Educational Choices, Transitions and Aspirations in Europe: Systemic, Institutional and Subjective Challenges 9781138104037, 9781315102368

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Educational Choices, Transitions and Aspirations in Europe

Educational Choices, Transitions and Aspirations in Europe analyses educational choices and transitions in eight different European countries/regions and provides an engaging means of considering issues of inequality through international comparisons.The book is underpinned by explorations of theoretical perspectives and methodological approaches, which share the common goal of highlighting and challenging educational inequalities in relation to political imaginings and discursive constructions of notions of aspirations and choice. Beginning with an overview of the theoretical landscape, the book posits ways of understanding transitional experiences through both a social and a political lens. Comprising chapters that explore these issues within the context of specific countries and at different stages of young people’s transitions, the collection examines the features of different European education systems and how they frame transitions and choices before providing an overall analysis of systemic, institutional and subjective constraints on these processes. The book uniquely opens and develops an intellectual conversation about different education systems with similar educational challenges and outcomes.Assimilating key issues and solutions, this volume also makes general recommendations for policy and practice that would help to promote greater equity and social justice. The book covers a range of transition points and countries, which should make it essential reading for academics, researchers and postgraduate students with an interest in international perspectives on education. It will be particularly useful for those working in education, sociology, social policy, geography and politics. Aina Tarabini is associate professor at Autonomous University of Barcelona and researcher at the research centre on Globalisation, Education and Social Policies (GEPS). Nicola Ingram is senior lecturer in Education and Social Justice in the Department for Educational Research at Lancaster University and Co-convenor of the British Sociological Association’s Bourdieu and Education study groups.

Routledge Research in International and Comparative Education

This is a series that offers a global platform to engage scholars in continuous academic debate on key challenges and the latest thinking on issues in the fastgrowing field of International and Comparative Education. Titles in the series include: Testing and Inclusive Schooling International Challenges and Opportunities Edited by Bjørn Hamre, Anne Morin and Christian Ydesen Vocational Education in the Nordic Countries The Historical Evolution Edited by Svein Michelsen and Marja-Leena Stenström Vocational Education in the Nordic Countries Learning from Diversity Edited by Christian Helms Jørgensen, Ole Johnny Olsen and Daniel Persson Thunqvist Higher Education and China’s Global Rise A Neo-tributary Perspective Su-Yan Pan and Joe Tin-Yau Lo Actionable Research for Educational Equity and Social Justice Higher Education Reform in China and Beyond Edited by Wang Chen, Edward P. St. John, Xu Li, and Cliona Hannont Educational Choices, Transitions and Aspirations in Europe Systemic, Institutional and Subjective Challenges Edited by Aina Tarabini and Nicola Ingram For more information about this series, please visit: www.routledge.com/ Routledge-Research-in-International-and-Comparative-Education/bookseries/RRICE

Educational Choices, Transitions and Aspirations in Europe Systemic, Institutional and Subjective Challenges Edited by Aina Tarabini and Nicola Ingram

First published 2018 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2018 selection and editorial matter, Aina Tarabini and Nicola Ingram; individual chapters, the contributors The right of the editor to be identified as the author of the editorial material, and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A catalog record for this book has been requested ISBN: 978-1-138-10403-7 (hbk) ISBN: 978-1-315-10236-8 (ebk) Typeset in Bembo by Apex CoVantage, LLC

Contents

ContentsContents

List of tablesviii List of figuresix List of contributorsx PART I

Introduction1   1 Introduction: setting the scene for the analysis

3

AINA TARABINI AND NICOLA INGRAM

PART II

Theoretical and conceptual perspective13   2 Working-class educational failure: theoretical perspectives, discursive concerns, and methodological approaches

15

DIANE REAY

  3 Student aspiration and transition as capabilities for navigating education systems

32

TREVOR GALE AND STEPHEN PARKER

PART III

Primary school transitions51   4 Transition from primary to secondary education in a rigidly tracked system: the case of Flanders SIMON BOONE, MARIE SEGHERS AND MIEKE VAN HOUTTE

53

vi  Contents

  5 Working-class boys and educational success in a socially divisive secondary education system: lessons from Belfast (Northern Ireland)

73

NICOLA INGRAM

PART IV

Secondary school transitions93   6 Framing youth educational choices at the end of compulsory schooling: the Catalan case

95

AINA TARABINI, MARTA CURRAN, ALBA CASTEJÓN AND ALEJANDRO MONTES

  7 Choosing the right track: educational decisions and inequalities within the Italian educational system

110

MARCO ROMITO

  8 Social class, institutional habitus and high school choices in Turkey

128

ÇETIN ÇELIK

PART V

Higher education transitions147   9 National framing and local reframing of students’ transition to higher education in France: limitations and pitfalls

149

AGNÈS VAN ZANTEN, ALICE OLIVIER, ANNE-CLAUDINE OLLER AND KATRINA UHLY

10 Preparatory course market and access to higher education in Finland: pocketful or pockets full of money needed?

167

SONJA KOSUNEN, HANNA AHTIAINEN AND MARJU TÖYRYLÄ

11 Higher education students as consumers? Evidence from England RACHEL BROOKS AND JESSIE ABRAHAMS

185

Contents vii PART VI

Conclusions203 12 Conclusion: social inequalities in educational choices, transitions and aspirations in Europe

205

NICOLA INGRAM AND AINA TARABINI

Index215

Tables

List of tablesList of tables

  1.1 Key features of the national/regional case studies   4.1 Descriptive statistics: percentages, means and standard deviations between brackets   4.2 Association between parental social class and track choice   4.3 Association between ethnic background and track choice   4.4 Mean scores on standardized tests according to track choice   4.5 Odds ratios for logistic regression of choice for the options technology or arts rather than for the options Latin or modern sciences   4.6 Odds ratios for logistic regression of choice for Latin rather than modern sciences 10.1 Social class background and gender of the interviewees 11.1 Policy documents analysed 11.2 Extracts used in the focus groups 12.1 Key educational measures of the seven countries included in the book 12.2 Summary of systemic, institutional and subjective factors channelling educational transitions in Europe

7 60 62 63 63 64 65 173 191 192 207 209

Figures

List of figuresList of figures

  4.1 Schematic presentation of the Flemish education system   5.1 Schematic presentation of the Northern Irish education system   6.1 Schematic presentation of the Catalan education system   7.1 Schematic presentation of the Italian education system   8.1 Schematic presentation of the Turkish education system   9.1 Schematic presentation of the French education system 10.1 Schematic presentation of the Finnish education system 11.1 Schematic presentation of the English education system

56 77 99 112 130 152 170 187

Contributors

ContributorsContributors

Abrahams, Jessie is a research fellow at the University of Surrey, working on a European Research Council–funded project exploring contemporary understandings of the university student across Europe. Ahtiainen, Hanna is a Master of Arts in Education from University of Helsinki. Her dissertation explored inequalities in the transition to higher education in Finland, focusing on the role of tuition-based private tutoring. It was conducted as a part of a research project, Privatization and Access to Higher Education (PAHE). Boone, Simon, PhD in sociology (Ghent University), is a post-doctoral researcher at the Department of Sociology at the Vrije Universiteit Brussel (VUB). He has conducted research on social disparities in educational choice, social bias in teacher recommendations and the influence of school characteristics on educational decision making. Brooks, Rachel is Professor of Sociology and an Associate Dean at the University of Surrey, and an executive editor of the British Journal of Sociology of Education. She is currently leading a cross-national project exploring constructions of the higher education student, funded by a European Research Council Consolidator Grant. Castejón, Alba is a doctor from the Autonomous University of Barcelona (2017), where she is currently teaching as Associate Teacher (Department of Social and Systematic Pedagogy). Her main research interests include education inequalities and educational policies. Celik, Çetin is assistant professor in the Department of Sociology at Koç University, Istanbul, Turkey. His areas of specialization are the sociology of education, migration, sociology of race and ethnicity and computer-aided qualitative data analysis. More specifically, he is interested in educational inequalities within the context of migration. Curran, Marta is a doctor in sociology from Autonomous University of Barcelona and member at GEPS (Globalization, Education and Social Policies) and GIPE research groups (Interdisciplinary Group on Education Policies) since 2011. Her thesis dissertation deals with how gender and class shape educational experiences, expectations and decisions.

Contributors xi

Gale, Trevor is Professor of Education Policy and Social Justice at the University of Glasgow. He is a critical sociologist of education whose research is focused on the reproduction of inequalities in and through policies and practices in formal education systems, particularly in schools and in higher education. He is the founding editor of Critical Studies in Education and of the Springer book series Education Policy and Social Inequality. Ingram, Nicola is Senior Lecturer in Education and Social Justice in the Department for Educational Research at Lancaster University and Coconvenor of the British Sociological Association’s Bourdieu and Education study groups. Her research is broadly focused on social inequalities in education, and she is particularly interested in issues of identity, class, gender and ethnicity in young people’s transitions. Since 2010, she has been working on the Paired Peers research project. Kosunen, Sonja, PhD, works as an assistant professor of educational sciences at the University of Helsinki, Finland. Her research interests include educational inequalities and social justice in the fields of sociology of education and urban studies. She leads a research project called Privatisation and Access to Higher Education (PAHE) focusing on the emerging inequalities in the transition to higher education in Finland. Montes, Alejandro is a PhD student at the Department of Sociology of the Universidad Autónoma de Barcelona. Since 2013, he is a member of the research group on Globalization, Education and Social Policy (GEPS-UAB). His main area of interest is the analysis of educational transitions, specifically in access to higher education. Olivier, Alice is a doctoral student in sociology at Sciences Po (OSC) and Ined (Labex iPOPs). Her main research interests include sociology of education, gender studies and qualitative methods. In her current work, she focuses on the choices and trajectories of male students in “female” study tracks of higher education in France. Oller, Anne-Claudine is a senior lecturer at Université Paris Est Créteil (UPEC). She also works at the Observatoire sociologique du changement (OSC) and Laboratoire interdisciplinaire pour l’évaluation des politiques publiques (LIEPP) at Sciences Po. Her research interests are focused on private tutoring and course choice, with a special interest for parental practices regarding private mentoring. She is currently developing new researches on learning processes involved in reading and literacy. Parker, Stephen is a Research Fellow in Education Policy and Social Justice at the University of Glasgow. His research interests include equity in access to higher education, policy analysis and social justice in education. He utilizes a range of social theory and philosophical approaches. Reay, Diane is Professor of Education at Cambridge University. She is a sociologist working in the area of education but is also interested in broader issues of the relationship between the self and society, the affective and the

xii  Contributors

material. Her priority has been to engage in research with a strong social justice agenda that addresses social inequalities of all kinds. Romito, Marco is postdoctoral researcher at the University of MilanoBicocca (IT). His research interests include educational transitions and career guidance. Currently, he is carrying out research on first-in-family university students’ academic experiences. Among his recent publications is Governing through guidance in discourse: studies in the cultural politics of education, 2017. Seghers, Marie Master in Sociology (Vrije Universiteit Brussel), is a PhD researcher at the Centre for Diversity and Learning (Linguistics Department, Ghent University). She currently participates in the Transbaso research project, and her work focuses on parental educational decision making at the transition from primary to secondary education. Tarabini, Aina is Associate Professor at Autonomous University of Barcelona and researcher at the research centre on Globalisation, Education and Social Policies (GEPS). Her research focuses on sociology of education and educational inequalities, and it is particularly oriented to the study of youth dispositions, choices and transitions. She is currently leading a national project exploring transitions within the Spanish education system. Töyrylä, Marju is a Master of Arts in Education from University of Helsinki. Her master’s thesis explored the competition in access to higher education and the role of tuition-based private tutoring in the transition to higher education in Finland. Her master’s thesis was conducted as a part of a research project called Privatization and Access to Higher Education (PAHE). Uhly, Katrina is a sociologist based in Paris specialized in the study of globalization, higher education and gender. She received her PhD from Northeastern University. Her dissertation, “Reconstituting Portals and Power Relations: The Internationalization of l’Ecole polytechnique,” scrutinized the tensions surrounding the internationalization and diversification strategies undertaken by an elite French higher education institution. She recently co-authored “Gendered patterns in international research collaborations in academia” in Studies in Higher Education. Van Houtte, Mieke, PhD in sociology (Ghent University), is full professor and head of research team CuDOS (Cultural Diversity: Opportunities and Socialisation) at the Department of Sociology at Ghent University. Her research interests cover diverse topics within the sociology of education, particularly the effects of structural and compositional school features. Van Zanten, Agnès is senior research professor at the Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique (CNRS) and Sciences Po, working at the Observatoire Sociologique du Changement. Her research focuses on educational inequalities. Her most recent edited book is Elite Education. Major Themes (four volumes, Routledge, 2018, in press). E-mail address: [email protected].

Part I

Introduction

1 Introduction

Aina Tarabini and Nicola IngramIntroduction

Setting the scene for the analysis Aina Tarabini and Nicola Ingram

The educational transitions of young people at the breaking points of their respective educational systems are of paramount importance when it comes to understanding the dynamics of social inequality in Europe. These transition points are crucial moments for explaining youth identities and opportunities, as well as the reproduction or reduction of social inequalities. It is precisely at the point when students have to move from one educational level to another that the conditions and effects of the choice-making process emerge. As stated by Reay et al. (2005), ‘who goes where’ and ‘who does what’ are top research questions when it comes to understand the inequalities that emerge in times of transition. It is also during transition processes that the meaning of future expectations and aspirations become most relevant. Furthermore, it is during the educational transition process that most of the dynamics of early school leaving1 in Europe take place and where the multiple dimensions of students’ vulnerability become radically evident. In this context, the objective of the book is to analyze how young people’s educational choices, aspirations and transitions are featured in and by different education systems and institutions across Europe. Previous research has demonstrated the impact of different education systems and school contexts on the generation of different opportunities for student success (Rumberger & Lim, 2008; Tarabini et al., 2016). There is no doubt that educational inequality is not only related to the structure of opportunities provided by families but also to opportunities provided by the system itself. It is produced and reproduced by the interaction of multiple factors, including political, institutional and social factors, which, in turn, manifest themselves in students’ lives in multiple ways. This book specifically focuses on analyzing the educational inequalities generated during educational transitions processes and, in particular, on the role played by three main kinds of factors that help to explain their emergence and configuration: firstly, the structure of different European education systems; secondly, the features and organization of different school settings; and thirdly, the role played by students themselves as they experience, react to and negotiate these transition processes. Therefore, some of the main research questions addressed by the different chapters in this book are as follows. How do different European education systems structure the turning points in young people’s

4  Aina Tarabini and Nicola Ingram

educational transitions? What is the impact of more or less comprehensive systems in terms of reducing or increasing patterns of social inequality associated with different educational choices? What is the role of different school settings when it comes to modulating students’ educational experiences, aspirations and choices? How do teachers give advice, recommendations and guidance to guide students in their transition processes? What meaning do young people attribute to their educational transitions and choices according to their social class, gender and ethnicity? How do they explain and experience their educational trajectories, decisions and imagined futures and desires? Throughout the book, the authors lay out the different ways in which inequalities are produced and reproduced by the individual yet parallel education systems of the countries studied. A common thread throughout the analysis is the role played by social background in constructing attitudes towards learning, expectations and aspirations. In this sense, the book connects with contemporary debates on the primary and secondary effects of social class in education (Boudon, 1974). In other words, it focuses on how social origin produces differences in terms of achievement, educational trajectories and choices, which, at the same time, are the products of specific educational structures, institutions and relationships. Subsequently, the book complicates the notion of educational ‘choice’ to show that, despite variations in contextual and structural factors, young people across Europe are operating within models that constrain their choices, in which educational pathways are narrowly channelled, opened up, or even blocked in accordance with class, gender or cultural background. In this way, the book provides a unified theoretical perspective, which enables each chapter to be read in comparison with the others. Indeed, the first part of the book focuses on setting up a common conceptual framework to address choices, transitions and aspirations as socially framed and constructed. Far from the dominant neoliberal discourses that address these phenomena as purely rational and individual matters, this book emphasizes the conditions that produce different educational trajectories which, in turn, are permeated by different values, meanings and rewards. Decisions about what to study or for how long are socially and relationally constructed, and, as a result, they need to be addressed in the context of their social setting. This is not to say that structural forces determine the process of choice in a linear and mechanical way. On the contrary, this entails a consideration of the complex and intrinsic linkages between structure and agency in all decision-making processes (Heinz, 2009; Walther, 2006). Young people’s educational choices and transitions in European contemporary societies are less linear, anticipated and predictable than they used to be during the Fordist capitalist era (du Bois-Reymond, 1998). Consequently, concepts such as ‘lifestyle choices’ (Beck, 1992) or ‘reflexive life planning’ (Giddens, 1991) have been of crucial importance when analysing the educational trajectories of young people in the contemporary era. However, in the mid-1990s, Furlong and Cartmel (1997) were already claiming that placing excessive emphasis on the individual

Introduction 5

nature of choices could lead to the continuing impact of class relationships in the trajectories of young people being neglected. Simultaneously, Heinz (2009: 402) asserts that transition studies that do not situate young people’s choices within the context of broader social inequalities, opportunities and institutions will lead to the conclusion that individuals are the only ones responsible for their trajectories and, simultaneously, to blaming them for their ‘wrong choices’. The aim of this book, then, is to acknowledge the role of agency in decision-making processes, but always within the social framework that allows its realization. This analysis is developed through eight empirical studies conducted in different national or regional contexts: Flanders (Belgium), Northern Ireland (UK), Catalonia (Spain), Italy, Turkey, France, England (UK) and Finland. These empirical studies enable the development of a comparative perspective on how educational transitions are managed and experienced within different European education systems. In fact, the eight selected empirical case studies vary according to three main features: (1) their welfare and transition regimes; (2) their mechanisms for managing pupil heterogeneity; and (3) the global structure of their educational system. The combination of these criteria explains why, in each case, the particular transition point selected for the empirical study has been chosen. Regarding welfare and transition regimes, the book includes the four typo­ logies defined by classical and contemporary authors such as Esping-Andersen (1990) and Walther (2006). Firstly, Flanders (Belgium) and France are representative of the ‘conservative’ or ‘employment-centred’ model, according to which social protection is mostly related to employers working in the official labour market; thus, the social security system is highly segmented between those employed as part of standard work arrangements and those in precarious positions or the hidden economy. In this model, social rights are very tightly connected to social status and, in particular, to a person’s position in the labour market. Moreover, the state has a low redistributive capacity. Due to its workcentred focus, vocational training plays a central role in this model, even if it does so in different ways in different countries. Secondly, England (UK) and Northern Ireland (UK) represent the ‘liberal model’, according to which the focus is on individuals’ rights and responsibilities rather than on the collective provision of welfare. The private sector plays a significant role in the provision of public services, the market is the principal provider of benefits, and the concepts of ‘choice’, ‘flexibility’ and ‘merit’ are crucial in the organization of the education system and the provision of social services. Thirdly, Catalonia (Spain), Italy and Turkey are characteristic of the ‘sub-protective’ regime. This model is quite similar to the conservative one in terms of the subsidiary role of the state in welfare provision, but it is mostly families who provide these services rather than corporations. One of the main features of this model is the high level of segmentation in the labour market, as well as high levels of precariousness, informality and unemployment. Finally, Finland represents the ‘social-democratic’ or ‘universalistic’ model, which is based on the principle of universalism in gaining access to social benefits, services and citizenship.Within

6  Aina Tarabini and Nicola Ingram

this model, the state plays a key role in providing free and public services to all members of the population, thus limiting people’s reliance on families and markets as welfare providers. The differences in the welfare and transition regimes of the selected European countries influence, both directly and indirectly, the educational aspirations, transitions and choices of the students living there, as well as the opportunities, structures and institutions available to them to anchor their thoughts, beliefs and practices. In terms of mechanisms to manage pupil heterogeneity, the case studies included in the book cover the four models identified by Natalie Mons (2007). Firstly, Flanders and Northern Ireland (in the case of grammar schools) represent the ‘separation’ model, according to which students share a short common track and are then separated into different schools, mostly at the end of primary education. Secondly, Catalonia, Italy, France and Turkey represent the ‘uniform integration’ model, which is based on a core curriculum shared by students up until the approximate age of 16 years, a significant degree of academic year repetition and the possibility of grouping students by ability during secondary education, even if this is done on a mostly unofficial basis. Thirdly, England represents the ‘à la carte integration’ model, meaning that within the long track shared by students during secondary schooling, flexible grouping policies (setting and streaming) are also applied based on student performance within each discipline. Finally, Finland represents the ‘individualized integration’ model, in which tracking does not exist, the repetition of academic years is the exception and ability grouping is also non-existent. In this country, individualized teaching appears to be a major strategy to help all students to master the same curriculum at a similar pace (Dupriez et al., 2008: 250). As a consequence of these factors – that is, welfare and transition regimes and models for managing pupil heterogeneity – the case studies included in this book show crucial differences with regard to the structure of their education systems, in terms of the features of their primary and secondary education systems as well as the age at which pupils are formally separated into tracks. In this way, whilst Finland, for example, has a shared, integrated educational structure for students from 7 to 15 years old, Flanders has a hierarchical structure that starts right after primary education has been completed. Simultaneously, whilst some education systems keep their students together – at least formally – until the age of 15 or 16 (Catalonia, France, Italy etc.) others are already separating them at the age of 12 or 13 (Flanders, Northern Irish grammar schools etc.). These differences are of crucial importance when it comes to understanding the decisions that students make during their educational trajectories and, simultaneously, define different transition points that are of crucial importance in structuring the social and educational inequalities that exist in different countries. Table 1.1 summarizes the main features of the empirical case studies featured in this book.

