hans-Matthöfer-prize for heterodox economic and sociological writing.

Nachtwey sees the social promise that has kept the German society together over the last seventy years as lost. There is no longer an ‘ascent society’ in Germany, but it has instead been replaced by one of descent. The divide between rich and poor has increased and the dynamics of social mobility have changed, to the detriment of those at the bottom. Instead of climbing up the ladder to the top, people are now making a constant effort in order not to descend, simply to hold their position. Given the fact that a majority of the public still seems persuaded by the idea of meritocracy and the belief in collective upward mobility, such developments contradict common expectations. As hard work and ongoing growth were supposed to guarantee constant status improvement, it’s mere absence causes disappointment for employees and is perceived as social descent.
Descent is a problem for society as a whole. It affects not only those whose situation is getting worse, but also causes stagnation and widespread fear. According to Nachtwey such situation is characterised by polarisation and precarity, resulting in an erosion of social integration. What he sees arising in its place is a new social question about the emergence of ‘working poor’ and unequal distribution of wealth and chances for social mobility, which threatens democracy and provokes protest.

The book not only offers a precise analysis of social inequality and struggles within democratic capitalism. Its intellectual strength lies in the way in which aspects – which often remain separate – are brought together. This includes observations on post-democracy, findings on underclasses and precarious working conditions, pressure on middle classes, as well as thesis on stagnating capitalism and low growth expectations.
Nachtwey’s analysis builds on the work of sociologist Ulrich Beck, who depicts the upward mobility in the prospering welfare state of post-war Germany as collective elevator effect. According to Nachtwey, this metaphor has become obsolete, as people no longer move up together. The ‘steady ascent’ has ended with the deterioration of standard employment, flexibilisation, and the dismantling of social security, which went hand-in-hand with former life structures, careers and vocational paths. Instead, the collective and individual dimensions of ascent and descent have come apart. In Nachtwey’s metaphor everyone stands by oneself on the escalator stairs. Those on the top are still moving up, but for a big number of people in the middle and the bottom the direction has changed. They instead attempt to run up a descending escalator. While such an image might be considered somewhat bold, since empirical data shows that individual descent has not become a mass phenomenon and ascent is still possible, it captures the increasing distance between top and bottom as well as the important trend of precarisation collectively faced by a growing number of employees in Germany.

According to Nachtwey, people in Germany have lost trust in the notion of stability. Despite the fact that lower classes, those with less education, older as well as young people, and those with migrant status, struggle in the current labour market situation, middle class people also feel threatened by the potential and actual loss of jobs and social status. The erosion of social integration is therefore not only caused by actual descent, but also collective fear of it, which impedes solidarity. Whether concerning the conflict between employees and unemployed, permanent and temporary staff; residents and migrants; or discrimination between age groups, society has become polarised. And unfortunately this is what we see coming true with the recent elections.

Nachtwey is aware of the potential resentments and reactionary tendencies within the politics and movements addressing the deteriorating situation of the working population, such as those supporting the far right out of ‘protest’. While he points out the dangers of right wing populism, he also has some hope. In identifying the current tendencies as a tension between capitalism and democracy, there is potential for this not only to fuel regressive forms of critique and protest, but also to offer potential to progress towards a more solidaric modern age. It will, however, require progressive forces to engage energetically in efforts to turn the hostile public and political atmosphere around and to channel such tendencies away from right wing populism and towards a more distributory, fair and equitable political landscape.

Alternatives to punitive workfare systems: evidence from the Parisian suburbs

LUWCollins010317-1874- 27
Dr Charles Umney, University of Leeds

Charles Umney, Ian Greer and Lisa Schulte reflect on their research into differential approaches to addressing social exclusion in the Seine-Saint-Denis suburb of Paris.

Across Europe mainstream recipes for combatting poverty and social exclusion have failed. A recent Eurostat report put it this way:

The EU has not made any progress towards achieving its ‘Europe 2020’ social inclusion target, adopted in 2010, of lifting at least 20 million people from poverty and social exclusion by 2020.

This has happened as governments – British, German, and Nordic alike – have cut cash benefits and support services while rolling out strict job-search requirements and withdrawal of social benefits for noncompliance: all measures which were supposed to, in the UK government’s language, ‘make work pay’. Evidence mounts, however, that the people who are actually made to pay by these kinds of policies are the vulnerable groups they push into destitution.

‘Work-first’ social policy reflects an international consensus that is influenced by US-style workfare. It emphasises a more coercive and punitive approach to welfare recipients, the use of for-profit contractors to deliver welfare-to-work services, and market-based funding systems emphasising payment-by-results and more standardised service models. But as we have found from our field research in Seine-Saint-Denis, the relatively deprived banlieues North-East of Paris, there are holdouts against this drift toward workfare.