Conservativeemployment centred

Liberal

Latin/Subprotective’

Latin/Subprotective’

Belgium (Flanders)

United Kingdom (Northern Ireland)

Spain (Catalonia)

Italy

Welfare and transition regime

Uniform integration model

À la carte integration model in comprehensive schools + separation model in grammar schools Uniform integration model

Separation model

Management of pupils’ heterogeneity

Table 1.1 Key features of the national/regional case studies

From lower secondary to upper secondary

13

(Continued)

From lower secondary to upper secondary

11 in grammar schools

16

From primary to lower secondary

14 (in formal terms, but 12 in reality)

6 years of primary education (age 6–12) 2 years of selective lower secondary. Two modalities (A and B stream) (age 12–14) 4 years of selective upper secondary. Four modalities (general, technical, artistic, vocational) (14–18) 7 years of primary schooling (4–11) 5 years of comprehensive lower secondary in coexistence with selective grammar schools (11–16) 2 years of selective upper secondary academic and vocational (16–18) 6 years of primary education (6–12) 4 years of comprehensive lower secondary (12–16) 2 years of selective upper secondary.Two modalities (general and vocational) (16–18) 5 years of primary education (6–11) 3 years of comprehensive lower secondary (11–14) 5 years of selective upper secondary. Three modalities (lyceum, instituto professionale, instittuto tecnico (14–18)

From primary to lower secondary

Age of pupils’ official separation in tracks

Transition point studied in the book

Structure of primary and secondary education (lower and upper)

Structure of the education system

Conservativeemployment centred

Liberal

Socialdemocratic / universalistic

France

United Kingdom (England)

Finland

Source: authors

Sub-protective

Welfare and transition regime

Turkey

Table 1.1 (Continued)

Individualized integration model

À la carte integration model

Uniform integration model

Uniform integration model

Management of pupils’ heterogeneity

4 years of primary education (ages 6–10) 4 years of comprehensive lower secondary (ages 10–14) 4 years of selective upper secondary in three modalities (general, professional and vocational) (ages 14–18) 5 years of primary education (6–11) 4 years of comprehensive lower secondary (11–15) 3 years of selective upper secondary. Three modalities (general, technological and professional lyceum) (15–18) 7 years of primary education (4–11) 5 years of comprehensive lower secondary (11–16) 2 years of selective upper secondary. (16–18) 9 years of comprehensive school (7–15) 3 years of upper secondary education in two modalities (general and vocational) (16–18)

Structure of primary and secondary education (lower and upper)

Structure of the education system

From upper secondary to higher education

16

From upper secondary to higher education

From upper secondary to higher education

15

16

From lower secondary to upper secondary

13

Age of pupils’ official separation in tracks

Transition point studied in the book

Introduction 9

Structure of the book The book is structured into four main parts following this introduction, which constitutes Part I. Part II is of a theoretical nature and includes two chapters that delve into the key concepts structuring this book, namely, choices, transitions and aspirations viewed through the lens of social inequalities. Parts III, IV and V are composed of eight chapters in total and contain the empirical case studies featured in this book, focusing on three different transition points: from primary to secondary education (Part III); from lower to upper secondary education (Part IV); and from upper secondary to higher education (Part V). Part VI contains the final chapter of the book, which concludes the whole analysis conducted in the previous theoretical and empirical chapters. The first theoretical chapter, written by Diane Reay, addresses the topic of educational failure and early school leaving from a historical, social and relational perspective, reflecting on the contemporary nature of social class and its repercussions on student identities, experiences and practices. Even though it is based on the British system, the chapter demonstrates the widespread impact of dominant discourses on individualization, meritocracy and deficit thinking that systematically place working-class young people in devaluated social and educational positions, in both material and symbolic terms. In this context, the author claims that the ‘choices’ made by students are not done in a vacuum but are influenced by vigorous structures of power, domination and subordination that constantly produce and reproduce social inequalities. The second theoretical chapter, written by Trevor Gale and Stephen Parker, focuses on the concepts of aspiration and transition and tries to unpack their meanings and implications for contemporary Western educational systems. The authors provide crucial insights on the need to place aspirations and transitions ‘in context’, thus avoiding their narrow, linear and positivistic conceptions. In a similar manner to Reay, Gale and Parker argue for the need to apply critical thinking when theorizing aspirations and transitions so as to avoid describing the choices made by working-class students, as well as their social and educational imaginaries, as restricted and lacking. Both aspirations and transitions are shaped by sociocultural and material conditions, which generate different opportunities, conditions and realizations. Together, these two chapters are of crucial importance in helping us to understand the class nature of educational aspirations, transitions and choices in contemporary European countries and in providing crucial theoretical insights to inspire – even if not in a mechanical or linear way – the empirical studies featured in the book. Part III of the book contains two empirical studies that focus on the transition from primary to secondary education. First of all, the chapter by Boone et al. demonstrates, using a mixed-methods study, how the rigid and hierarchical structure of the Flemish education system contributes to the reproduction of social inequalities in the transition from primary to secondary education. The authors claim in this chapter that social background is the most determinant factor in explaining educational choices. The chapter also provides crucial

10  Aina Tarabini and Nicola Ingram

insights into how the experiences and narratives of pupils and their families regarding their choices are permeated by social assumptions about the prestige of different tracks and explains how the social class habitus operates – in combination with institutional and systemic factors – in decision making. Secondly, Nicola Ingram’s chapter focuses on the highly particular and very rigid track system of Northern Irish secondary grammar schools. In a similar manner to Boone et al., this chapter, based on an ethnographic study, provides evidence for the impact of tracked versus comprehensive education systems on students’ opportunities and choices and focuses on the contradictory and sometimes painful experiences of successful working-class children studying in highly selective grammar schools. As the author claims, working-class success comes ‘in spite rather than because of this selective system’, reflecting on its impact on inequalities and identity formation. Part IV of the book contains three empirical studies focusing on the transition from lower- to upper-secondary education.The first chapter in this section is written by Tarabini et al. and deals with the impact of the structure of the education system on students’ opportunities and choices, on this occasion in the specific case of Catalonia (Spain). On the one hand, the chapter reflects on the impact and contradictions of hidden practices of ability grouping, which are widespread throughout lower-secondary education even though formally it is supposed to be comprehensive. On the other, it demonstrates how the structure of upper-secondary schooling reproduces social inequalities through the designation of vocational tracks as residual and delegitimized. Finally, it deals with the crucial role played by teachers in shaping young people’s educational decisions through reproducing commonly accepted assumptions of their students’ capacities, abilities and choices, which are rooted in patterns of social inequality. The second chapter in this section is written by Romito and focuses on the unequal choices available throughout the upper-secondary track in Italian schools. As with the previous chapters, this one also provides critical insights into the effects of the stratification of the education system and the free school choice regime on the reproduction of social inequalities in the educational transition process. The analysis specifically focuses on delving into teachers’ discourses on and practices of student guidance, seeking the social assumptions and biases upon which they are based and evaluating their impact on the educational choices made by the most underprivileged students. Finally, the chapter written by Çelik deals with educational choices during the transition to general and vocational high schools in Turkey and, particularly, with the interaction between the class background of students and the institutional habitus (Reay, 2001) of their respective schools. First of all, the chapter highlights the features of this transition point in Turkey, which is characterized by standard central tests that regulate and hierarchically organize access to high schools. Secondly, it shows how general and vocational high schools in Turkey have crucial differences in terms of their institutional habitus (teachers’ expectations, orientation to the labour market or university etc.) which, in

Introduction 11

turn, socialize students in very different ways. In sum, the chapter demonstrates that, far from the neoliberal rhetoric that individualizes and rationalizes choice, the decision-making process lived by students is emotionally embedded with contradictions and anxieties infused by patterns of social inequality. Part V of the book contains three empirical studies focusing on higher education transitions.The chapter written by van Zanten et al. deals with the political and institutional contexts that frame the higher education choices of French students. Specifically, the chapter focuses on the features, interactions and effects of three main types of framework: political ideas and conceptions of the field of higher education, the instruments used to channel students through higher education and the institutional arrangements according to which teachers and other school personnel present the higher education space to their students and prepare them for the transition process. The analysis highlights some of the main tensions and contradictions arising from how student transitions are managed in France and explores their structural reasons and impact. The chapter by Kosunen et al. concentrates on the inequalities at play when it comes to accessing higher education in one of the most comprehensive educational systems in Europe: Finland. In particular, the chapter outlines the role of the preparatory private course market (which helps students to prepare for the highly competitive entrance examinations for higher education institutions) in reproducing the social inequalities that govern access to different types of universities and study fields according to their prestige. In this way, the chapter looks into the hidden practices of inequality that operate within the system and that reproduce the social, cultural and economic capitals of different students and their families. Finally, the chapter written by Brooks and Abrahams explores how the decision-making process of higher education students in England is constructed by looking into both political documents and students’ own perceptions and reactions to these constructions. Specifically, the chapter explores the contradictions inherent in the dominant discourse of higher education students as consumers and demonstrates that the position of different students in this discourse is deeply associated with structural inequalities. Part VI of the book contains the conclusion to the book and provides a final overview of the analysis conducted in the previous theoretical and empirical chapters from a clear comparative perspective. It also summarizes the main systemic, institutional and subjective factors that frame the educational choices, aspirations and transitions of young people. All in all, the book provides an overall picture of the contemporary educational decision-making process in different education systems and schools in Europe.

Note 1 Early school leavers in the European policy context is a category that denotes young people aged 18 to 24 who have only lower-secondary education or less and are no longer in education or training.

12  Aina Tarabini and Nicola Ingram

References Beck, U. (1992). Risk Society:Towards a New Modernity. London: Sage. Boudon, R. (1974). Education, Opportunity, and Social Inequality: Changing Prospects in Western Society. New York: Wiley. Du Bois-Reymond, M. (1998). I don’t want to commit myself yet:Young people’s life concepts. Journal of Youth Studies, 1(1), 63–79. Dupriez,V., Dumay, X., and Vause, A. (2008). How do school systems manage pupils’ heterogeneity? Comparative Education Review, 52(2), 245–273. Esping-Andersen, G. (1990). The Three Worlds of Welfare Capitalism. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Furlong, A., and Cartmel, F. (1997). Young People and Social Change: Individualisation and Risk in Late Modernity. Buckingham: Open University. Giddens, A. (1991). Modernity and Self-Identity: Self and Society in the Late Modern Age. Cambridge: Polity Press. Heinz,W. R. (2009). Structure and agency in transition research. Journal of Education and Work, 22(5), 391–404. Mons, N. (2007). Les nouvelles politiques éducatives: La France fait-elle les bons choix? Paris: Presses Universitaires de France. Reay, D., David, M., and Ball, S. (2001). Making the difference? Institutional habituses and higher education. Sociological Research online, 5(4). Reay, D., David, M. E., and Ball, S. (2005). Degrees of Choice: Social Class, Race and Gender in Higher Education. Stoke-on-Trent: Trentham Books. Rumberger, R. W., and Lim, S. A. (2008). Why Students Drop Out of School: A Review of 25 Years of Research, 15 (pp. 1–130). Santa Barbara: California Dropout Research Project Report. Tarabini, A., Curran, M., and Fontdevila, C. (2016). Institutional habitus in context: implementation, development and impacts in two compulsory secondary schools in Barcelona. British Journal of Sociology of Education, 1–12. Walther, A. (2006). Regimes of youth transitions. Choice, flexibility and security in young people’s experiences across different European contexts. Young, 14, 119–139.

Part II

Theoretical and conceptual perspective

2 Working-class educational failure Diane ReayWorking-class educational failure

Theoretical perspectives, discursive concerns, and methodological approaches Diane Reay Introduction Working-class educational failure, including the problem of early school leaving, has haunted educational systems across the global north since the inception of state education for all.Too often the subject is seen in terms of deficit workingclass culture and inadequate learners. In this chapter I argue that working-class educational failure is a complex compilation of the impact of wider economic and social conditions, class identities, institutional policies and practices, and the relationships between classes, as well as experiences and dispositions within them. I argue that early school leaving is an extreme manifestation of the predominantly negative relationship the working classes have with their educational systems, one that still positions them as ‘outsiders on the inside’, even when they manage to continue on to higher education (Reay, 2017). In the process of trying to unpick this policy and practice minefield, I suggest a number of helpful conceptual resources. I also consider the invidious influence of dominant discourses about working-class educational failure, as well as the difficult, sometimes painful issues of researching educational failure with those who are seen to have failed.

A wider context in which the working classes are left out and left behind The starting point for understanding working-class educational failure, and in particular early school leaving, has to be the wider economy and social and political context. It is increasingly hard being working class in the 21st century. The wages of the working classes have declined in real terms as a result of austerity measures, and their working conditions have become increasingly precarious as a result of casualization and zero-hour contracts (Elliott, 2016).To take the example of Britain, half a million more children now live in absolute poverty than did in 2010, while child poverty more generally is predicted to rise sharply over the next few years (Ryan, 2016). In 2014–15, according to Department For Work and Pensions statistics, 28% of UK children were living

16  Diane Reay

in poverty, but the percentage could well rise to a third by 2020 if current austerity measures persist (Walker, 2016). According to the Joseph Rowntree Foundation (JRF) (2016) 13 and a half million people in the UK live in poverty, slightly over 20% of the total population. Particularly worrying is the fact that the majority of people experiencing poverty are in working households, a proportion that has increased in recent decades (JRF, 2016, page 142). This is perhaps unsurprising, as the unemployment rate hit a new low in 2016 of 4.9% (Trading Economics, 2016). In the UK we are sold the myth of a country of strivers and skivers. Strivers are those who make an effort to ‘better’ themselves, while skivers are those surviving on benefits who are seen to be lazy and feckless. But the strivers outnumber the so-called skivers by more than 20 to 1, and it is they who are living in poverty in increasing numbers. But this is not just a UK problem but one that is endemic across the global north. We are seeing the running down of welfare provision, the erosion of universal benefits, a growing gap between the rich and the poor, the demonization and undermining of trade unionism, the impoverishment of working-class workers, and the reduction of affordable housing. The list goes on and on. Increasing economic insecurity has been accompanied by growing political exclusion. So, for instance in both the US and the UK, changes in the political system over the last 50 years have increasingly marginalised the working classes. And here, as in the economic sphere, the working classes are blamed for their own marginalization. While class divisions are not as evident as they once were, this is primarily because working-class representation has been pushed outside the political system. Across Europe and North America, diminishing numbers of politicians come from manual backgrounds.Taking the UK as an example, in 1964 more than 37% of MPs in the Labour Party, the party set up to represent working-class interests, came from manual occupational backgrounds. By 2010 this had fallen to less than 10% (Heath, 2016: 11). The promise of universal suffrage has been betrayed in many so-called democratic countries. Rather than the working class being incorporated within the political system, they have become increasingly excluded from it. This is one of the main reasons that America elected Trump and the UK voted for Brexit. The ways in which such economic relationships and political representations are played out in the educational system are highly complex and contested questions that I cannot claim to answer. However, what is clear is the synergy between processes and practices in the economy, and those in the educational system work to position the working classes at the bottom of a hierarchy of value and respect in both spheres. As Tarabini et al. (2016) point out, educational success and failure is powerfully influenced by social, economic, and cultural contexts. Across Europe and Northern America we have a tidal wave of austerity, which has disproportionately affected the working classes. It is difficult to remember among all the ‘fake news’ that the current austerity is a crisis of private-sector capitalism and, in particular, bank speculation. The ruthless slashing of public-sector expenditure in many European countries and the US is justified as necessary ‘austerity’. It has become the chief mechanism

Working-class educational failure 17

for protecting private wealth. At the same time there has been an exponential growth of the private sector in works the state can no longer afford to undertake. This is happening across the global north, but nowhere is it more pernicious than in England. It is the English private sector’s insatiable greed for profit, not public-sector inefficiency, that is impoverishing the public sector, from private consultants who charge the NHS thousands a day to educational consultants making millions out of the educational system (Syal, 2014). Scapegoated for economic conditions not of its own making, education in England is being hollowed out as it increasingly becomes a money-making enterprise for capitalists. So for example, teacher supply agencies were paid £733 million in 2014, but in 2016 this had risen to £1.26 billion a year, a 38% increase in three years. Teacher supply agencies are making huge profits from state funding for schools, with one teaching agency making a profit in 2014 of £15.4 million on a turnover of £63.7 million (NUT, 2015). This has resulted in an under-resourced, underfunded English educational system, but it is working-class schooling that has suffered the most. Schools are now experiencing real-terms cuts in spending per pupil, while there will be a drop in school spending per pupil of at least 7% between 2014–15 and 2019–20. But as Morgan (2016) argues, schools with the most deprived children will be worst hit in the government’s proposed reallocation of the existing overall schools’ budget.Yet despite relative under-funding and an impoverished curriculum in which it is predominantly working-class schools that lack the range of subjects available in more middle-class schools (RSA, 2015), the working classes are seen to be responsible for their own educational success or failure. Saltman (2014), writing about American education in the 21st, century defines what he calls ‘austerity education’: Austerity education is not only about a turn to repressive control of a disciplined workforce as the conditions of work and life are worsened for the majority of citizens. It is also about the rightist project of capturing public space such as schools to actively produce politically illiterate, socially uncritical, and un-self-critical subject positions for youth to occupy. (Saltman, 2014: 55) Across Europe, as well as the US,‘austerity education’ is a space that is producing increasing numbers of NEETS (young people not in education, employment or training). In England this growth is despite legislation that requires young people to remain in education until they are 18 if they are not employed. Although participation is supposed to be compulsory, it has not been enforced, resulting in the UK having one of the highest NEET levels for the world’s richest countries, not far behind Turkey and Mexico (Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development (OECD, 2013; Fergusson, 2016). ONS data shows that the decline in unemployment among 16- to 17-year-olds in 2015 ‘bottomed out’ at 24% and has since been rising steadily, reaching 29% in 2016. But when we focus specifically on NEETs, unemployment rates are

18  Diane Reay

even higher, and the underlying trend is worse (ONS, 2016). Thirty per cent of NEET 16- to 17-year-olds have been unemployed over the last two years, and in summer 2016 the percentage reached a high of 35% and is expected to rise even higher (Fergusson, 2016). So how can we understand this failing of the working classes on a massive scale that is occurring not just in England but also in countries traditionally seen to have more equal educational systems?

Shining an analytic light on working-class educational failure In order to understand working-class educational failure we need to first conceptualize schools as places of educational reproduction and spaces of ‘othering’, as places that are not straightforwardly about teaching and learning but as sites of racialized, gendered, and classed cultures of inclusion and exclusion. As Basil Bernstein (1970) questioned 50 years ago, they are not places that can compensate for society but rather spaces that stratify and reinforce social inequalities. The sociologist of education who allows us the most insightful understanding of educational inclusions and exclusions in the European context is Pierre Bourdieu. Together with Passeron, he argues that The major thrust of the imposition of the dominant culture as legitimate culture and, by the same token, of the illegitimacy of the cultures of the dominated groups or classes, comes from exclusion, which perhaps has the most symbolic force when it assumes the guise of self-exclusion. (Bourdieu & Passeron, 1979: 42) Processes of symbolic violence are endemic in contemporary educational systems. Bourdieu argues that the dominant only ‘let the system they dominate take its own course, in order to exercise their domination’(Bourdieu 1977:190). But our current political elites are engaged in a restructuring of educational systems through systematic privatization, a re-traditionalizing of the curriculum, and the reintroduction of policies that work to re-inscribe the working classes as educational losers. In particular, the focus on competitive processes of testing and assessment, and growing practices of setting and streaming have positioned working-class students as school failures. I am going to draw on a case study from my own research that uses Bourdieu’s theory in order to understand the workings of educational exclusion. I am going to discuss methodological approaches later, but I believe very strongly that we need to bring working-class young people’s narratives to life, and one way of doing this is to devote a lot of time and reflexivity in order to develop in-depth case studies. The example from my own research is Shaun, who I interviewed seven times over a period of three years (Reay, 2002). Shaun’s story is of a hard-working, well-behaved, poor, white, working-class boy trying to achieve academically, first in a predominantly working-class, multi-ethnic

Working-class educational failure 19

primary school, then in a ‘sink’ inner-city boys’ comprehensive school, whilst simultaneously trying to maintain his standing within the male peer-group culture. And, despite his efforts and struggles, Shaun ended up leaving school at 16 with minimal qualifications. I believe Shaun’s case study speaks not just to the English situation but to the experiences of working-class young people across the global north. In the analysis, because I wanted to make sense of Shaun’s psychic struggles as well as his educational trajectory, I used the concepts of habitus as well as those of capital and field (Reay, 2004). I wanted to understand how structures become embodied and generate ambivalences and tensions in new fields. But his tale also speaks to the difficulty that haunts many early school leavers – that of managing movement across two different and at times opposing fields, those of the classroom and working-class peer-group culture, as the following quote exemplifies: SHAUN:  Like

now I am different in the class than I am out in the playground. I’m just different. DIANE:  Right, so how are you different? SHAUN:  In the playground, yeah, in the classroom, should I say, I am not myself, I’m totally different. I am hard working and everything. Out in the playground, yeah, I am back to my usual self, wanting to fight and everything, just being normal. Like, when I’m in my school uniform I think – I don’t want to fight no more, because I don’t want to crease my uniform or whatever. However, there is also a great deal of struggle and conflict. Shaun’s narrative illustrates the difficulties of reconciling white, working-class masculinities with educational success in inner-city working-class schooling. And we see throughout his narrative that combining the two generates heavy psychic costs, involving him not only in an enormous amount of academic labour but also an intolerable burden of psychic reparative work. Bourdieu (1989: 43) writes about the comfortable ease of habitus in familiar fields. He uses the metaphor of fish in water, those who are able to take the world around them for granted, swimming without having to consider how to swim. Shaun’s tale is one of floundering rather than swimming, of being weighted down rather than weightless. He is positioned in an untenable space on the boundaries of two irreconcilable ways of being and has to produce an exhausting body of psychic, intellectual and interactive work in order to maintain his contradictory ways of being, his dual perception of self. He is continually engaged in a balancing act that requires superhuman effort, maintaining his status in his working-class male peer group whilst attempting to succeed academically. We gain a sense of how blurred the lines are between psychic processes and social processes. The position in which Shaun finds himself is one of struggle between two conflicting social fields, where, as Nicola Ingram (2011) has written about in her research, habitus is tugged and pulled in different directions (see also Chapter 8 in this

20  Diane Reay

volume for a discussion of habitus tug). In Shaun’s quote we have a clear exemplification of Bourdieu’s divided habitus caught between two very different but equally compelling fields and the ensuing internal conflict. Shaun is situated at a point in two overlapping fields where the contradictions between white working-class male solidarity and the neo-liberal impetus to self-improvement and academic excellence are painfully apparent. This has resulted in a heightened emotional sensitivity in order to cope with such conflicts. By the end of the first year at secondary school, the two conflicting aspects of identity that Shaun has put so much effort into reconciling are beginning to fall apart: It’s getting much harder because like some boys, yeah, like a couple of my friends, yeah, they go ‘Oh, you are teacher’s pet’ and all that. But I have to do my work but I don’t want to fall out with my mates, I want to stay friends with my mates. The double bind inscribed in Shaun’s educational enterprise is at the heart of a system of dispositions divided against itself. Intense loyalty to class and community is at odds with individual striving for success. Shaun has to engage in a punishing process of self-regulation in the face of his desires to be ‘one of the boys’. The effort of reconciling these tensions within habitus had taken its toll and is revealed in Shaun’s longing to be a baby again: I want to stay younger, like I wish I was younger now. So I wouldn’t have to move, just sleep in my cot and have no responsibility. But you’ve got to get older.You can’t just stay the same age. Evident in Shaun’s words is the suffering that can be generated by ‘a destabilised habitus, torn by contradictions and internal divisions’ (Bourdieu, 2000: 160). Once Shaun moved to secondary school I interviewed him at the end of each term in the first year, and again in the first term of his second year. Throughout the four interviews, the complex, at times contradictory inter-weavings of ambivalence, defensiveness, and pride that make up his divided habitus were evident: Sutton Boys isn’t the best school in the area but it ain’t the worst. I’d say it’s like in the middle. Yeah, not good or bad, like medium, well sometimes a bit bad especially when there are fights but not always. We have some very good teachers and you can get on with your work if you try. . . . Other kids diss it, say its full of tramps, but they don’t really know what it’s like. In the last interview he told me, I don’t know what to do about my mates. They just muck about all the time. I tell J to stop but he just says I am a wuss and to stop sucking up to the teacher. I’m exhausted trying to keep it all together.

Working-class educational failure 21

Here, and in the earlier quote about wanting to be a baby again, we see the heavy psychological toil that managing the two conflicting fields exerts on Shaun. Habitus is being stretched to the limit, as Shaun attempts to reconcile the increasingly irreconcilable. In the end the struggle between educational success and working-class peer group pressure became too much, and Shaun left school at 16 when his friends all left. It is important to remind ourselves that the dispositions of the habitus are powerfully influenced by the type and quantity of capitals at an individual’s disposal. We can only make sense of the choices and options available to young people in relation to the capitals they have access to. Shaun, in a lone-mother family, living on benefits in a sink council estate, has minimal economic and social capital, and very little dominant cultural capital. What research with working-class children, especially those who become NEETS, often reveals is that they have virtually no capitals with which to ‘play’ the educational game. And research is often too short-term and positivist in approach to expose the enormous struggles they make, despite this paucity of capitals and an ill-adapted habitus, to stay in the system. Early school leaving is never an easy process, and often, when we take time and effort to elicit its roots and causes through indepth case studies, what are revealed are extremely complex, highly emotional processes that are often difficult and painful for the young person involved. Despite Willis’ (1977)emphasis on the agentic nature of his working-class boys’ self-exclusion, I would question whether anyone wants to be seen and labelled as an educational failure. Rather Willis’s ‘lads’ like Shaun had neither the resources nor the type of educational context that enables educational success. The other concept from Bourdieu I have used extensively to understand how educational institutions operate to exclude and fail working-class young people is that of institutional habitus. Institutional habitus is the impact of a cultural group or social class on individual behaviour as it is mediated through an organization (Reay et al., 2001). As well as organizational features it includes school ethos and culture.What we increasingly have are schools that are universally seen to be ‘rubbish’ and ‘no good’. Many working-class children in urban areas are increasingly going to schools that are seen as not good enough for middle-class children – what Helen Lucey and I have referred to in earlier work as demonized schools (Lucey & Reay, 2003). In the following quote we can see the negative repercussions for working-class learner identities of demonized institutional habitus: And I’ve been hearing that if you don’t get into any of the good schools they send you to one of the rubbish schools. In school I’ve been hearing everyone saying ‘I hope I don’t go to Chiltern’ and stuff like that. So I then thought that was really awful because all the kids there are bad and no good at learning, and I won’t be able to do any good there. (George, white English, working class) These schools often have common organizational features that, despite the best intentions of the teachers, work against working-class educational success.They

22  Diane Reay

emphasise discipline and behaviour at the expense of student engagement and interesting learning experiences (see also Bonal & Tarabini, 2016 and Chapters 5 and 8 in this volume). The curriculum arrangements are also very different to those in more middle-class schools. As research from 2015 found, the curriculum taught to children in poorer parts of Britain is significantly different to that taught in wealthier areas (Taylor, 2015), reducing the educational opportunities for working-class children. External pressures to increase achievement levels in these predominantly working-class schools have resulted in a preoccupation with testing and assessment that has turned education into a punishment as working-class children are drilled in literacy and numeracy in order to improve schools’ league table positions. In a misplaced effort to control and police student behaviour, they have an excess of rules and regulations seldom found in more mixed or middle-class schools and a culture that emphasizes control and regulation rather than creativity and curiosity (Abrahams, 2016; Kulz, 2017). One key aspect of the institutional habitus of Shaun’s school was that it had a huge staff turnover and large numbers of supply teachers. This was highlighted in an Ofsted report at the time. Shaun could not replace reliance on his friends with reliance on the teachers, as they were never there long enough. As he said mournfully at the end of his first year at Sutton Boys, ‘You never know who you are going to get. We’ve had four maths teachers so far this year’. Then the following year: We’ve had lots of different teachers this year in science and French. French is worst. We’ve had five teachers in one term and when a new one comes whatever you’ve learnt before they teach us again. And sometimes they will go too far and we ain’t even on the first step so it’s very confusing. Shaun’s account of high teacher turnover fits with other research in this area. Allen et al. (2012) found a positive association between the level of school disadvantage and the turnover rate of its teachers. They also found poorer schools were hiring much younger teachers on average. So it is vital to develop understandings of the institutional habitus of schools and the ways in which they work against working-class educational success. The seeds of early school leaving are generated in the practices and pedagogies of the school, just as much as they lie in the dispositions of working-class habitus. Finally but not least, symbolic violence and symbolic dominance have analytic resonance in relation to working-class educational failure. I have touched on the power of symbolic violence in educational exclusions earlier in the chapter. According to Swartz (2013), ‘symbolic power shapes the habitus and therefore takes the form of embodied dispositions that generate a “practical sense” for organizing perceptions of and actions of exclusion and inclusion in the social world’ (Swartz, 2013: 89). Symbolic violence constitutes ‘a bending under the weight of domination, a distortion, a deformation, an assault

Working-class educational failure 23

against the personhood of the individual and authentic identity of the group’ (Swartz, 2013: 97), and as such it is a useful concept for making sense of how the working classes are treated in education. In the quotes that follow from my research into working-class young people’s feelings of inclusion and exclusion in schools, we can see vividly the operation of symbolic violence and how it works to reinforce and sediment working-class educational failure: DANNY: 

Some teachers are a bit snobby, sort of. And some teachers act as if the child is stupid. Because they’ve got a posh accent. Like they talk without ‘innits’ and ‘mans’, like they talk proper English. And they say, ‘That isn’t the way you talk’ – like putting you down. Like I think telling you a different way is sort of good, but I think the way they do it isn’t good because they correct you and make you look stupid. MARTIN: Those teachers look down on you. But at least Martin and Danny recognize the processes of symbolic violence being played out in their schooling. Most of their working-class peers in the bottom sets were engaged in self-blame; they told me they were ‘too thick to learn’, ‘no good at anything’, and ‘just dumb’. One consequence was the sense of abjection and disengagement expressed in the following quote: DIANE:  If you had a choice, what JASON: Nothing. GEORGE: Nothing. ANDY:  No idea. PAUL:  Definitely nothing!

would you choose to learn?

Here we see these working-class boys following ‘a practical logic’ in making their educational choices, education is ‘not for the likes of them’. As Bourdieu (1984) asserts, Objective limits become a sense of limits, a practical anticipation of objective limits acquired by experience of objective limits, a ‘sense of one’s place’ which leads one to exclude oneself from the good, persons, place, and so forth from which one is excluded. (Bourdieu, 1984: 471) Working-class boys like Jason, George, Andy, and Paul see no prospect of educational success from their disadvantaged position in an educational system that works to advantage the already advantaged. Their very low chances of success have become internalized in dispositions of disengagement and disinvestment in education. Processes of symbolic violence were also powerfully evident in a study by Hoskins et al. (2014). The research examined the degree of democratic participation among young people who had been educated in vocational streams in

24  Diane Reay

England, Denmark, and Germany and found that inequalities in democratic engagement are increased by allocating young people to different tracks on the basis of what is described as their ability (see also Chapters 4, 5, 6, 7, and 8 for discussions of tracking and status and class). However, this was particularly noticeable in England, the country where vocational tracks had the lowest status.The English vocational students described the powerlessness they felt when it came to influencing wider political and social issues: (JULIE): There’s

nothing we can say about it because to them we’re no one, we’re a nobody. (SAM):  I think that no matter what my point of view is, it’s not going to change anything. (JANE): We’re not looked at, us little people, we’re not; I just wish something could be done about bad things, but nothing ever can because that’s life. (Quotes from Hoskins et al., 2014: 19) Their internalized sense of hopelessness and fatalism is one of the key ways in which symbolic violence works. What is also striking is how symbolic violence experienced by the young people resulted in feelings of abjection and worthlessness. The authors conclude that ‘prior experiences of inequalities in the educational system, such as prior placement in vocational tracks, which also included unfair treatment and selective processes appear to be associated with lower levels of confidence, self-value, and aspiration’ (20). What is evident in all these quotes is that the fit between the expectations of the working classes and the external structures they encounter ‘reinforces and reproduces social hierarchies . . . and inegalitarian arrangements’ without resistance (Swartz, 2013: 100). However, Bourdieu’s concept can rarely do all the analytical work data sets require.There are many generative concepts that illuminate processes of workingclass educational failure, and I want to mention two I have found particularly useful, Deborah Youdell’s notion of impossible learners (Youdell, 2006) and Goffman’s (1963) notion of ‘a spoilt identity’. Goffman’s concept of a spoilt identity has analytic leverage in relation to both early school leavers and the predominantly working-class schools they attend.They are stigmatized in the eyes of the middle-class other and, as a result often come to see themselves not only as having a spoilt learner identity but a spoilt identity more generally. The identification of a significant number of inner-city schools and their students as the ‘untouchables’ of the educational system works to discriminate between non-problematic selves and problematic others.The denial of understandings through which positive identifications can develop all too often generates negatively framed and defensive identities expressed through shame, disavowal, and disidentification, identities that are seen by others to be ‘repellent’ and result in students exiting from the educational system as soon as they can.

Working-class educational failure 25

In developing her notion of ‘impossible learners’, Deborah Youdell (2006) argues that the micro exclusions that take place in the most mundane moments everyday inside schools cannot be understood as simply being experienced by students. Rather these must be understood as constitutive of the student, constitutions whose cumulative effects coagulate to limit ‘who’ a student can be, or even if s/he can be a student at all. (12–13) Youdell is centrally concerned with the construction of inclusion and exclusion within schooling and adopts what she terms ‘Butler’s suturing of Bourdieu’s theory of habitus with Foucault’s notion of discourse’ (9). Students are constituted through constellations, particularly through ‘dichotomies of good/bad students and acceptable/unacceptable and even ideal/impossible learners’ (30, original emphasis). These constitutions link student identities to school practices, including some students but excluding others. So to summarize Bourdieu’s tools of capitals, field and habitus and institutional habitus are useful in understanding early school leaving, but so also are his concepts of symbolic violence and symbolic domination. More widely, notions of ‘the impossible learner’ and Goffman’s concept of ‘a spoilt identity’ also have conceptual leverage.

Discursive concerns: making the working classes responsible for their own success or failure Shining a light on working-class failure is rendered particularly difficult because of the confusing and often misleading discourses surrounding the subject. Concepts of individualization, the aspirational self, excellence, and a whole plethora of other notions that have become popular under neoliberalism distort rather than elucidate working-class educational experiences. One such discursive minefield is the resilience debate. As Walsh (1998: 12) argues: We must be cautious that the concept of resilience is not used in public policy to withhold social supports or maintain inequities, based on the rationale that success or failure is determined by strengths or deficits within individuals and their families. It is not enough to bolster the resilience of at-risk children and families so that they can ‘beat the odds’; we must also strive to change the odds against them. The popularity of the concept of resilience continues the long-standing political project of the right to not merely individualise responsibility for social conditions and life chances but to emphasize agency and self-control (Wee, 2012). Rather than focus on the social and economic conditions of the working

26  Diane Reay

classes, resilience studies concentrate on the exceptional ‘success against all odds’ narrative. The underpinning rationale is if only the unique characteristics that resulted in success can be identified, policy makers can initiate a course of action that might allow for more students to succeed in spite of the context (Saltman, 2014). As Saltman (2014: 52) goes on to point out, ‘resilience frames individual and social problems in ways compatible with a politics of austerity that eviscerates the care-giving roles of the state’. But just as damaging has been the dominant discourse around aspiration. Within the English educational system schools are increasingly expected to create a neoliberal subject, the ‘entrepreneur of self ’ who is expected to espouse values of self-reliance, autonomy, and independence in order to gain self-respect, self-esteem, self-worth, and self-advancement (Davies & Bansel, 2007: 252). As Garth Stahl (2015) argues, it is regularly asserted within policy discourses that low rates of post-16 participation in education or training, particularly for working-class and some minority ethnic young people, is the result of a poverty of aspirations rather than growing up in poverty per se. In a recent research project I was involved in, conducted from 2010 to 2012 in the bottom sets of a largely multi-ethnic, predominantly working-class comprehensive school in a town in South-East England (Reay, 2012), the students, despite being disadvantaged and nearly all on free school meals, were good neo-liberal subjects, buying heavily into dominant discourses of individualization, free choice, and aspiration. Unlike young working-class people in the 1960s, 1970s, and 1980s for whom early school leaving was often not seen as a personal failure, these young people had high aspirations that were in conflict with their actual labour market possibilities. Neo-liberal attitudes also permeated their attitudes to their learning and, in particular, their powerful sense of individual responsibility for learning and, in their case, their failure to achieve educational success. Students told us, ‘it’s down to the individual how well you do at school’, ‘you have to make yourself stand out compared to all the other people doing the same exams’, and ‘if you want to do well you just have to work really hard.You can’t blame the school or your teachers’. These young people were heavily invested in notions of the autonomous, self-reliant individual, primarily responsible for any future outcomes; they had bought into discourses that blamed them for their educational failure. In their words, we glimpse the ways in which symbolic domination works through individualization processes. Yet their strong sense of individual responsibility for learning and high aspirations were in direct contrast with their actual possibilities for educational success. We can see the powerful ways in which symbolic violence works to conscript these workingclass young people into compliance with dominant understandings that it is they who are at fault, not the educational system. It is vital to acknowledge the importance of history and the wider context for this sense of having a spoilt learner identity – the dominant discourses that constitute the working classes as inadequate failing learners have changed little over the last 150 years. It is unsurprising then that working-class students continue to fail to see the relevance of, in particular, the academic subjects they are studying. But this very endurance of dominant educational discourses makes it imperative to challenge

Working-class educational failure 27

their power and legitimacy to frame our understandings of working-class educational failure.

Methodological challenges in interviewing working-class young people who are seen to be failing educationally It is always challenging for privileged academics to establish rapport with young, often disaffected working-class students. The main questions I have deployed to engage my working-class informants in discussing their lives have been very broad: what has happened; tell me what it’s like for you at school; how does it feel; what is going on in your life; what is getting in the way of your staying at school; what needs to be different? It is really difficult doing work on early school leaving without constructing the working classes as inadequate/failures – that is why concepts such as institutional habitus are helpful – they focus our attention on the part schools play in early school leaving and why relational approaches are necessary. Workingclass responses and reactions to the education they receive are as much about the attitudes and practices of the upper and middle classes as they are about working-class dispositions. They are the ones with power and influence in the educational field. So one of the most important methodological challenges is to maintain a relational lens when researching working-class relationships to education, to recognize that ‘no class is an island’. Working-class educational failure is as much about middle- and upper-class educational success as it is about the working classes themselves. Enabling a relational lens, but also more generally sustaining a reflexive approach, I have found Michelle Fine and her colleagues’ questions really useful to keep in mind (Fine et al., 2007): • • • • •

Have I connected the ‘voices’ and ‘stories’ of individuals back to the set of historic, structural, and economic contexts in which they are situated? Have I considered how these data could be used for progressive, conservative, repressive social policies? To what extent has my analysis offered an alternative to the ‘commonsense’ or dominant discourse? How far do I want to go with respect to theorizing the words of informants? Have I described the mundane?