We examined insertion (‘integration’) services. This term denotes specific social services targeted at vulnerable groups (such as recovering drug addicts, single parents, young people from ‘sensitive urban areas’), with the aim not just of finding them a job, but also for helping to meet their wider needs such as secure housing or accessing welfare entitlements. In Seine-Saint-Denis – our fieldwork site – these services were delivered by a complex network of specialised small organisations, for-profit enterprises and charities. They offered traditional kinds of social work and had added employment-related training and employer-engagement schemes, aimed at specific groups of clients. Public funders stabilised this network through a preference for funding incumbent organisations on the ground, rather than creating an open market with commercial work-first provision. We interviewed front-line staff in various organisations charged with delivering welfare-to-work services (public, private or non-profit) as well as the funding organisations with whom they worked, examining up-close the business of delivering insertion services and the street-level consequences of policy change.

Provision of services for the unemployed by private for-profit organisations are controversial in France. But attempts have been made to expand the role of large for-profit enterprises: Multinational firms such as Australian-based Ingeus and Yorkshire-based A4e have sought to establish commercial provision, and also larger nonprofits such as Groupe SOS have emerged as vocal critics of the ‘small is beautiful’ ethos in French social services. In the new President, Emmanuel Macron, such organisations will likely find a highly sympathetic ear. Indeed, Macron’s party, En Marche!, has promised to:

encourage cooperation and mergers which will allow businesses in the Economie Sociale et Solidaire [i.e. nonprofits] to insert themselves into the value chain, to change scale to “better” respond to social and environmental needs, and to respond to the requirements of public orders, notably in terms of volume.

Our findings indicate that such a change of scale might be a disservice to those who need support the most.

While Pôle emploi (the French equivalent of Job Centre Plus) has adopted some of these characteristics, the employment services targeted specifically at disadvantaged populations continue to operate very differently. These services are usually provided by smaller non-profits which do not have the power or inclination to sanction service users. Front-line staff tend to approach their work with the ethos of social work, and service users’ progression through different organisations is handled by long-established informal contacts between associations rather than competitive contracting between government and firms.

In Seine-Saint-Denis we asked: why do these kinds of systems for these kinds of service users remain strong in France, while they have been integrated into workfare-type systems in many other countries?

One part of the explanation is that the people involved in delivering these services – i.e. those charged with overseeing the implementation of public policy at ‘street level’  — see obvious advantages to the insertion approach. It means that local services evolve in tandem with local needs, and interventions are adapted to problems that they observe on the ground, rather than being purely determined by the priorities of national policymakers. Staff in insertion providers can provide a more tailored and in-depth service to individual service users. Under these circumstances a much less coercive and sanctions-centric approach to service users becomes possible and the undesirable consequences of for-profit provision are mitigated, such as ‘creaming and parking’, where front-line staff systematically focus effort on the least needy.

The resilience of this landscape can be seen in the attempts to impose greater private provision through initiatives such as the Sarkozy-era contrat d’autonomie. For-profit organisations have found it difficult to enter this terrain. To recruit service users, they needed to penetrate the pre-existing network of providers, but there was often suspicion that an organisation with a profit motive will not share the ethos of the insertion network.

In Britain, such resistance has been overcome through authoritarian and centralising means: central government extending its authority over local welfare-to-work networks, marginalising existing networks and forcing through the entry of large multinational for-profit organisations. The abolition of the Regional Development Agencies and regional Learning and Skills Councils, along with severe cuts to local authority budgets reinforced this centralisation trend. As a result, services for the unemployed are increasingly the domain either of Jobcentres or large firms, with local customised services on the decline.

In France, by contrast, local control has been maintained, protecting insertion providers. The Pôle emploi – which is responsible for enforcing job-search requirements for the unemployed – is only one player among many in local networks of funders, planners, and providers that carry out insertion. In some regions, it is local government rather than the Pôle emploi that pays the minimum out-of-work benefit. This administrative fragmentation enhances local control, thereby reducing the state’s capacity to implement harsh workfare policies.

It remains to be seen how insertion will fare under Macron, who has a clear preference for neoliberal international policy orthodoxies. But greater private provision and a more sanctions-centred approach would be both difficult and counterproductive. To forcibly marginalise non-profit insertion networks the French state would have to reverse its long-term shift towards decentralization, and this disruption would jettison what is good about insertion and replace it with a model which has, in other countries, inflicted large amounts of misery on vulnerable people. If Macron is serious about ‘reforming’ French welfare-to-work systems in this direction, the result is likely to be a lot of pain for negligible gain. However, it would be a neat parallel of the wider package of austerity measures that have been imposed across European economies more generally in the last decade.

For the wider world, insertion offers an under-appreciated alternative to the largely failed project of marketised workfare systems. They also provide a reminder that public policies are to a large extent made at the street level, and that any policy to punish the poor will need to go hand-in-hand with the extensive state-led reordering of public services and the marginalisation of professional staff on the front line.