But just as I have used Bourdieu’s concepts when theorizing working-class exclusions in education, so I have learnt from his insights into methodology and research methods. In his final chapter in ‘Weight of the World’, Bourdieu talks about non-violent communication and interviewing as a spiritual exercise. He writes about ‘situating yourself in the place the respondents occupy in the social space in order to understand them as necessarily what they are’. For Bourdieu this involves Giving oneself a generic and genetic comprehension of who these individuals are, based on a theoretical and practical grasp of the conditions of

28  Diane Reay

which they are the product: this means a grasp of the circumstances of life and the social mechanisms that affect the entire category to which any individual belongs (high school students, skilled workers, whatever) and a grasp of the conditions, inseparably psychological and social, associated with a given position and trajectory in social space. (Bourdieu, 1999, 613) For me this involves trying to empty your head, to lose the ego, and above all to be humble in order to focus totally on the respondent and what they have to tell you – what Bourdieu calls ‘an attentiveness to others, and a selfabnegation and openness rarely encountered in everyday life’. As Bourdieu insists, such understanding cannot be reduced to a sympathetic predisposition. You need to know and understand as much as possible about the respondent’s circumstances but not allow that to result in any assumptions about who they are and what they might tell you: ‘The interview can be considered a sort of spiritual exercise that, through forgetfulness of the self, aims at a true conversion of the way we look at other people in the ordinary circumstances of life’ (Bourdieu, 1999: 614). I agree with Bourdieu that we should strive in the interview situation to create the rapport, empathy, love even, to allow our respondents to engage in what he calls ‘an induced and accompanied self-analysis’.Yet it is important to remember that even when we achieve an empathetic rapport, we only scratch the surface. We can only work with the stories people tell us, and much of the depth and meaning of their experiences lie hidden in the pauses and silences. There is often far more that is significant in what people don’t tell us than in what they do. So inevitably any academic analysis is an incomplete and partial patchwork of our respondents’ experiences of class and education, a patchwork that owes as much to intuition and feeling as it does to scholarly rigour. Often the reason we focus on certain quotes rather than others is not just that they exemplify key themes and issues but that they speak to us in powerful and compelling ways that have as much to do with who we are as our respondents. I want to end with a quote from Bourdieu outlining what happens when a mixture of our self-effacement, extremely hard work, and good luck enables an induced and accompanied self-analysis to happen: Certain respondents, especially the most disadvantaged, seem to grasp this situation as an exceptional opportunity offered to them to testify, to make themselves heard, to carry their experience over from the private to the public sphere; an opportunity also to explain themselves in the fullest sense of the term, that is, to construct their own point of view both about themselves and about the world and to bring into the open the point within this world from which they see themselves and the world become comprehensible, and justified, not least for themselves. (Bourdieu, 1999: 615)

Working-class educational failure 29

In a world in which they are increasingly constituted as undeserving, selfinflicted failures, it is essential to elicit and publicize working-class stories that are capable of talking back and challenging such taken-for-granted popular understandings of the working classes and present more complex, nuanced counter-narratives to the myriad common-sense ‘blame-the-victim’ accounts of working-class educational failure.

References Abrahams, J. (2016). Schooling Inequality: Aspirations, Institutional Practices, and Social Class Reproduction, PhD thesis, Cardiff University. Allen, R., Burgess, S., and Mayo, J. (2012). The Teacher Labour Market,Teacher Turnover and Disadvantaged Schools: New Evidence for England Working Paper No. 12/294. Bristol: The Centre for Market and Public Organisation. Bernstein, B. (1970). Education cannot compensate for society, in: C. Stoneman et al. (eds.) Education for Democracy (pp. 110–121). London: Penguin Education Special. Bonal, X., and Tarabini, A. (2016). Being poor at school: Exploring conditions of educability in the favela. British Journal of Sociology of Education, 37(2), 212–229. Bourdieu, P. (1977). Outline of a Theory of Practice. Cambridge, MA: Cambridge University Press. Bourdieu, P. (1984). Distinction: A Social Critique of the Judgement of Taste (R. Nice, Trans.). Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Bourdieu, P. (1989). In Wacquant, L. Towards a reflexive sociology: A workshop with Pierre Bourdieu. Sociological Theory, 7, 26–63. Bourdieu, P. (1999). Understanding, in: P. Bourdieu et al. (eds.) Weight of the World: Social Suffering in Contemporary Society. Cambridge: Polity Press. Bourdieu, P. (2000). Pascalian Meditations. Cambridge: Polity Press. Bourdieu, P., and Passeron, J.-C. (1979). The Inheritors:The French Students and Their Relation to Culture (R. Nice, Trans.). Chicago, London: The University of Chicago Press. Davies, B., and Bansel, P. (2007). Neoliberalism and education. International Journal of Qualitative Studies in Education, 20(3), 247–256. Elliott, L. (2016). A zero-hours contract is not ‘flexibility’ but exploitation – and it’s rising. The Guardian. 9th March 2016. Fergusson, R. (2016). Young People, Welfare and Crime: Governing Non-Participation. Bristol: Policy Press. Fine, M., Burns, A., Torre, M., and Payne, Y. (2007). How class matters: The geography of educational desire and despair in schools and courts, in: L. Weis (ed.) The Way Class Works. New York: Routledge. Goffman, S. (1963). Stigma: Notes on the Management of Spoiled Identity. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall. Heath, O. (2016). Policy alienation, social alienation and working-class abstention in Britain, 1964–2010. British Journal of Political Science, 1–21. DOI: https://doi.org/10.1017/ S0007123416000272 Published online: 22 September 2016. Hoskins, B., Janmaat, J., Han, C., and Muijs, D. (2014). Inequalities in the education system and the reproduction of socioeconomic disparities in voting in England, Denmark and Germany: The influence of country context, tracking and self-efficacy on voting intentions of students age 16–18. Compare, 44(5), 801–825.

30  Diane Reay Ingram, N. (2011) Within school and beyond the gate:The difficulties of being educationally successful and working-class. Sociology, 45(2), 287–302. Joseph Rowntree Foundation (2016) Poverty Report 2016.York: JRF Kulz, C. (2017). Heroic heads, mobility mythologies and the power of ambiguity. British Journal of Sociology of Education, 38(2), 85–104. Lucey, H., and Reay, D. (2003). A market in waste: Psychic and structural dimensions of school-choice policy in the UK and children’s narratives on ‘demonized’ schools. Discourse, 23(2), 253–266. Morgan, K. (2016). Disadvantaged children will be hardest hit by school funding changes. NurseryWorld. 4th November 2016. NUT (National Union of Teachers). (2015). Supply teachers in England and Wales. Retrieved from www.teachers.org.uk/edufacts/supplyteachers (accessed April 11th 2017). OECD. (2013). OECD Economic Surveys: United Kingdom 2013. Paris: OECD Publishing. ONS. (2016). Dataset: Table 2.1: Young people not in education, employment or training (NEET). Retrieved from www.ons.gov.uk/employmentandlabourmarket/peoplenotin work/unemployment/datasets/youngpeoplenotineducationemploymentortrainingneet table1 (accessed April 9th 2017). ONS (Office for National Statistics). Retrieved from www.ons.gov.uk/employmentand labourmarket/peoplenotinwork/unemployment/datasets/youngpeoplenotineducation employmentortrainingneettable1. Reay, D. (2002). Shaun’s story: Troubling discourses of white working class masculinities. Gender and Education, 14(3), 221–234. Reay, D. (2004). ‘It’s all becoming a habitus’: Beyond the habitual use of Pierre Bourdieu’s concept of habitus in educational research. Special Issue of British Journal of Sociology of Education on Pierre Bourdieu, 25(4), 431–444. Reay, D. (2012). ‘We never get a fair chance’: Working class experiences of education in the twenty-first century, in: W. Atkinson, S. Roberts and M. Savage (eds.) Class Inequality in Austerity Britain. London: Palgrave MacMillan. Reay, D. (2017). Miseducation: Inequality, Education and the Working Classes. Bristol: Policy Press. Reay, D., David, M., and Ball, S. (2001). Making a difference?: Institutional habituses and higher education choice. Sociological Research Online, 5(4), 126–142. doi:10.5153/sro.548. RSA. (2015). OPSN publishes new data on access to GCSE subjects across England. Retrieved from www.thersa.org/action-and-research/arc-news/opsn-publishes-new-data-on-accessto-gcse-subjects-across-england (accessed April 11th 2017). Ryan, F. (2016). We can eradicate poverty, if we choose to The Guardian. Tuesday 6th September 2016, page 29. Saltman, K. J. (2014). The Austerity school: Grit, character, and the privatization of public education. Symploke, 22(1–2), 41–57. Stahl, G. (2015). Identity, Neoliberalism and Aspiration: Educating White Working Class Boys. London: Routledge. Swartz, D. L. (2013). Symbolic Power, Politics, and Intellectuals: The Political Sociology of Pierre Bourdieu. London: University of Chicago Press. Syal, R. (2014). Revealed: Taxpayer-funded academies paying millions to private firms. The Guardian. 12th January 2014. Tarabini, A., Curran, M., Montes, A., and Parcerisa, L. (2016). The politics of educational success: A realist evaluation of early school leaving policies in Catalonia (Spain). Critical Studies in Education, 1-18. https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/full/10.1080/17508487. 2016.1197842

Working-class educational failure 31 Taylor, R. (2015) Schools in deprived neighbourhoods are denying young people access to subjects deemed ‘more difficult’ in a bid to minimise poor exam results and improve their position in the school league tables. RSA Report. London: Royal Society of Arts. Trading Economics. (2016). Retrieved from www.tradingeconomics.com/united-kingdom/ unemployment-rate (accessed September 11th 2016). Walker, P. (2016). Warnings over abolition of child poverty unit. The Guardian. 20th December 2016, page 4. Walsh, F. (1998). Strengthening Family Resilience. New York: Guilford Press. Wee, S. (2012). Beating the Odds’? A Bourdieusian Reading of Working-Class Educational Success, Unpublished PhD thesis University of Cambridge. Willis, P. (1977). Learning to Labour. Farnborough: Saxon House. Youdell, D. (2006). Impossible Bodies, Impossible Selves: Exclusions and Student Subjectivities. New York: Springer.

3 Student aspiration and transition as capabilities for navigating education systems Trevor Gale and Stephen ParkerStudent aspiration and transition

Trevor Gale and Stephen Parker Introduction Student ‘aspiration’ and ‘transition’ are key terms in education policy and practice in post-industrial nations. Informed by the work of Amartya Sen, we understand these terms as capabilities for navigating contemporary education systems – not as the simple capabilities of individuals as some government policy suggests (Gale & Molla, 2015) but developed within specific conditions that realise certain capabilities rather than others. This has implications for appreciating an individual’s ‘choice’, which, following Sen, we understand as a functioning: an outworking of opportunity and agency freedoms (Sen, 2009) and which we address incidentally in relation to the navigational capabilities of aspiration and transition. For Sen (1985; 2009), a person’s life is a combination of various doings and beings (i.e. functionings). Understanding the quality of a person’s life requires assessing the substantive freedoms (i.e. capabilities) to choose the life he or she has reason to value. This chapter, then, is framed by our account of aspiration and transition as capabilities, which we theorise in relation to choice. Our purposes are primarily theoretical, although throughout we also seek to place aspiration and transition in context, particularly in contexts that have most recently elevated these terms to prominence in contemporary education policy. Broadly, we see the mobilisation of aspiration and transition as by-products of the human capital– raising agenda of governments seeking to claim leadership in a global knowledge economy, made necessary by their displacement from dominance in the global industrial economy (Sellar et al., 2011).The rationale is relatively crude and simplistic: populations with a better (typically, more and higher levels of) education, lead to nations with greater potential to dominate the knowledge economy, which gazumps the economic dominance of newly industrialised societies (e.g. China, India, etc.) and leads to retaining control over the wealth of nations (cf. Smith, 1776/1974). Problems with student aspiration and transition, then, threaten to undermine this ambition and so become the focus of much education policy and practice. The examples we draw on are from higher education (HE), which tends to be the education sub-field in which aspiration and transition are of most

Student aspiration and transition 33

interest for government and institutional policy, although these concepts also provide a policy connection between schooling and higher education. Schooling itself has come under the spell of the knowledge economy agenda, albeit mobilised through policies of standardised assessment (e.g. Lingard et al., 2016). There are good reasons to draw examples of student aspiration and transition from HE. Since the turn of the century, HE systems in most post-industrial societies have undergone considerable expansion, many now with near-universal levels of student participation (Trow, 2006). The growth is unlike previous expansionist periods, in that it has not been in response to pent-up demand for HE by otherwise qualified students (Gale & Tranter, 2011). Instead, governments have manufactured student demand for HE through the proliferation of access programs and for the purposes of claiming the knowledge economy as their own. The resulting increase in HE participation is more akin to the introduction of compulsory schooling at the beginning of the Industrial Revolution (Gale & Hodge, 2014), in volume but also in purpose – preparing workers for participation in new forms of knowledge work. Our explanations of student aspiration and transition in HE are also set in the context of promoting equality. Traditionally, HE expansion has been conceptually and politically linked with equality (Gale & Tranter, 2011). This has remained the case even in the current scenario, in which equality is not the main driver for expansion. The recent HE policy in Scotland (CoWA, 2016), which seeks proportional representation of students from under-represented groups without simultaneously expanding the HE system, is somewhat of an aberration in this regard.1 Our specific examples tend to be drawn from the Australian higher education system, providing a counter-point to the European examples in other chapters in this book. The similarities between education systems in post-industrial nations are striking but not unexpected given the universalising influence of policy borrowing (Lingard, 2010), and they emphasise our global framing (as mentioned earlier). Even so, Australia has been at the forefront globally of promoting equality in higher education (Sellar & Gale, 2016), although it lagged behind the UK in expanding HE for knowledge economy purposes under its Widening Participation banner. In promoting equality for the purposes of economy, post-industrial nations and their higher education systems have developed various approaches to facilitating student access and support, particularly targeting students from disadvantaged groups who are also seen to have deficits in their aspiration and transition capabilities. Ironically, it is the missteps of these very programs (e.g. see Gale et al., 2010) that have called into question not just the extent to which students from disadvantaged backgrounds are adequately assessed as capable of aspiration and transition but also how aspiration and transition are (mis)conceived. These misconceptions provide the impetus for this chapter and its exploration of terms. The chapter is organised in two parts. The first understands aspiration as a capability for imagining futures (Sellar & Gale, 2011), and the second focuses on transition as a capability for navigating change (Gale & Parker, 2014). The point is

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made throughout, but more so in the conclusion, that students tend not to be constrained by their aspiration and transition capabilities to navigate education systems so much as by their different collective ‘archives of experience’ and by the ‘terms of recognition’ (Appadurai, 2004) of their capabilities, thereby limiting their educational and occupational choices.

Aspiration: a capability for imagining futures ‘Raising’ aspiration for higher education has been a policy intent within a number of national contexts, including England’s Aimhigher programme of the 2000s, the Australian access to HE reforms of 2009–2013 (Australian Government, 2009), and the more recent Commission on Widening Access in Scotland (CoWA, 2016).The conception of aspiration evoked by these policy landscapes is informed by two main assertions: (1) that young people from low socioeconomic status (SES) backgrounds have few or no aspirations, particularly with regard to higher education and (2) that aspiring to higher education is the loftiest and grandest of all aspirations and typically only available to or sought by the loftiest and grandest of all. The first of these assertions, and something of the second, is easy to discredit. There is now an established body of evidence from Australia, the UK and elsewhere that shows that the ‘no’ and ‘low’ aspiration theses propagated by government policy, higher education institutions (HEIs), and the media are not universally accurate, if at all. For example, in a survey of more than 2,000 Australian secondary school students in the low-SES western suburbs of Melbourne, Bowden and Doughney (2010) show that ‘70% of respondents aspire to attend university and about 85% aspire to some form of tertiary education (university and TAFE)’ (Bowden & Doughney, 2010: 118). Research in the UK has similarly shown that between 66% and 90% of 15 year olds in deprived areas of London, Nottingham, and Glasgow aspire to go to university, well above national HE participation rates (Kintrea et al., 2015). Our own research has also shown that 67% of students in a survey of schools in regional Queensland (Gale et al., 2013) and 70% of students in a survey of schools in the Greater Geelong area (Parker et al., 2013) aspire to a university degree in the future. In short, students from disadvantaged backgrounds, whether in major cities or in regional areas, are very capable of aspiring to HE and often do. Addressing the second assertion requires a much deeper engagement, which we take up in the following sections. By way of preface, our understanding of aspirations and their uneven realisation is that (1) there is a universally accepted understanding in societies – often below the level of conscious thought – about the order of things, including what kinds of aspirations for the future are appropriate for particular kinds of people; (2) there is an equally accepted relative valuing of these aspirations, with some considered to be ‘standouts’ – most are worthy, but only some are worthy of distinction (even within HE); (3) for some groups of students under-represented in HE, aspirations of distinction are not overly desirable, possibly because they are not in keeping with the established

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order, whereas for others, the distance between desiring aspirations of distinction and the possibility of their realisation is too great; and (4) this is because the resources and experiences needed to achieve desired aspirations are minimal by comparison to their more advantaged peers and, by definition, there are limits placed on the number of students who are able to realise aspirations of distinction. Aspirations are conceived within the limits of a social imaginary

A key premise in much recent research on aspiration is that individuals and their aspirations are influenced by their social circumstances and their imagined place in the world. Taylor’s term for this is social imaginary: ‘that common understanding that makes possible common practices and a widely shared sense of legitimacy’ (2004: 23). The social imaginary represents the symbolic recognition of how individuals ‘fit together with others, how things go on between them and their fellows, the expectations that are normally met, and the deeper normative notions and images that underlie these expectations’ (Taylor, 2004: 23). In short, it refers to the way ‘people imagine their collective social life’ (Gaonkar, 2002: 10; emphasis added). This social imaginary also includes collective views on higher education, including what and who it is for. This includes views of students from low socioeconomic backgrounds – often articulated and circulated in policy documents, in the media, and by politicians – as having deficient academic abilities (Sellar, 2013). The disadvantaged often subscribe to these same explanations of themselves and how they are positioned in relation to others (Bourdieu, 1984) and thus contribute to their own marginalisation. In the current ‘neoliberal imaginary’ (Sellar, 2013), particular market-based forms of aspiration are privileged such that those who do not exhibit the required self-capitalising behaviour are further marginalized by policy and official rhetoric. In social imaginary terms, aspirations are influenced both by one’s self-identification and by how this is perceived within the social milieu. In particular, young people’s aspirations for higher education are shaped by how they imagine or accept themselves fitting in with others, that is by how they read the futures that fit them (Mills & Gale, 2010).Thus, in this view, higher education is perceived to be universally available, irrespective of social position or financial circumstance. But in the current neoliberal imaginary, certain activities and aspirations are off limits to the disadvantaged. Elster (1983) describes subscription to this imaginary as the ‘adaption of preferences’, illustrated by the fable of the fox who rationalises that the grapes he desires, but are out of reach, are sour; they are no longer desirable because they are determined to be not achievable. In the same way, aspirations given voice in neoliberalism tend to be ‘grounded in biographic-historical conditions’ such that desires for the future are shaped by a ‘dispositional sense of self-limiting possibility’ (Zipin et al., 2015: 231, 234). They reproduce existing social-structural positions of advantage and disadvantage as ‘agents shape their aspirations according to concrete indices of the accessible and the inaccessible,

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of what is and is not “for us” ’ (Bourdieu, 1990: 64). We might also describe this shaping in terms of a distinction between desire and possibility (see what follows). Aspirations are differently valued in society, with only some worthy of distinction

A second and complementary concept useful for theorising aspiration is taste. In Bourdieu’s seminal text Distinction (1984), taste is defined as the disposition to differentiate ‘between the beautiful and the ugly, the distinguished and the vulgar’ (6) within aesthetic fields such as clothing, music, food, and more generally in patterns of consumption, recreational activities, and occupations. For Bourdieu, the aesthetic judgements that people make are not simply informed by their individual abilities or interests but are cultivated within and reflect their cultural dispositions. That is, particular tastes are identified with particular groups; they are ‘markers of “class” ’ (Bourdieu, 1984: 2). ‘Distinction’ is the term that Bourdieu ascribes to the tastes of dominant groups, tastes that require the greatest investment of resources in order to acquire. Those with ‘poor taste’ are still able to recognize that which is in ‘good taste’: those social goods and preferences that carry and confer distinction. These are ‘normative for desire. That is, they are seen as goods which we ought to desire, even if we do not, goods such that we show ourselves up as inferior or bad by our not desiring them’ (Taylor, 1985: 120). Hence, to conceive of aspirations as matters of taste is to say much more than that they reflect individual or isolated desires. Rather, aspirations are located in a hierarchy – that is, some aspirations are seen to be more tasteful than others – and are formed ‘in interaction and in the thick of social life’ (Appadurai, 2004: 67); ‘tasteful’ aspirations are culturally acquired and legitimated. In the same way, students’ aspirations for higher education reflect structural differences and inequalities, with some aspirations given greater legitimacy or distinction than others, and not to aspire to higher education at all being the ultimate in tastelessness or vulgarity. Anything short of aspirations of distinction – which contribute to the attainment or maintenance of dominant social positions (Bourdieu, 1984) – are held in contempt, distaste. Aspirations are more or less desirable and possible, depending on what we can and ought to do

These discrepancies between students’ appreciation of distinctive aspirations and what ‘people like us’ might expect or anticipate can also be explained in terms of desire and possibility. Desire is invested with ‘questions of what constitutes an appreciable life’ (Feher, 2009: 41), again formed in interaction with others. It is the ‘cluster of promises’ that we make to ourselves about our futures (Berlant, 2011: 23), implicated in ‘the building of ourselves’ to fit

Student aspiration and transition 37

into the world (Butler, 1987: 97). This is always achieved in communities: ‘for we do not come to ourselves through [our own] work alone, but through the acknowledging look of the Other who confirms us’ (Butler, 1987: 58). On this issue Schroeder (2006: 632) makes an important distinction between ‘objects of desire’ and ‘desiring’. In our collective social imaginary there are some objects – cultural artefacts, but also particular ‘beings’ and ‘doings’ (Sen, 2009) – that we ‘ought to desire’ (Taylor, 1985: 120), objects that as yet we do not have but which should be in our future. There are other objects that we ought not to desire. Even desiring them – yearning for things we should not have – is censured (Butler, 1987), for in the act of desiring we ‘show ourselves up as inferior or bad’ (Taylor, 1985: 120). Yet what is desirable and what is possible are not always the same. In lifting restrictions on available university places, governments increase the possibility of participation in higher education for previously under-represented groups. Many more people from low socioeconomic backgrounds have gained access to university as a result but with no appreciable increase in their rate of participation – in Australia, still hovering at around 16 to 17% (Department of Education and Training, 2016) – and with the system increasingly unlikely to reach the government’s 20% low-SES participation target by 2020 (Sellar et al., 2011).While now possible, universal higher education (Trow, 2006) is not universally desired. Even though aspiration for HE is high among socially disadvantaged groups (e.g. Bowden & Doughney, 2010), for some the desire for HE is mediated by a sense of what is possible for them. Further, different conceptions of the ‘good life’ (that may not be socially valued by dominant groups) shape the aspirations and pathways of those who recognise that HE is socially desirable but instead follow other pathways that they regard as of greater value to them. Thus desire is mitigated by possibility, especially for those with more limited resources: ‘for the elite . . . desire tends to inform possibility: what is imagined is simply made possible. For the marginalised, possibility tends to inform desire: what is possible limits the desirable to what is “realistic” ’ (Sellar & Gale, 2011: 129). The impossibility of some desires for some people is not simply a matter of economic resources, as government and universities often seem to imagine (in their portrayal of ‘poor’ students). There are also social and cultural limits on desire: for example the working-class university student chastised by friends for having ‘tickets’ on him/herself (i.e. regarding themselves as being above their social station); the black university student goaded by his/her community for becoming ‘white on the inside’ or being half white/half black; and so on (cf. Lehmann, 2016; Plikuhn & Knoester, 2016; Boliver, 2017). These limits on desire are not a result of a deficit of aspiration but rather a recognition of the constraints of what is appropriate ‘for the likes of us’ (Bourdieu et al., 1990).The dilemmas of participation in higher education for under-represented groups are clear: ‘Insofar as we desire, we desire in two mutually exclusive ways; in desiring something else, we lose ourselves, and in desiring ourselves, we lose the world’ (Butler, 1987: 34).

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Both desires are informed by cultural understandings of who ‘we’ are in relation to what is ‘the world’. In this case ‘the world’ represents what higher education is and what getting a higher education entails. In brief, higher education is not strong on ‘epistemological equity’ (Dei, 2008). It is not easy for underrepresented groups to find themselves represented – narrated as having something positive to contribute – within the ‘message systems’ (Bernstein, 1977) of higher education (i.e. curriculum, pedagogy, assessment). And, like government, universities are not strong on refashioning their own interests and agendas in ways that contribute to lives that marginalised groups have reason to value. Not surprisingly, many marginalised groups assess higher education as not for them: We are not the people for whom this object or this activity exists as an objective possibility; as a result, this object or this activity would only exist for us as a ‘reasonable’ possibility if we were different, if we were placed in different conditions of existence. (Bourdieu et al., 1990: 16–17) It is not that students do not recognize the instrumental value of higher education. These are not simply the desires of individuals, changing from one thing to another on a whim. They are formed in appreciation of what is possible and what is agreeable within the current social imaginary. To think otherwise: We are condemned to the abstract universality of needs or motivations as long as we dissociate aspirations from the objective situation in which they are constituted and from which they are inseparable, a situation that is objectively defined by economic constraints and social norms. In other words, aspirations and demands are determined, in both form and content, by objective conditions which exclude the possibility of desiring the impossible. (Bourdieu et al., 1990: 15–16) Aspirations are capacity dependent, in their imagining and in their realisation

For Appadurai (2004), the difference between ‘impossible possibilities’ and ‘reasonable possibilities’ (Bourdieu et al., 1990: 17) is navigational capacity and the archives of experience accumulated from previous successful navigations (of one’s own but also the successful experiences of family and community). According to Appadurai, the capacity to navigate towards aspirations involves a sense both of destination and of intermediate nodes along the way. In navigating between these nodes, the advantaged have a richer and more extensive ‘archive of concrete experiments with the good life,’ in part because they have more opportunities to experiment with aspiration (Appadurai, 2004: 69). They ‘explore the future more frequently and more realistically, and . . . share this knowledge with one another more routinely than their poorer and

Student aspiration and transition 39

weaker neighbours’ (Appadurai, 2004: 69). Compared with their peers, the disadvantaged have A smaller number of aspirational nodes and a thinner, weaker sense of the pathways from concrete wants to intermediate contexts to general norms and back again. Where these pathways do exist for the poor, they are likely to be more rigid, less supple, and less strategically valuable, not because of any cognitive deficit on the part of the poor but because the capacity to aspire, like any complex cultural capacity, thrives and survives on practice, repetition, exploration, conjecture, and refutation. (Appadurai, 2004: 69) This capacity for ‘practice, repetition, exploration, conjecture, and refutation’ – required for building the capacity to aspire – relies heavily on resources available to aspirers, including what is stored in the archives of experience to which they have access. The student whose mother is a judge or whose uncle is a vice chancellor has access to far more than financial resources to inform their navigation towards and beyond higher education compared with the student who is ‘first in family’.Without discounting the importance of financial and material assistance for under-represented groups accessing higher education, the differences between the two are in their access to ‘tour’ and ‘map’ knowledge (de Certeau, 1984).Those with tour knowledge are subject to the limits of the ‘tour guide’. Knowledge of the terrain is governed by the direct instruction of others. On tour they follow a pre-determined route that they trust will lead them to their desired destination. When confronted with obstacles, the alternatives tend to be to choose another tour: to adapt their preferences (Elster, 1983), from a doctor to a teacher, for example, when the demands of the former exceed their navigational capacities and archives of experience. Whereas those with map knowledge have greater familiarity with the social terrain – a ‘topological’ rather than simply a ‘topographical’ knowledge (Sellar, 2013) – and an appreciation of the whole route they need to take to reach their destination from their point of origin. They have not just been given the map; they are the cartographers, able to create new routes and to improvise alternatives if obstacles appear in their way.

Transition: a capability for navigating change Like aspiration, ‘transition’ has become a key term in HE in post-industrial nations, although its expression has tended to be in the policies and practices of higher education institutions (HEIs) rather than in government policy. Much of this has found expression in the First Year in HE movement (e.g. Kift, 2009). As with aspiration, prevailing notions of transition are crude and simplistic, typically conceived as either induction or development, and typically ‘the terms of the transition are set by others’ (Quinn, 2010: 119). Faced with a concern for decreasing student retention, particularly in a context of widening participation

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(Gale & Parker, 2017; also see earlier), many universities have focused their attention on the first year of undergraduate study as a way of enhancing student engagement and reducing ‘dropout’. This initial period of university study is regarded as ‘the most critical time’ (Krause, 2005: 9) because it can ‘inform a student’s success or failure in tertiary settings’ (Burnett, 2007: 23). Students in this context are seen as requiring ‘varying degrees of adjustment to . . . university culture in general and the conventions and expectations of students’ individual disciplines in particular’ (Beasley & Pearson, 1999: 303), which are then remedied through orientation sessions, ‘just-in-time’ information, and ‘transition pedagogy’ (Kift, 2009). However, more theoretically sophisticated accounts of transition recognise that people are frequently transitioning between multiple identities, always in a state of ‘becoming’ (Gale & Parker, 2014; Taylor & Harris-Evans, 2016). Students’ transitions are never complete, not simply discrete stages or periods of change to overcome. Transitions are not always forward looking either; as ‘the transition into precarious work’ (Slade, 2015: 68) illustrates, some transitions can ‘involve regressions, dislocations, or progressions’ (Slade, 2015: 71). Nor are ‘failed’ transitions in HE – pejoratively termed ‘dropout’ – inherently negative but may indeed reflect the lived realities of some young people for whom participation in HE is not privileged above other aspirations (Quinn, 2010). Much of the impetus for this reconceptualisation of student transition into HE has come from accounts of life transition more generally and of late or liquid modernity (Bauman, 2000). While such literatures have found traction among some HE researchers in the UK, for the most part others have ignored them. Indeed, The study of transitions has been largely conducted in isolation from wider analyses of occupational and social mobility . . . The separation of transitions and mobility has left a disconnect between transitions theorists and some of the wider sociological concerns seen in the analysis of mobility, class structure and processes of class formation. (Smith, 2009: 371) Transitions involve shifts in identities, always in a state of becoming

Informed by critical sociology and critical cultural studies, we argue for an understanding of transition as ‘becoming’, emphasising the complexities of life and the historical-biographical interdependence of ‘public issues’ and ‘private troubles’ (Mills, 1959). Such understanding challenges accounts that represent student transition into HE as (i) a particular time of crisis, (ii) part of a linear progression, and (iii) universally experienced and normalised. While we recognise that ‘it is not enough to say that transitions are no longer neat and linear, or to briefly mention their complexity’ (Worth, 2009: 1051), these provide points from which to develop a more dynamic account of student transition. Regarding representations of transition as crisis, for example, transition-as-becoming

Student aspiration and transition 41

accepts the ‘anxiety and risk’ (Field, 2010: xix) experienced by some students in ‘the challenges. . . [of] trying to navigate the unchartered waters of their new university experience’ (Nelson et al., 2005: 2). However, a transition-as-becoming framing does not necessarily accept the implied problematic of transition or that transition into HE is a time of crisis for all students. On the contrary: Transitions can lead to profound change and be an impetus for new learning, or they can be unsettling, difficult and unproductive. Yet, while certain transitions are unsettling and difficult for some people, risk, challenge and even difficulty might also be important factors in successful transitions for others. (Ecclestone et al., 2010: 2) In short, transitions are not necessarily times in which people experience crisis, bracketed by relatively stable life experiences (Baron et al., 1999). For instance, the to-ing and fro-ing between home and university – between different identities (Kimura et al., 2006) – has to be negotiated on a daily basis, not merely in moments of crisis (Hughes et al., 2010). As Quinn (2010: 124) observes, ‘transition rather than being a rare event is actually an everyday feature’. Similarly, the idea that life is experienced in a linear way (e.g. from secondary school to university to the world of work or from childhood to youth to adulthood) is not sensitive to the ongoing changes, transformations, and the back-and-forward movements experienced by many people. Students are not situated within fixed identities or roles either before or after significant events such as the move to HE. For example, university students Do not view work and study in the linear sequential way implied by the conventional career paradigm and by the policy formulations based upon it. Images about ‘pathways’ and linear transitions from school via further study and then into the world of work and an independent adult way of life do not reflect the actual experience. (Cohen & Ainley, 2000: 83–84; emphasis added) The absence of students’ experiences and understandings from HE policy and practice is informed by normative accounts of student transition, which represent variations from the norm as ‘deviant’, ‘deficient’ (Colley, 2007: 430), ‘unruly’, and ‘inadequate’ (Quinn, 2010: 126) and present transitions in terms of success or failure. Such norms and their variations frustrate student transition. They focus attention on different students, on their difference, rather than on the changes to be made by institutions and systems in order to accommodate difference. They mobilise narratives and histories that render students voiceless, unable to speak ‘in one’s own name’ (Couldry, 2009: 580). For example, knowledge – the central narrative of HE – and ways of knowing associated with under-represented groups are often unspeakable in HE (Connell, 2007; Dei, 2008). This ‘yoking together of the speakable with transition, inevitably

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leaves those with lives that are marginal [to institutional narratives] and [with] incoherent [genealogies] unable to make the transition to fully “educated person” ’ (Quinn, 2010: 123). Approaching these matters from a transition-as-becoming perspective reveals that the normative and the universal discourses of transition do not adequately capture the diversity of student lives, their experiences of university, or of universities themselves. It is impossible, then, to speak of student transition in HE in the singular, in the same way that ‘there is no such thing as an identity, or a discrete moment of transition’ (Quinn, 2010: 127; emphasis added). Subjectivity and flux better describe the contemporary experience of navigating extended periods of formal education (Smith, 2009), multiple career paradigms and life patterns (Cohen & Ainley, 2000), and ‘the fluid experience of time’ (Worth, 2009: 1051). Student transition into HE is less about isolated and stilted movements from one context or identity to another: ‘Instead it must be understood as a series of flows, energies, movements and capacities, a series of fragments or segments capable of being linked together in ways other than those that congeal it into an identity’ (Grosz, 1993: 197–198). ‘Transition-as-becoming’, as conceived here, rejects notions of the linearity and normativity of life stages implicit in much student transition research and draws attention to ‘what Deleuze and Guattari call “multiplicities” composed of heterogeneous singularities in dynamic compositions. . . [that are] “rhizomatic” ’ (Sotirin, 2005: 99).This has significant implications for notions of the self, identity, life stages, and transitions generally: ‘Becoming explodes the ideas about what we are and what we can be beyond the categories that seem to contain us. . . [It] offers a radical conception of what a life does’ (Sotirin, 2005: 99). If education systems, structures, institutions, and procedures do not take account of the multiplicities of student lives, then transition practices will be less effective. Indeed, the ‘failure to prioritize the actual views, experiences, interests and perspectives of young people as they see them’ (Miles, 2000: 10) – particularly ‘the lived reality for disadvantaged young people’ (Barry, 2005: 108) – has been counterproductive. It has led to an overly ‘structural perspective on transitions’ (Miles, 2000: 10). Certainly, educational transitions ‘must have structures and processes . . . but ultimately they need greater openness and flexibility. It should mirror the flux of our being, rather than trying to subjugate it with rigidity’ (Quinn, 2010: 127). For Quinn (2010: 125–126), being more open and flexible means that Institutions should not hide the fact that withdrawal is a possibility, but rather be open about its implications. They should offer better opportunities to change course and provide more meaningful information about individual subjects to enable students to make well-informed choices. Personal planning of ‘non-traditional pathways’ into and through HE should be facilitated, which remove the distinction between full- and part-time mode and permit less than full-time study on all courses. Opportunities

Student aspiration and transition 43

and support for students to change modes of study from full- to part-time and vice versa should be easily available. In the same way, education systems also need to be more accommodating of diverse knowledges and ways of knowing (Gale, 2012). Transition-as-becoming incorporates what Zepke and Leach (2005) refer to as the ‘emergent discourse of adaptation’. This entails transforming teaching practices, curriculum, and institutions themselves so they value and affirm ‘students’ cultural capital’ (Zepke & Leach, 2005: 54). The type of transformation imagined by this approach goes beyond calls evident in recent literature (e.g. Prebble et al., 2004) for developing ‘ways in which an individual’s identity is affirmed, honoured, and incorporated into the organization’s culture’ (Tierney, 2000: 219) to embedding diverse identities, ways of doing and being, into higher education curriculum and pedagogy. This may include taking account of what Foucault (1970) terms ‘subjugated knowledges’ or of unsettling ‘the centre–periphery relations in the realm of knowledge’ (Connell, 2007: viii). From a social inclusion perspective, It is about the need for a curriculum that provides room for different ways of thinking about, and different ways of engaging with knowledge, and indeed inserting different kinds of understandings that perhaps have not been part of . . . higher education before. It is about how we structure the student learning experience in ways that open it up and make it possible for students to contribute from who they are and what they know. (Gale, 2012: 253) Appreciating who students are and ‘how they identify themselves’ (Gale, 2012: 251) – specifically, appreciating the dynamic compositions of their heterogeneous singularities (Sotirin, 2005: 99) – is at the heart of understanding student transition as becoming. The appropriate response is to adjust HE systems and practices, including their knowledge systems and practices, to make them more open and flexible.

Conclusion: constraints on the freedom to choose In the context of navigating education systems, as capabilities, both aspiration and transition rely on freedom and opportunity to choose, though these choices are constrained and socially embedded. In his work, Sen argues that the best way to evaluate a person’s quality of life is through the substantive freedoms they have available to them to lead a life they have reason to value. Sen emphasises a person’s ‘actual ability to do the different things that she values doing . . . and not just on the resources [they] have’ (Sen, 2009: 253; emphasis original). The capability approach does not focus on a person’s inherent ability nor their specific achievements but on the ‘actual opportunities a person has’ (253). These opportunities are not simply

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individual but entail a range of social and structural conditions that may enable or constrain the pursuit of certain goals. This is what Sen terms agency freedom, ‘what the person is free to do and achieve in pursuit of whatever goals or values he or she regards as important’ in relation to ‘the person’s conception of the good’ (1985: 203; emphasis added). Of importance here is that it is the person’s own ‘aims, objectives, allegiances, obligations’ (1985: 203), formed in community, which guide agency freedom, not those of others, including universities or governments.2 Similarly, in Sen’s account, well-being freedom is the freedom to achieve a particular aim in relation to a person’s well-being. However, these freedoms and opportunities can be constrained by a lack of material and cultural resources such that a person’s capabilities to navigate education systems may be diminished or not exist at all. For example, the capability to aspire to HE can be curtailed by a lack of financial capital, a limited archive of experience, or a selflimiting disposition (Zipin et al., 2015) in which university is excluded a priori as ‘not for the likes of us’ (Bourdieu et al., 1990: 17). Capability deprivation is a significant form of inequality (Molla & Gale, 2015). Thus, enabling the capability to aspire (to HE) entails not only resourcing (e.g. providing timely and accurate information, financial assistance) and building up archives of experience including through classroom tasks. It also involves creating real opportunities for people to choose HE or indeed other career and study alternatives (such as vocational education or a trade) depending on what is of value for the person. As capability theorist Martha Nussbaum notes, A person with plenty of food can always choose to fast; a person who has access to subsidized university education can always decide to do something else instead. By making opportunities available, government enhances, and does not remove, choice. (1992: 225) In this context, non-participation in HE has value to people beyond systemcentric, economic accounts. But this value needs to be realised and recognised not only by those who might hold such aspirations (as in Appadurai, 2004 or Zipin et al., 2015) but also by the wider society at large (Taylor, 1994). Similarly, transition as the capability to navigate change relies on real opportunities – that are both desirable and possible – to make educational choices that are of value to students. Institution-centric policies that discourage temporary exit and return to HE, or flexible study programmes, and which brand some students as ‘dropouts’, can all constrain students’ transition capabilities. What might be otherwise considered a ‘failed’ transition into HE (i.e. ‘dropping out’) is for many a ‘rational decision in response to circumstances that made studying unproductive at that time’ (Quinn, 2005: 3) and not the disaster that it is made out to be in policy and institutional discourses. Fostering the capability to navigate change in HE includes providing the resources to engage with change conditions (Sen, 1985) without having full control over and/or knowledge about what that change involves, without an assurance of

Student aspiration and transition 45

a predetermined endpoint. Transition understood as the capability to navigate change also alludes to the mutuality of agency and structure in transitions; navigation evokes agency freedom in relation to structure. In sum, thinking about aspirations and transitions as capabilities puts the emphasis not on the specific choices and outcomes of people navigating educations systems; these are functionings. Rather, a capability approach is concerned with freedom and opportunities to choose a path that best suits a person’s conception of the good life. The requirements for this are multiple: providing the material and cultural resources (including archives of experience) as well as expanding the terms of recognition such that varying and ‘subaltern’ conceptions of the good are equally valued by society at large. In this way there can be substantive choices in navigating education systems.

Acknowledgments Parts of this chapter have previously appeared in the Australian Educational Researcher 32(2) and Studies in Higher Education 39(5). We thank the publishers (Springer and Taylor & Francis) for permission to reproduce and rework these for this chapter.

Notes 1 The Scottish Commission on Widening Access (CoWA, 2016) recommended that the proportion of students from the most deprived 20% of the population account for 20% of students in higher education institutions by the year 2030. Unlike in Australia and England (for example), student places in Scottish universities are capped and controlled by government so that undergraduate study remains free to access. To increase the share of students from deprived backgrounds without increasing the absolute number of higher education places will necessarily squeeze out other groups already attending university. 2 The emphasis on the individual in capability theory does not amount to an individualistic, atomistic view of society. Rather, it is based on the belief in the individual person as inherently valuable and as an end in itself rather than being subsumed to the objectives of dominant social groups. There are parallels here with how Bourdieu understands the habitus as the social and cultural embodied in the individual. The focus on individual well-being in the capability approach was also devised as a way to indicate real levels of disadvantage that may otherwise be hidden by aggregate measures such as gross national product (Nussbaum, 2000). See Robyens (2005) on ‘ethical individualism’.

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Student aspiration and transition 47 Feher, M. (2009). Self-appreciation; or, the aspirations of human capital. Public Culture, 21(1), 21–41. Field, J. (2010). Preface, in: K. Ecclestone, G. Biesta and M. Hughes (eds.) Transitions and Learning Through the Lifecourse (pp. xvii–xxiv). London: Routledge. Foucault, M. (1970). The Order of Things: An Archaeology of the Human Sciences. London:Tavistock. Gale, T. (2011). Expansion and equity in Australian higher education: Three propositions for new relations. Discourse: Studies in the Cultural Politics of Education, 32(5), 669–685. Gale, T. (2012). Towards a southern theory of student equity in Australian higher education: Enlarging the rationale for expansion. International Journal of Sociology of Education, 1(3), 238–262. Gale, T., Hattam, R., Comber, B., Tranter, D., Bills, D., Sellar, S., and Parker, S. (2010). Interventions Early in School as a Means to Improve Higher Education Outcomes for Disadvantaged Students. Adelaide: National Centre for Student Equity in Higher Education. Gale, T., and Hodge, S. (2014). Just imaginary: Delimiting social inclusion in higher education. British Journal of Sociology of Education, 35(5), 688–709. Gale, T., and Molla, T. (2015). Social justice intents in policy: An analysis of capability for and through education. Journal of Education Policy, 30(6), 810–830. Gale, T., and Parker, S. (2014). Navigating change: A typology of student transition in higher education. Studies in Higher Education, 39(5), 734–753. Gale, T., and Parker, S. (2017). Retaining students in Australian higher education: Cultural capital, field distinction. European Educational Research Journal, 16(1), 80–96. Gale, T., Parker, S., Rodd, P., Stratton, G., and Sealey, T. with Moore, T. (2013). Student Aspirations for Higher Education in Central Queensland: A Survey of School Students’ Navigational Capacities. Report submitted to CQ University, Australia. Centre for Research in Education Futures and Innovation (CREFI), Deakin University, Melbourne, Australia. Gale, T., and Tranter, D. (2011). Social justice in Australian higher education policy: An historical and conceptual account of student participation. Critical Studies in Education, 52(1), 29–46. Gaonkar, D. P. (2002). Toward new imaginaries: An introduction. Public Culture, 14(1), 1–19. Grosz, E. (1993). Volatile Bodies:Towards a Corporeal Feminism. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Hughes, M., Greenhough, P.,Yee, W. C., and Andrews, J. (2010). The daily transition between home and school, in: K. Ecclestone, G. Biesta and M. Hughes (eds.) Transitions and Learning Through the Lifecourse (pp. 16–31). London and New York: Routledge. Kift, S. (2009). Articulating a Transition Pedagogy to Scaffold and to Enhance the First Year Student Learning Experience in Australian Higher Education: Final Report for ALTC Senior Fellowship Program. Strawberry Hills, NSW: Australian Learning and Teaching Council. Kimura, M., Brian, K., Ganga, D., Hudson, T., Murray, L., Prodgers, L., Smith, K., Straker, K., and Willott, J. (2006). Ethnicity, Education and Employment. London: Continuum – The Centre for Widening Participation Policy Studies, University of East London. Kintrea, K., St Clair, R., and Houston, M. (2015). Shaped by place? Young people’s aspirations in disadvantaged neighbourhoods. Journal of Youth Studies, 18(5), 666–684. Krause, K. (2005). The Changing Face of the First Year: Challenges for Policy and Practice in Research-Led Universities. Keynote paper at the University of Queensland First Year Experience Workshop, October. Lehmann,W. (2016).‘They really drill it into you to go to university’: Influences on workingclass students’ decision to go to university, in: A. E. Stich and C. Freie (eds.) The Working Classes and Higher Education: Inequality of Access, Opportunity and Outcome (pp. 13–29). London: Routledge.

48  Trevor Gale and Stephen Parker Lingard, B. (2010). Policy borrowing, policy learning: Testing times in Australian schooling. Critical Studies in Education, 51(2), 129–147. Lingard, B.,Thompson, G., and Sellar, S. (eds.) (2016). National Testing in Schools: An Australian Assessment. Abingdon and New York: Routledge. Miles, S. (2000). Youth Lifestyles in a Changing World. Buckingham: Open University Press. Mills, C., and Gale,T. (2010). Schooling in Disadvantaged Communities: Playing the Game from the Back of the Field. Dordrecht: Springer. Mills, C. W. (1959). The Sociological Imagination. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Molla,T., and Gale,T. (2015). Inequality in Ethiopian higher education: Reframing the problem as capability deprivation. Discourse: Studies in the Cultural Politics of Education, 36(3), 383–397. Nelson, K. J., Kift, S. M., and Harper,W. (2005). ‘First portal in a storm’: A Virtual Space for Transition Students. Paper presented at the 2005 Australian Society for Computers in Learning in Tertiary Education Conference, 7 December, in Brisbane. Retrieved 14 May 2017, from http://eprints.qut.edu.au/3943/1/3943_1.pdf. Nussbaum, M. C. (1992). Human functioning and social justice: In defense of Aristotelian essentialism. Political Theory, 20(2), 202–246. Nussbaum, M. C. (2000). Women and Human Development: The Capabilities Approach. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Parker, S., Stratton, G., Gale, T., Rodd, P., and Sealey, T. (2013). Higher Education and Student Aspiration: A Study of the Adaptive Preferences of Year 9 Students in Corio, Victoria. Report to the Access & Equity Unit, Deakin University, Australia. Centre for Research in Education Futures and Innovation (CREFI), Deakin University, Melbourne, Australia. Plikuhn, M., and Knoester, M. (2016). A foot in two worlds: First-generation college graduates and the discourses needed for academic success, in: A. E. Stich and C. Freie (eds.) The Working Classes and Higher Education: Inequality of Access, Opportunity and Outcome (pp. 174– 194). London: Routledge. Prebble, T., Hargraves, H., Leach, L., Naidoo, K., Suddaby, G., and Zepke, N. (2004). Impact of Student Support Services and Academic Development Programmes on Student Outcomes in Undergraduate Tertiary Study: A Synthesis of the Research. Wellington: Ministry of Education. Retrieved 14 May 2017, from http://edcounts.squiz.net.nz/__data/assets/pdf_ file/0013/7321/ugradstudentoutcomes.pdf. Quinn, J. (2005). Rethinking working-class ‘Drop Out’ from University. Widening Participation and Lifelong Learning, 7(3), 1–5. Quinn, J. (2010). Rethinking ‘failed transitions’ to higher education, in: K. Ecclestone, G. Biesta and M. Hughes (eds.) Transitions and Learning Through the Lifecourse (pp. 118–129). London: Routledge. Robyens, I. (2005). The capability approach: A theoretical survey. Journal of Human Development, 6(1), 93–114. Schroeder, T. (2006). Desire. Philosophy Compass, 1(6), 631–639. Sellar, S. (2013). Hoping for the best in education: Globalisation, social imaginaries and young people. Social Alternatives, 32(2), 31–38. Sellar, S., and Gale,T. (2011). Mobility, aspiration, voice: A new structure of feeling for student equity in higher education. Critical Studies in Education, 52(2), 115–134. Sellar, S., and Gale, T. (2016). Framing student equity in higher education: National and global policy contexts of A Fair Chance for All, in: A. Harvey, C. Burnheim and M. Brett (eds.) Student Equity in Australian Higher Education:Twenty-Five Years of A Fair Chance for All (pp. 39–52). Singapore: Springer.

Student aspiration and transition 49 Sellar, S., Gale, T., and Parker, S. (2011). Appreciating aspirations in Australian higher education. Cambridge Journal of Education, 41(1), 37–52. Sen, A. (1985). Well-being, agency and freedom: The Dewey lectures 1984. The Journal of Philosophy, 82(4), 169–221. Sen, A. (2009). The Idea of Justice. Cambridge: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press. Slade, B. L. (2015). Migrating professional knowledge: Progressions, regressions, and dislocations. New Directions for Adult and Continuing Education, (146), 65–74. Smith, A. (1776/1974). An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations. Harmondsworth: Penguin Books. Smith, D. I. (2009). Changes in transitions: The role of mobility, class and gender. Journal of Education  & Work, 22(5), 369–390. Sotirin, P. (2005). Becoming-woman, in: C. J. Stivale (ed.) Gilles Deleuze: Key Concepts (pp. 98–109). Quebec: McGill-Queen’s University Press. Taylor, C. (1985). Philosophy and the Human Sciences: Philosophical Papers 2. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Taylor, C. (1994). The politics of recognition, in: A. Gutman (ed.) Multiculturalism: Examining the Politics of Recognition (pp. 25–73). Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Taylor, C. (2004). Modern Social Imaginaries. Durham: Duke University Press. Taylor, C. A., and Harris-Evans, J. (2016). Reconceptualising transition to higher education with Deleuze and Guattari. Studies in Higher Education, 1–14. doi:10.1080/03075079.20 16.1242567. Tierney, W. G. (2000). Power, identity, and the dilemma of college student departure, in: J. M. Braxton (ed.) Reworking the Student Departure Puzzle (pp. 213–234). Nashville: Vanderbilt University Press. Trow, M. (2006). Reflections on the transition from elite to mass to universal access: Forms and phases of higher education in modern societies since WWII, in: J. J. F. Forrest and P. G. Altbach (eds.) International Handbook of Higher Education, Part One: Global Themes and Contemporary Challenges (pp. 243–280). Dordrecht: Springer. Worth, N. (2009). Understanding youth transition as ‘becoming’: Identity, time and futurity. Geoforum, 40(6), 1050–1060. Zepke, N., and Leach, L. (2005). Integration and adaptation. Active Learning in Higher Education, 6(1), 46–59. Zipin, L., Sellar, S., Brennan, M., and Gale, T. (2015). Educating for futures in marginalized regions: A sociological framework for rethinking and researching aspirations. Educational Philosophy and Theory, 47(3), 227–246.

Part III

Primary school transitions

4 Transition from primary to secondary education in a rigidly tracked system Simon Boone et al.Transition in a rigidly tracked system

The case of Flanders Simon Boone, Marie Seghers and Mieke Van Houtte Introduction International comparisons have repeatedly demonstrated the paradoxical performance of the Flemish education system. On the one hand, Flemish students perform very well on average, and on the other hand, gaps between students from different social and ethnic backgrounds are very large (Jacobs et al., 2009). Comparisons based on PISA (Programme for International Student Assessment) results consistently show that Flemish education is at the top of the rankings of OECD (Organisation for Economic Cooperation and Development) countries for mathematics and reading ability (Jacobs et al., 2009). However, it is also one of the most inegalitarian systems, as the impact of students’ socio-economic background on their scores is larger than average and as differences between the scores of students with and without a migration background are very large (Jacobs et al., 2009). These social and ethnic disparities are inextricably related to the rigid, hierarchical tracking system which is in place. The combination of rigid tracking, free school choice and large pedagogical autonomy for schools leads to high levels of socio-ethnic school segregation, which in turn partly explains the variation in students’ performances (e.g. Dupriez et al., 2008). The most recent Education and Training Monitor of the European Commission (2016) explicitly mentions the problematic nature of the allocation of students from disadvantaged backgrounds in Flanders. Disadvantaged students, and especially students with a migration background, are overrepresented in vocational tracks and special education. In this chapter, we will show how early school and track choice lead to processes of ever increasing socio-ethnic school – and track – segregation in Flanders.The idea of choice is at the heart of Flemish pupils’ school trajectories as free school choice is a constitutionally guaranteed right in Belgium. The first meaningful choice takes place at the transition from primary to secondary education. At the age of twelve, pupils are confronted with the choice of a school and the choice of an educational option. While officially the choice of an optional course is without consequences for future choices, research demonstrates that choices made at the onset of secondary education are nevertheless consequential (Van Damme et al., 1997). However, parents are not always aware

54  Simon Boone et al.

of the consequences associated with the choice for a particular educational option (Seghers et al., 2017). School choice and track choice are interrelated, since secondary schools in Flanders are usually organized along track lines. The young age at which pupils are confronted with this important decision in combination with the opacity of the educational structure complicate the decision-making process. Our aim is to demonstrate why this early choice is especially detrimental for pupils from working-class backgrounds.To do so, we will use a mixed-methods design, combining both quantitative and qualitative data gathered from pupils on the verge of their transition to secondary education and their parents. First, we will quantitatively establish the existence of social class differentials in educational choice. Subsequently, we will try to elucidate these findings through analysis of interview data.

The Flemish education system General features and background

The Flemish education system can be characterized as being decentralized and choice driven. It is decentralized because school boards enjoy considerable autonomy regarding teaching methods and philosophical foundation (Department of Education, 2008). Furthermore, schools are entitled to determine curriculum, draw up time tables and appoint their own staff. The only condition for schools to receive government funding is that they meet the so-called attainment targets (eindtermen) determined by the government. These attainment targets are defined in such a way that it allows for enough leeway in teaching towards their fulfilment.Virtually all schools in Flanders, both publicly and privately (Roman Catholic schools) run schools, are publicly funded (Department of Education, 2008). Free choice is another important feature of Flemish education. The Belgian constitution guarantees parental freedom of choice – that is, parents are free to select the school of their choice for the schooling of their children. As secondary schools in Flanders are organized along track lines and choice of a school is free, the allocation of students to tracks is quite loosely organized. Flemish students’ school careers throughout secondary education can therefore be seen as the result of a long series of free choices (Spruyt & Laurijssen, 2010). The important choice at the transition from primary to secondary education

Choice is at the core of Flemish pupils’ school careers, as pupils are expected to make a series of choices throughout secondary education (Spruyt & Laurijssen, 2010). The first important choice has to be made at the transition from primary to secondary education. While primary education is undifferentiated, secondary education is hierarchically and rigidly tracked. There are four tracks

Transition in a rigidly tracked system 55

in Flemish education – that is, general academic education, technical education, arts education and vocational education (Figure 4.1). Whereas general education is commonly perceived as the most prestigious and demanding track, vocational education is widely regarded as the least prestigious and least demanding track (Boone & Van Houtte, 2013).Technical and arts education can be situated in between these two extremes. Secondary schools are usually organized along track lines, which means that pupils are separated from each other according to the track in which they are enrolled (Wielemans, 1996). This separation is not without consequences, as research shows that pupils develop different academic cultures according to the track – and school – they are enrolled in (Van Houtte, 2006). Moreover, teachers also adapt their expectations towards pupils and their teaching styles according to the track they face (Van Houtte, 2004; Stevens & Vermeersch, 2010). A particularity of Flemish education is that, notwithstanding the clear differences between tracks, all degrees of secondary education give access to tertiary education. Nevertheless, research shows that students with a degree of technical or vocational education are much less likely to enrol in tertiary education and less likely to be successful when they enrol than students with a degree of general education (Vanderheyden & Van Trier, 2008). The structure of the first two years of secondary education differs from that of the higher years (Figure 4.1).Tracking is less formalized in the first two years, creating a certain opacity. According to the Department of Education (2008), pupils and their parents are confronted with a basic choice between A-stream and B-stream at the start of secondary education. While B-stream provides tuition for pupils who already had to face learning difficulties throughout primary education, the large majority of pupils enters secondary education in A-stream. A-stream is said to offer a common curriculum to all pupils which prepares them for the choice of one of the four tracks at the start of the third year of secondary education. However, this common curriculum amounts to only 27 hours of the total of 32 hours of lessons, leaving 5 hours for optional courses. It is precisely these optional courses which allow schools to differentiate pupils from the first year on. Typical optional courses offered by secondary schools are Latin, modern sciences, technology and arts. While Latin and modern sciences are seen as a preparation for general education, technology and arts are considered to be a preparation for technical and arts education, respectively. As a result, students make a de facto choice between four distinct tracks already in the first two years. Research shows that a lot of pupils switch between optional courses during the first two years of secondary education (Van Damme et al., 1997). However, these changes are nearly exclusively movements from the more demanding to the less demanding educational options. A phenomenon denoted by researchers and educational professionals as the cascade system – that is, the tendency for pupils to start secondary education in Latin or modern sciences and to switch to more practically oriented courses in the course of their secondary school career (Boone & Van Houtte, 2013). A choice for a technical option in the first year is as good as irrevocable. Pupils starting secondary education in a technical option generally end up in

+arts

+technology

B-STREAM 2 years

+modern sciences

+ Latin

2 years

A-STREAM +optional course

SECONDARY SCHOOL (1st grade)

Figure 4.1 Schematic presentation of the Flemish education system

(age 6-12)

6 years

PRIMARY SCHOOL

Vocational education (4 years) (+1)

Artistic education (4 years)

Technical education (4 years)

General education (4 years)

SECONDARY SCHOOL (2nd and 3rd grade)

College of higher education (3 or 4 years)

University (4 or 5 years)

TERTIARY EDUCATION

Transition in a rigidly tracked system 57

technical and vocational education in the higher years of secondary education (Van Damme et al., 1997). The transition from primary to secondary education confronts Flemish pupils aged twelve and their parents with the important choice of both a school and an optional course. This choice is virtually unrestricted, as there are no centralized standardized tests nor binding teacher recommendations regulating access to either of the optional courses within A-stream. As a result, parents enjoy a great deal of freedom in deciding which school their child will attend and which optional course they will enrol in.

A sociological perspective on choice in education While policies of free school and track choice may come across as a sound idea to laymen, sociological research has repeatedly pointed to its perverse consequences. Free school choice policies have been introduced by several European governments as a means to increase the quality of schooling.The reasoning was that schools would have to compete for pupils and would therefore be motivated to prove their effectiveness to the general public, encouraging schools to perform as well as possible. However, there is no clear evidence that the introduction of school choice policies has led to a substantive increase in the quality of schooling (Waslander et al., 2010). In fact, research seems to point out that policies of free school choice have worsened socio-ethnic school segregation (Reay, 2004; Waslander et al., 2010). In-depth qualitative studies have demonstrated the relational and interdependent character of school choices (Reay & Lucey, 2003; Reay, 2004). Middle-class families’ strategic behaviour deprives less advantaged families of certain choices. Research into track choice has proven to be as prolific as research into school choice. Since the publication of Raymond Boudon’s (1974) seminal work Education, Opportunity, and Social Inequality, there is a clear understanding among sociologists of education that track choice plays an important role in the persistence of social class differentials in educational attainment. Studies conducted in several European countries have repeatedly shown that pupils make different educational choices according to their social class background (Ditton & Krüsken, 2006; Schneider, 2008: Germany; Kloosterman et al., 2009: the Netherlands; Jaeger, 2009: Denmark). When confronted with a choice between academically oriented and more vocationally oriented tracks, students from working-class backgrounds are less inclined to choose the more academically oriented tracks than students from middle-class backgrounds, irrespective of prior scholastic achievement. Some education systems have quite successfully tried to tackle this issue by introducing binding teacher recommendations (Blossfeld, 2013; Dollmann, 2016). In systems in which teacher recommendations are binding track allocation is more merit based than in systems in which parents are free to choose. Free school and track choice at the transition from primary to secondary education appears to be especially detrimental for certain groups of pupils, that

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is for less advantaged pupils.There are several explanations for this finding. First of all, there is the explanation that revolves around differences in parents’ cultural capital, and more specifically, in the knowledge parents possess (Draelants, 2014; Reay, 2004). As a result of prior experience, middle-class parents are generally more knowledgeable about the education system and about local schools than working-class parents. Middle-class parents are therefore better equipped to navigate their children through the choices that have to be made. A related explanation is the one that revolves around Bourdieu’s (1972) concept of habitus (Reay, 2004). Social class differences in school and track choice are then explained by the fact that parents have certain class-based preferences for particular schools or tracks. Secondly, there are explanations that emphasize the importance of parents’ social capital, that is of the information that is available to parents through their social networks (Ball, 2003; Van Zanten, 2010). Middle-class parents tend to rely on their rich networks for crucial information about schools and educational trajectories. A third explanation which is especially applicable to social class differences in track choice conceives of educational choices as simple cost–benefit calculations (Boudon, 1974; Breen & Goldthorpe, 1997). In fact, according to rational action theories track choices are the result of an evaluation of the costs and benefits associated with a particular educational alternative and an appraisal of the chances of success in that particular educational option. According to Breen and Goldthorpe (1997) parents’ first goal when confronted with an educational decision is to avoid downward social mobility. Rational action theories predict that middle-class parents will be more motivated to enrol their children in academically oriented tracks than working-class parents, who will probably reach the goal of avoiding downward mobility even without sending their children to academically oriented education.

Methods Design

We will proceed in different steps. First, we will establish the patterns of choice according to pupils’ social and ethnic background. We will examine the bivariate association between track choice and pupils’ social and ethnic background. In a further step, we will add controls for pupils’ prior achievement. We assume that pupils and their parents make a series of binary choices when choosing between the educational options available at the start of secondary education. First of all, they have to choose whether to send their children to A- or B-stream, subsequently, whether within A-stream they will take up an optional course leading to general education or rather an option that leads to technical or arts education, and finally, if they choose an option that leads to general education whether they will start in Latin or modern sciences. As the outcome is dichotomous we will use logistic regression analyses. We start by determining whether parental social class has an influence on track choice. Next, we

Transition in a rigidly tracked system 59

examine whether this effect holds when we control for pupils’ school performance. Finally, we will try to explain the observed patterns by analysing focus group and interview data. Data

The data for this chapter come from two research projects on educational choice at the transition from primary to secondary education in Flanders. The first one of these projects was funded by the Flemish Ministry of Education (OBPWO 07.03, 2008–2010), and the second one was funded by the Flemish Agency for Innovation (Transbaso, 2014–2018). During both projects quantitative and qualitative data were collected. We will use quantitative data collected from the Transbaso project and qualitative data from OBPWO and Transbaso. Survey data were gathered during the months of May and June of 2016 from 1,128 pupils in their last year of primary education in a sample of thirty-six primary schools in the cities of Antwerp and Ghent. Participating schools were selected using a disproportionally stratified sample of Antwerp and Ghent primary schools based on two criteria, namely school sector and number of pupils with a poorly educated mother. First, we separated private (Catholic) schools from public (run by the city council or by the Flemish Community) schools for each city. Subsequently we divided these schools into three equal sized groups based on the percentage of pupils with a poorly educated mother per school. As a result, we arrived at six sample frames per city from which we drew samples. Schools were contacted in April and May 2015 and asked to participate. Our goal was to reach a total of thirty-six primary schools, and we had to contact seventy-six schools to arrive at this goal.That means that we had a response rate of 47.4% (36/76). This rather low rate of positive responses is due to the fact that schools in Flanders are overloaded with requests to participate in research. We know from earlier research that schools reply to these kinds of requests with a logic of ‘first come, first served’. We therefore suppose that this project suffered more from negative responses because schools were contacted by the end of the school year. However, we have no indication that this could be of influence on the results of our study. Qualitative data were gathered by means of focus groups with pupils who had just made the transition to secondary education, and interviews with parents throughout the decision-making process. The focus groups with pupils took place in two secondary schools in the autumn of 2009. The schools were randomly selected from a list of secondary schools in the province of East Flanders that offer both optional courses that prepare for general education and optional courses that prepare for technical education. Each focus group consisted of eight pupils, of whom three were enrolled in Latin, three in modern sciences and two in a technical option. Discussions were guided by a topic list centred on how pupils had made a choice. Furthermore, we conducted interviews with thirty-two parents selected through purposive sampling. First, we selected four schools out of the eighteen

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schools participating in the Transbaso research project: three schools with a mixed population in terms of social and migration background and one school with a population of only working-class families of non-Belgian descent. Within these four schools thirty-two parents were selected for an in-depth interview based on three criteria, that is, their socio-economic and ethnic background, whether they had already made a decision and scholastic achievement of their children. To select parents based on these criteria, we combined data from pupils collected through a survey administered in September 2015 with observation data of the first parent–teacher conferences in those schools held between October and December 2015. The interviews were conducted between November 2015 and January 2016, mostly at the parents’ homes. All focus groups, interviews and observations were recorded using a digital voice recorder and transcribed verbatim. Nvivo8 software was used for the analysis. Variables

Track choice was measured by asking pupils which optional course they would enrol in at the start of secondary education (Table 4.1).1 Pupils were first asked to indicate whether they would start secondary education in A- or B-stream. If they indicated that they would start in A-stream, they were then asked to indicate whether they would start in Latin, modern sciences, technology or arts. In the bivariate analyses we have added together pupils indicating that they would Table 4.1 Descriptive statistics: percentages, means and standard deviations between brackets Track choice B-stream Latin Modern sciences Technology Arts

N = 922  3.9% 32.8% 45.4% 14.8%  3.1%

Social class Working class Lower middle class Middle class Higher middle class

N = 1082 28.2% 27.3% 29.5% 15%

Ethnic background Belgian and north-Western European Eastern European Maghreb Turkey Other

N = 1095 58.4%  8.1% 16.2%  6.7% 10.6%

School performance Dutch Mathematics

N = 600 78.9 (10.97) N = 566 72.38 (14.56)

Transition in a rigidly tracked system 61

start in a technical option with those who indicated that they would start in an arts option. For the multivariate analyses we have recoded the initial variable into two dichotomous variables, a first variable that distinguishes between choice for options leading to general education (0) and choice for options leading to technical or arts education (1) and a second variable which distinguishes between choice for Latin (1) and choice for modern sciences (0). We did not include the distinction between A- and B-stream in the multivariate analysis, as we know that this choice is primarily based on prior achievement and as we have very few pupils choosing B-stream in our sample (Boone & Van Houtte, 2010). Social class background was measured by asking pupils what their parents’ occupation was at the time of the survey or, if they were unemployed, what their previous occupation had been. Answers were then recoded according to the Erikson et al. (1979) class scheme. Scores range from 1 to 8 in which 1 stands for unskilled manual labour, 2 for specialized manual labour, 3 for skilled manual labour, 4 for employees, 5 for self-employed craftsmen and farmers, 6 for lower middle management, 7 for higher middle management and 8 for managers, professionals and company holders. To determine social class background the highest of both scores is then used. To provide a more informative picture, we decided to additionally recode these scores into four categories, in which 1 stands for working class (regrouping categories 1 to 3, 28.2%), 2 for lower middle class (regrouping categories 4 to 5, 27.3%), 3 for middle class (category 6, 29.6%) and 4 for higher middle class (regrouping categories 7 and 8, 15%). Ethnic background was measured by asking pupils the country of birth of their maternal grandmother. For the bivariate analyses, we consider five broad ethnic groups: native Belgians together with pupils from north-western European descent (58.4%), pupils with Eastern-European origins (8.1%), pupils with origins in the Maghreb (16.2%), pupils with roots in Turkey (6.7%) and finally pupils with roots elsewhere (10.6%), regrouping pupils with Middle Eastern, Asian, Sub-Saharan African, Southern American origins. For the multivariate analysis, we created a dichotomous variable, distinguishing between native (0) – including pupils from other northern-western European countries, as is common in research in Flanders and in line with the official Flemish definition of non-native groups (see Van Houtte & Stevens, 2009) – and non-native pupils (1). To obtain a measure of pupils’ school performance we requested pupils’ results on a standardized test for Dutch and mathematics administered to pupils at the end of the school year.2 We asked parents’ permission to request their children’s test results. Unfortunately only slightly more than half of the parents (53.19%) gave permission to obtain their children’s results on these tests. The mean score for Dutch is 78.9 (SD = 10.97), and the mean score for the mathematics test is 72.38 (SD = 14.56).

Track choice: who chooses what?3 The descriptive statistics for track choice (Table 4.1) show that the great majority of pupils will start secondary education in optional courses which prepare for

62  Simon Boone et al.

general education. In fact, 78.2% of the pupils chose to start in Latin or modern sciences. Only 17.9% of the pupils indicated that they would start in a technical or arts optional course, and only 3.9% will start in B-stream.These figures demonstrate what educational professionals in Flanders denote as the tendency of pupils and their parents ‘to aim high’ (hoog mikken) at the transition from primary to secondary education, that is the tendency to start in options conducive to general education even if chances of success are doubtful (Boone & Van Houtte, 2013). This is a first consequence of the fact that choices are entirely free, and it highlights the prestige accorded to general education in Flemish society. However, research on the school trajectories of a representative cohort of pupils by Van Damme et al. (1997) has shown that over 40% of the pupils starting in the modern sciences option end up in a technical or vocational track by the third year of secondary education.This raises doubts about the sustainability and usefulness of this strategy of aiming high, as these changes between optional courses often come about after having failed certain courses. As indicated by Gale and Parker in Chapter 3 of this volume, the dominant discourse of aiming high as a mechanism to ensure social mobility of the working classes hides the structural constraints attached to this mobility. Simultaneously, this connects with the idea of individualization of working-class failure developed by Reay in Chapter 2. Research has shown that the cascade-like movements of students throughout secondary education lead to very difficult learning contexts in the less esteemed – especially vocational – tracks.The social background of students who flow into the less prestigious tracks is varied (Van Praag et al., 2015), and students appear to be demotivated due to the failure they experienced. When we look at the bivariate association between parental social class and track choice (Table 4.2), we can observe some marked differences. Pupils from working-class backgrounds are far more likely to start secondary education in B-stream and technical options and clearly less likely to start in Latin than pupils from upper-middle-class backgrounds. Among those courses preparing for general education, Latin is clearly the preferred choice for pupils from upper-middle-class backgrounds, and modern sciences is more popular among pupils from working-class and lower-middle-class backgrounds. While differences between pupils from working-class and upper-middle-class backgrounds are most pronounced, lower-middle-class and middle-class pupils are somewhat Table 4.2 Association between parental social class and track choice, row percentages and Cramer’s V (N = 887)

Working class Lower middle class Middle class Upper middle class

B-stream

Latin

Modern sciences

Technical or arts option

8.9% 5% 0.7% 0.7%

11.6% 26.1% 40.1% 64.2%

57.1% 46.5% 43.4% 28.4%

22.3% 22.4% 15.7% 6.8%

*Cramer’s V = 0.230, p < 0.001

Transition in a rigidly tracked system 63

in between these two extremes. Working-class pupils are thus more inclined to choose options which restrict future choices, while upper-middle-class pupils are more likely to start in optional courses which leave all possibilities open. Table 4.3 shows the bivariate association between pupils’ ethnic background and track choice. Differences between pupils of different ethnic backgrounds are less clear-cut, and we should refrain from over-interpreting these figures, as groups are quite small.The choices of the more recent Eastern European immigrants differ most clearly from those of native pupils. They are markedly more inclined to start secondary education in B-stream and technical options. Pupils with origins in Maghreb countries – one of the earliest mass migrations in Belgium – are especially more likely to start in the option of modern sciences and less likely to start in Latin in comparison with native pupils. Pupils with origins in Turkey are less likely to opt for the technical options and more likely to start in modern sciences. The group of pupils with origins in other countries seems to make the most ambitious choices. Before turning to multivariate analyses to control for pupils’ scholastic achievement, we first have a look at the association between scholastic achievement and track choice. Table 4.4 presents the results of an ANOVA analysis in which track choice is the grouping variable and scores on the standardized Table 4.3 Association between ethnic background and track choice, row percentages and Cramer’s V (N = 896)

Belgium or north-western Europe Eastern Europe Maghreb Turkey Other

B-stream

Latin

Modern sciences

Technical or arts option

3.3% 9.9% 4.5% 5% 1.1%

37.3% 21.1% 18.7% 30% 37.9%

41% 42.3% 56.7% 55% 52.9%

18.4% 26.8% 20.1% 10%  8%

*Cramer’s V = 0.127, p < 0.001

Table 4.4 Mean scores on standardized tests according to track choice (ANOVA): means, standard deviations, F-statistics and Scheffe post-hoc comparisons

Dutch standardized test (N = 516) Mathematics standardized test (N = 492)

B-stream (1) Latin (2)

Modern Technical or F sciences (3) arts option (4)

62.45 (12.34)

84.25 (9.48)

77.80 (10.12)

74.41 (10.41)

32.923** 1 < 2,3,4* 2 > 3,4*

44.64 (21.8)

79.49 (11.65)

71.84 (13.11)

66.53 (14.53)

37.606** 1 < 2,3,4* 2 > 1,3,4* 3 > 4*

*p < 0,05; **p < 0,001

Scheffe post-hoc

64  Simon Boone et al.

tests for Dutch and mathematics are the dependent variables. We find very marked differences in test scores for Dutch and mathematics according to track choice. Pupils who will start in B-stream have much lower test results for Dutch and – even more pronounced – for mathematics than pupils who will start in Latin. The scores for pupils who chose modern sciences and those who chose a technical or arts option are somewhere in between these two extremes. This clearly suggests that track choices at the transition from primary to secondary education are at least partly driven by differences in school performance throughout primary education. Although pupils’ choices are entirely free, we see that choices tend to conform to certain unwritten rules, that is that on average weaker-performing pupils start in B-stream or technical or arts options and that the best-performing pupils start in Latin. While this does not come as a surprise with regard to B-stream – B-stream is meant to provide education for pupils who faced learning problems during primary education – for the other choices this is a notable finding. Table 4.5 shows a logistic regression analysis for the choice to enrol in technical or arts education rather than to enrol in Latin or modern sciences. Model 1 only includes dummy variables for social class as predictors. It shows that pupils from higher-middle-class families are much less likely than working-class families to start in optional courses which prepare for technical or arts education. In model 2 we control for scholastic achievement by adding pupils’ scores on the standardized mathematics test to the equation. We control for the scores on the mathematics test only, as prior analyses had demonstrated that mathematics scores are more important predictors of this choice than scores on the Dutch test and as the mathematics and Dutch scores are highly correlated (r = 0.552, p < 0.01). Adding pupils’ mathematics test scores to the model leads to a clear

Table 4.5 Odds ratios for logistic regression of choice for the options technology or arts (1) rather than for the options Latin or modern sciences (0), N = 469, (standard errors between brackets)

Social class (ref. cat. working class) Lower middle class Middle class Higher middle class Mathematics test score Constant Nagelkerke R² **p ≤ 0.001; *p < 0.01

Model 1

Model 2

1.144 (0.336) 0.564 (0.338) 0.138** (0.574)

1.331 (0.347) 0.774 (0.355) 0.197* (0.586) 0.965** (0.009) 3.253 (0.663) 0.134**

0.311** (0.263) 0.086**

Transition in a rigidly tracked system 65 Table 4.6 Odds ratios for logistic regression of choice for Latin (1) rather than modern sciences (0), N = 389, (standard errors between brackets)

Social class (ref. cat. working class) Lower middle class Middle class Higher middle class Mathematics test score Constant Nagelkerke R²

Model 1

Model 2

2.485* (0.382) 4.004*** (0.353) 8.149*** (0.385)

2.039 (0.392) 2.871** (0.366) 5.945*** (0.396) 1.041*** (0.010) 0.016*** (0.010) 0.185***

0.271*** (0.313) 0.125***

***p ≤ 0.001; **p ≤ 0,01; *p < 0.05

increase in the Nagelkerke R² statistic, indicating its importance in explaining this choice. The higher a pupil’s score on the mathematics test the less likely he/she is to choose the options technology or arts. However, the effect of social class persists upon control of pupils’ performance on the mathematics test. Irrespective of pupils’ score on the test, pupils from higher-middle-class backgrounds are less likely to choose optional courses leading to technical or arts education than pupils from working-class backgrounds. We repeated these analyses for native versus non-native pupils but found no evidence for ethnic inequalities with regard to the choice to enrol in optional courses leading to general education rather than to enrol in optional courses leading to technical or arts education. Table 4.6 shows a logistic regression for the choice to enrol in Latin rather than modern sciences.The first model, containing only the dummy variables for social class, shows a clear influence of social class. Pupils from higher-middle-class and middle-class backgrounds are much more likely to choose Latin rather than modern sciences than pupils from working-class backgrounds. We also observe a marked difference between pupils from lower-middle-class backgrounds and pupils from working-class families, the former being more than twice as likely to choose Latin. In the second model, we control for pupils’ scores on the standardized mathematics test. We find that pupils’ scores partly explain the social class differences observed, the odds ratio for the dummy variable for lower-middleclass loses significance and the odds ratios for the dummy variables for middle class and higher middle class become smaller. However, the differences remain clear. Irrespective of performance on the mathematics test, pupils from highermiddle-class and middle-class backgrounds are much more likely to choose Latin over modern sciences than pupils from working-class backgrounds. We also repeated these analyses for native versus non-native pupils, but we found

66  Simon Boone et al.

no evidence for ethnic inequalities with regard to the choice between Latin and modern sciences.

Track choices explained We now turn to the analyses of focus group data from pupils and interview data from parents to try to elucidate the patterns observed in the quantitative data. Immediately apparent throughout the accounts of both pupils and parents was the fact that their thinking about track choice was permeated by the societal assumptions surrounding the different tracks. Pupils’ narratives about their choice were imbued by stereotypical beliefs regarding the different educational options in the first year of secondary education.4 Pupils related Latin and, to a lesser extent, modern sciences to enviable outcomes such as good jobs, good prospects for higher education and even good remuneration, thereby implicitly indicating that the other options are not conducive to these outcomes. I chose Latin because I want to earn a lot of money later and because my father obliged me to do so a little bit. (Lauren, Latin) Yes, I chose that, I think it’s a good option, because then I can become what I want [study IT]. ( Jef, modern sciences) Pupils’ and parents’ thinking about track choice seemed to be conditioned by the hierarchical structure of Flemish secondary education. It is through these lenses that we have to understand track choice. In fact, it is this hierarchical nature that pushes parents to direct their children towards starting secondary schooling in an optional course which prepares for general education. Once pupils are enrolled in a technical or arts course it is very difficult to climb back to the more demanding, academically oriented courses. At the moment David says. . . ‘Let me start in modern sciences, so general education, if I don’t like it there, then I can still change to technologysciences, but the other way round isn’t possible’. (Elsa, middle-class mother) Also because he [her son] doesn’t really know what he wants to do later . . . then a general option, we think, is maybe the best, afterwards you can still do whatever you want. (Caroline, middle-class mother) Choices are clearly informed by pupils’ and parents’ views on the system they face. Pupils’ answers to the question whether there were options they weren’t allowed to consider by their parents shed some light on our finding about the

Transition in a rigidly tracked system 67

social-classed nature of some of the choices. Four pupils during the first focus group and seven during the second stated that their parents had indeed limited the options from which they could choose. I wasn’t allowed to do vocational . . . because they think that’s too low and . . . but they said that’s for the stupid. . . [others laugh]. (Benjamin, technical education) I wasn’t allowed lower than general, because my mother found that I . . . that I had to do general because my marks were too good for something lower than general. (Sarah, modern sciences) For the pupils quoted, choosing an educational option clearly did not mean deciding freely between all options available. Rather, it meant choosing between the alternatives considered acceptable by their parents.5 It was readily apparent that vocational education was not an acceptable alternative for most pupils’ parents. In fact, vocational education, and to a somewhat lesser extent technical education as well, were seen as a last resort for pupils considered not intellectually able to attend general education. However, not all pupils’ answers to this question revolved around technical and vocational education, as some of them indicated their parents restricted their choice in other ways. While Lizz wasn’t allowed to choose Latin, Wendy was obliged to do Latin. What she really didn’t want me to do was Latin, because she said that was too difficult [. . .]. (Lizz, modern sciences) And why didn’t she want you to do Latin? (Researcher) She found it too difficult and my mum went to school only until her 14th and . . . my father, I don’t know really . . . but they thought it would be too difficult. (Lizz, modern sciences) In my case it wasn’t difficult, I wasn’t allowed to do anything except Latin. (Wendy, Latin) Lizz’s story was unique, as she was the only one who mentioned that her parents had precluded choice for the most prestigious option. Her answer to the question why this was the case suggests that her parents may have lacked confidence due to their own modest school careers. Wendy’s case is the complete opposite of Lizz’s, as she was forced by her parents to enrol in Latin. While the example of Lizz’s choice may suggest that parents from working-class backgrounds are

68  Simon Boone et al.

more reluctant to choose the option of Latin as they are less familiar with it, other examples seem to indicate that pupils who chose Latin did so with conviction and without a lot of second thoughts, as their parents had also gone through that particular trajectory. Yeah, my parents both did this and they have a good job now. (Tristan, Latin)

School choice Secondary schools are usually organized along track lines in Flanders. Schools for general education exist alongside schools for technical and vocational education, and still other schools offer all main tracks – that is general, technical and vocational education.6 This means that school and track choice are often intertwined. However, schools differ not only with regard to the tracks they offer, they also differ with regard to the quality of the education offered and socio-economic composition of the student population (Jacobs et al., 2009). The transition from primary to secondary education is therefore not only about track choice but also about school choice. As the Belgian constitution stipulates that parents are free to choose a secondary school of their choice and that compulsory schooling is free of charge, in principle parents of all social class backgrounds alike have access to the secondary school of their choice in Flanders. However, parents differ with regard to the knowledge they possess about local schools and their procedures for enrolment. Moreover, schools do not always communicate clearly about enrolment procedures. Parents are therefore very dependent on their own searching skills or their social network for information about secondary schools. We already went to an open day last year, but that’s because you hear: ‘you shouldn’t wait until the sixth year, you’d better attend some open days’. (Caroline, middle-class mother) The interviews with parents clearly demonstrated that middle-class parents tend to start searching for a suitable school earlier than working-class parents. While middle-class parents can rely on their social networks for crucial information about schools and their enrolment procedures, working-class parents often do not have access to this kind of information through their networks. These differences in parents’ approach to school choice are not without consequences, as places in schools are of course limited. The decentralized, unregulated enrolment procedures create social class differences in eventual school choice. Some schools are more popular than others and are therefore more in demand than others. Asked about their motives for school choice, parents invariably referred to schools’ reputations. One of the things almost all parents mentioned one way or another was the composition of the school population. Immigrant parents said to look for schools with a mixed population, avoiding

Transition in a rigidly tracked system 69

so-called ‘concentration schools’ (concentratiescholen) – schools with a majority of disadvantaged and migrant students – to be sure that their child has the opportunity to speak enough Dutch at school. At the same time immigrant parents tend to avoid certain schools which are seen as elite, upper-middle-class schools, because they fear that their child will be excluded. Rachida (working-class mother, Moroccan origin), for example, cancelled the enrolment of her daughter in such a school when she realized her daughter wouldn’t fit in there. The pupils there, the father is a GP, the mother is that, is that, is that . . . and when you see a girl, her mom is on welfare, her dad is deceased, she has nothing. She doesn’t come to school in a beautiful car or wearing designer clothes. Parents with native origins do also avoid certain schools. In certain interviews we saw similar narratives about the desirability of attending schools with a socially mixed population. I think that a good school is a school where all nationalities are represented, so, yes, without being a concentration school of course. Samantha (middle-class mother) More remarkably, however, was the fact that we witnessed that some middleclass parents who considered sending their child to a technical school pondered about schools outside of the city or at the outskirts of the city to avoid having to attend inner-city technical schools with a lot of non-native pupils.

Conclusion Free school and track choice are undisputed features of Flemish secondary education. Pupils and their parents are free to choose a school and an optional course of their choice. While this may appear democratic, the evidence in this chapter shows the perverse side effects of this free-choice policy. Decentralized enrolment procedures and parents’ preferences for certain secondary schools lead to socio-ethnically segregated schools. The school choices of some – mostly middle-class – parents constrain the options available to other – mostly working-class and ethnic-minority – parents. Because of the hierarchical and stringent tracks, free track choice leads to the tendency of making ambitious choices – what educational professionals denote as aiming high. However, our analyses show that working-class pupils’ choices tend to deviate from that general rule. In fact, working-class pupils tend to make less ambitious choices than (higher-) middle-class pupils, starting more often in options that lead to technical education and the option of modern sciences. The explanation for these differences in choices according to social class background isn’t straightforward. While we have indications that some form of

70  Simon Boone et al.

(rational) calculation comes into play at some point for middle-class parents, it seems as if working-class parents lack the knowledge to engage in the decisionmaking process in a strategic way akin to their middle-class counterparts. The clear preference of upper-middle-class parents for optional courses like Latin may point to an upper-middle-class’ habitus, that is a certain inclination towards this particular choice. With regard to school choice we found that workingclass and ethnic-minority parents appear to avoid certain more elitist schools from fear of not fitting in. As middle-class parents are more pro-active and strategic choosers they are able to enrol their children in the school of their choice. Class differences in educational choices seem to be driven by a combination of factors. Differences in knowledge, different preferences and the will to reproduce social status – among the higher middle classes – appear to explain some of the patterns observed.

Notes 1 We left out of the analysis those pupils who indicated that they hadn’t made a choice yet. However, it is important to note that there is a clear over-representation of workingclass pupils among those pupils who hadn’t decided yet (44.5% versus 28.2% in the total sample). 2 These standardized tests are non-mandatory; schools are free to decide whether they participate in these tests. The results of the tests are not used in the allocation process; they are used as a tool for internal quality assurance. Moreover, each over-arching governing structure has its own test (Interdiocesane proeven for the Catholic schools, OVSG-toets for the public schools). 3 The analysis developed in this section directly connects with other chapters in this book (such as Chapters 6, 7 and 8) demonstrating the different hierarchy of academic and vocational tracks in different European education systems. 4 These stereotypical beliefs are also intrinsically connected to the idea of ‘frames of reference’ that Agnes Van Zanten et al, address in Chapter 9 of this book. 5 See also Chapter 7 in this book for an analysis on the capacity of different families to resist and negotiate teachers’ recommendations regarding the educational transitions of their children. 6 In the academic year 2004–2005, 21% of all Flemish secondary schools offered all three main tracks, 25% offered only general education and 35% offered both technical and vocational education (Van Houtte et al., 2005). Other combinations of tracks are more marginal.

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Transition in a rigidly tracked system 71 Boone, S., and Van Houtte, M. (2013). In search of the mechanisms conducive to class differentials in educational choice: A mixed method research. The Sociological Review, 61, 549–572. Boudon, R. (1974). Education, Opportunity, and Social Inequality: Changing Prospects in Western Society. New York: Wiley. Bourdieu, P. (1972). Esquisse d’une théorie de la pratique. Genève: Droz. Breen, R., and Goldthorpe, J. (1997). Explaining educational differentials: Towards a formal rational action theory. Rationality and Society, 9, 275–305. Department of Education. (2008). The Flemish Educational Landscape in a Nutshell. Brugge: Die Keure. Ditton, H., and Krüsken, J. (2006). Der Übergang von der Grundschule in die Sekundarstufe I. Zeitschrift für Erziehungswissenschaft, 9, 348–372. Dollmann, J. (2016). Less choice, less inequality? A natural experiment on social and ethnic differences in educational decision-making. European Sociological Review, 32, 203–215. Draelants, H. (2014). Des héritiers aux initiés? Note sur les nouvelles modalités de reproduction sociale par l’école. Social Science Information, 53, 1–31. Dupriez,V., Dumay, X., and Vause, A. (2008). How do school systems manage pupils’ heterogeneity? Comparative Education Review, 52, 245–273. Erikson, R., Goldthorpe, J., and Portocarero, L. (1979). Intergenerational class mobility in three West European countries: England, France and Sweden. British Journal of Sociology, 30, 415–441. European Commission. (2016). Education and Training Monitor 2016: Belgium. Luxemburg: Bureau of publications for the European Union. Jacobs, D., Rea, A., Teney, C., Callier, L., and Lothaire, S. (2009). De sociale lift blijft steken: de prestaties van allochtone leerlingen in de Vlaamse Gemeenschap en de Franse Gemenschap. Brussel: Koning Boudewijnstichting. Jaeger, M. M. (2009). Equal access but unequal outcomes: Cultural capital and educational choices in a meritocratic society. Social Forces, 87, 1943–1972. Kloosterman, R., Ruiter, S., de Graaf, P. M., and Kraaykamp, G. (2009). Parental education, children’s performance and the transition to higher secondary education: Trends in primary and secondary effects over five Dutch school cohorts (1965–99). The British Journal of Sociology, 60, 377–398. Reay, D. (2004). Exclusivity, exclusion and social class in urban education markets in the United Kingdom. Urban Education, 39, 537–560. Reay, D., and Lucey, H. (2003). The limits of ‘choice’: Children and inner city schooling. Sociology, 37, 121–142. Schneider, T. (2008). Social inequality in educational participation in the German school system in a longitudinal perspective: pathways into and out of the most prestigious school track. European Sociological Review, 24 (4), 511–526. Seghers, M., Boone, S., and Van Avermaet, P. (2017). Keuzeprocessen van ouders bij de overgang van basis- naar secundair onderwijs. Paper presented at ORD – Onderwijsresearch Dagen, University of Antwerp, Retrieved 28–30 June 2017. Spruyt, B., and Laurijssen, I. (2010). Keuzes maken verschillen. Over de rol die onderwijs­ keuzes spelen in de sociale reproductie van onderwijsongelijkheid in het licht van de hervormingsvoorstellen in het secundair onderwijs. Tijdschrift voor Onderwijsrecht en Onderwijsbeleid, 11, 186–195. Stevens, P. A. J., and Vermeersch, H. (2010). Streaming in Flemish secondary schools: Exploring teachers’ perceptions of and adaptations to students in different streams. Oxford Review of Education, 36, 267–284.

72  Simon Boone et al. Van Damme, J., De Troy, A., Meyer, J., Minnaert, A., Lorent, G., Opdenakker, M.-C., and Verduyckt, P. (1997). Succesvol Doorstromen in de Aanvangsjaren van het Secundair Onderwijs. Acco: Leuven. Van Houtte, M. (2004).Tracking effects on school achievement: A quantitative explanation in terms of the academic culture of school staff. American Journal of Education, 110, 354–388. Van Houtte, M. (2006). School type and academic culture: Evidence for the differentiationpolarization theory. Journal of Curriculum Studies, 38, 273–292. Van Houtte, M., and Stevens, P. (2009). School ethnic composition and students’ integration outside and inside schools in Belgium. Sociology of Education, 82, 217–239. Van Houtte, M., Stevens, P. A. J., Sels, A., Soens, K., and Van Rossem, R. (2005). De invloed van structurele en compositorische schoolkenmerken op prestaties en welbevinden van leerlingen in het secundair onderwijs: een verklaring via cultuur. [The Influence of Structural and Compositional School Features on Achievement and Well-Being of Secondary School Students: An Explanation Through Culture]. Unpublished first research progress report. Ghent: Ghent University. Van Praag, L., Boone, S., Stevens, P., and Van Houtte, M. (2015). De paradox van het watervalsysteem: wanneer het groeperen van studenten in homogene groepen tot meer heterogeniteit leidt in het beroepsonderwijs. Sociologos, 36, 82–101. Van Zanten, A. (2010). Le choix des autres: Jugements, stratégies et ségrégations scolaires. Actes de la Recherche en Sciences Sociales, 180, 24–35. Vanderheyden, A., and Van Trier, W. (2008). Sociale Afkomst, Onderwijs en Maatschappelijke Positie van Vlaamse Jongeren bij Begin van de Loopbaan, in: J.Vranken et al (eds.) Armoede en Sociale Uitsluiting: Jaarboek 2008 (pp. 155–176). Leuven: Acco. Waslander, S., Pater, C., and van der Weide, M. (2010). Markets in education: An analytical review of empirical research on market mechanisms in education. OECD Education Working Papers, No. 52, OECD Publishing. Wielemans, W. (1996). Het onderwijs in België. Leuven: Garant.

5 Working-class boys and educational success in a socially divisive secondary education system Nicola IngramWorking-class boys, educational success

Lessons from Belfast (Northern Ireland) Nicola Ingram Introduction In many education systems in Europe, as other chapters in this book show, there are points of transition at which young people take divergent pathways that lead to unequal educational and social outcomes. In many countries, there is an element of choice or self-selection with regards to these pathways, although academic performance can influence decisions (see Chapters 4, 6, 7, and 8 in this volume). In Northern Ireland, which is the focus of this chapter, the pathways to secondary level education (11–18) are bi-polar and strictly determined by educational performance at age 11, measured by a set of examinations. This is different from the rest of the UK, where school choice is largely determined by the proximity of the student’s home. This chapter will consider the Northern Irish case, with some comparisons with England and Wales,1 and will show that selective systems generate wider inequalities in educational outcomes than non-selective systems. It will start by providing the socio-political and policy context of the region before briefly outlining the approach to the research and the methods that were used. This will be followed by an overview of the neighbourhood. The chapter will then move beyond the descriptive statistics that evidence the injustices of selection to engage with the practices within the two case study schools, drawing on interactions between different institutional actors, including a group of young men from the same neighbourhood in Belfast who were experiencing success or failure in the two different types of school. In doing so it seeks to promote an understanding of the lived experience of success and failure for working-class young men and provides further evidence to show the failings of a selective system for the working classes in terms of both educational outcome and emotional well-being. The chapter concludes by considering the difficulties that both types of school present for working-class young people and argues for a new understanding of success and social mobility. Some of the materials from this chapter appear in a different form in the full ethnographic account of the study (Ingram, 2018).

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Context Northern Ireland is a region within the UK with a long history of civil conflict between its Republican (Catholic) and Unionist (Protestant) communities arising from its occupation by the British State and its partition from the Republic of Ireland in 1921. Despite embarking on a peace process in the 1990s leading to ceasefires, a devolved government, and later agreements on the decommissioning of arms, the legacy of the past remains strong and can be seen on the streets of working-class communities, sometimes demarcated by either Irish or British flags, and political, paramilitary, or cultural murals. The school system is deeply enmeshed in structures of separation, and most pupils are educated in either Catholic or State schools, with the latter being largely dominated by the Protestant community and often locally referred to as ‘Protestant’ schools. The division of schools along religious lines has engendered a system of schooling that adheres to socially conservative ideas, and many schools (particularly older schools founded before the 1960s) are also segregated by ‘gender’ (which in reality is a binary division by biological sex). Added to division along religious and gender lines, the schools in Northern Ireland are divided by social class, although officially this is a division by academic selection. The region’s education system differs from that of the rest of the UK, in which most secondarylevel schools are comprehensives, without admissions based on achievement, gender, religion, or ethnicity. State-funded secondary school education was introduced to England and Wales via the Education Act 1944 and to Northern Ireland via the 1947 Education (Northern Ireland) Act. In most local authorities (LAs) this enabled the development of a secondary school system in which two types of school existed – the grammar school, which selected according to academic achievement, and the secondary modern school, which did not select on an academic basis (although originally conceived as a tripartite system that included technical schools, which in most LAs did not become firmly established). This system remained in place in these three UK regions until the 1960s, when LAs in England and Wales began to move towards a comprehensive system, following years of political wrangling on the topic and an effort by the Labour Party (and successive government from 1964) to steer opinion towards a more egalitarian system. The overhaul was never fully completed, and some local authorities in England, as well as the whole of Northern Ireland, retained a system of academic selection. This has not been without debate or controversy, and there have been movements established by both proponents and opponents of grammar schools over the succeeding decades. And while the debate has always remained fresh in Northern Ireland, the political will to make changes has never garnered enough strength to see the abandonment of the system. In England the debate surfaces from time to time, mostly prompted by indications of support for policy changes to reintroduce grammar schools by the Conservative Party. For example, in 2017, Theresa May, whilst Conservative prime minister, announced plans to change policy to pave the way for new

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grammars. This prompted a backlash from both Labour and educationalists but put grammar schools back on the agenda for media and public debate. Similarly, whilst in office, former Conservative education minister, Michael Gove, voiced opinions on the efficacy of grammar schools. Even Prince Charles, the heir to the English throne, has been accused of attempting to inappropriately meddle with the education system by petitioning an education minister for the former Labour government to re-introduce grammar schools on the grounds that they help young people to escape their backgrounds. In the general public, opinion is divided on the issue with some suggesting that grammar systems enable social mobility and others saying they create further divisions. In terms of the research in this area, a report by Burgess et al. (2014) shows significantly increased inequalities in wage distribution for those who were schooled under a selective system compared to those who were schooled under a comprehensive system. Their research compares selective and non-selective Local Education Authorities (LEAs) in England, and their findings support arguments that grammar schools increase inequalities by ensuring wider gaps in earnings. Atkinson et al. (2006) show inequalities in educational outcomes are increased in selective LEAs. They find that children educated in grammar schools in selective LEAs perform better than similar children who are educated in non-selective LEAs. However, children who are not educated in grammar schools but who attend schools in selective LEAs do not perform as well as similar children in nonselective LEAs. The evidence clearly shows that grammar schools have good outcomes for those who attend, in terms of both educational achievement and employment, but they leave behind the young people who do not gain access, and they increase income inequality. Academic outcomes in English selective LEAs are mirrored in Northern Ireland, where, unsurprisingly, grammar schools greatly outperform secondary schools. Statistics presented in a report of NI schools (Gallagher and Smith, 2000) show that 31% of schools have more than 80% of their pupils achieving five or more A*–C grades at GCSE,2 whereas 54% of schools have less than 40% of pupils achieving this standard. These figures show a huge gap in the middle where only a small proportion of schools are achieving middle-range results. The results show the polarization of achievement in Northern Ireland, where the schools at the top are doing very well and the schools at the bottom are doing very badly, with very few schools in between. Indeed, looking at the statistics, less than 3% of schools had a number of pupils achieving five A*–C grades that was close to the current Northern Ireland average of 66.7%. What is particularly interesting in terms of the difference in achievement between the two school types is that the evidence shows that attending a grammar school increases a pupil’s chances of success at GCSE regardless of 11+ score, by on average 3 GCSEs. This is referred to as ‘the grammar school effect’ and is explained in the following way: Other things being equal, the most important factor for a pupil in achieving a high GCSE score is gaining a place in a grammar school. To put it

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another way, if we compare two pupils, one of whom is in a grammar school and one of whom is in a secondary school, and who are similar in every other respect, including Transfer Grade, then the grammar pupil will achieve a significantly higher GCSE performance. (Gallagher & Smith, 2000: 10) It can therefore be said that children who are given the opportunity to go to grammar school are being given an unequal chance at success, while those who do not get that opportunity are being disadvantaged. Although the retention of grammar schools has meant that in Northern Ireland private schools hardly exist (just 15 independent schools are registered across the province, covering both primary and secondary education), which in itself is positive in terms of equality and social justice, the maintenance of grammar education ensures a stark social class division in the education system. Put simply, most middleclass students find their way to grammar schools, and most secondary schools cater for a mainly working-class constituency. Those who wish to maintain this system will argue that it allows for social mobility by giving the ‘brightest’ working-class kids the chance of a good education. This argument of course shows a disregard for the 60% of young people deemed not worthy of grammar education and fails to recognise that ‘brightness’ is measured in terms of achievement and the middle-classes have the odds stacked in their favour with regards to educational achievement for their children. Gallagher and Smith (2000) recount that the main purpose of grammar schools was to provide pupils with an academic curriculum, to encourage them to stay in school beyond the school leaving age and to provide a route to higher education. By contrast, pupils in secondary schools were not encouraged to take public examinations and were not expected to stay beyond the school leaving age. (Gallagher & Smith, 2000: 3) Selection for grammar school was determined by success in the Northern Ireland 11+ exam3 until 2009, when the exam was abandoned due to decisions made by the Sinn Fein education minister, Catriona Ruane. The decision to scrap the exam was very unpopular with Unionist politicians and many grammar schools, and when ministers failed to reach consensus on what sort of system would replace the selective one (with most Unionists wishing to see the continuance of selection), grammar schools took the decision to set their own private entrance exams. The system is currently in a state of flux, as ministers have still not yet agreed on a way forward. Without an alternative policy in place, a new system of selection has emerged and continues with little sign of radical change in the future. As a result, two sets of exams are being offered to 11-year-old children, one by Catholic schools and one by state schools. In some instances, these young children are sitting both sets of exams. The changes have also meant that the exam site has changed from the children’s own primary

Ages 11/12 to 15/16 Years 8 to 12 Key stages 3 & 4

Non-selective Secondary School

Ages 11/12 to 15/16 Years 8 to 12 Key stages 3 & 4

Academically Selective Grammar School

Post-Primary School

Figure 5.1 Schematic presentation of the Northern Ireland education system

Foundation Stage & Key stages 1 & 2

Years 1 to 7

Ages 4/5 to 10/11

Primary School

Further Education College

Non-selective Secondary School

Academically Selective Grammar School

Compulsory Post16 Education

Further Education College

University

Higher and Further Education

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school to the grammar school that they wish to attend, arguably making the process even more daunting for them. In 2006 (just prior to data collection for this study), 42% of children in Northern Ireland had the advantage of transferring to a grammar school, despite the fact that the system was originally designed to accommodate 30% of transferring children (Ruane, 2008), and the picture remains fairly similar in 2016/2017. It is interesting to note that despite the difference in results and the difference in status accorded to the two types of institution, the aforementioned research, through a survey of children in 227 schools in Northern Ireland, shows that “secondary pupils found their schools to provide a slightly more supportive environment” (ibid.: 12). This perhaps suggests that the grammar schools can rely on the prior achievement and learning culture of their intake to the extent that they do not have to provide the same level of pastoral support as secondary schools in order to get results. The system is clearly divided, and secondary schools are reportedly seen as second rate (ibid.). Children who go to these schools have internalized a sense of failure by age 11, and schools report that they initially have to do a lot of work at raising self-esteem (Gallagher & Smith, 2000). The impact of this division is highlighted strongly in the following finding of Gallagher and Smith’s (2000) study on the effects of selection: “it was only among the secondary pupils that there was any sense of resentment that former friends now saw themselves as somehow or other better than them” (12).

The study An ethnographic approach was taken to this research, which involved immersion in the everyday practices of two school sites – one grammar and one secondary – located in the same working-class Catholic neighbourhood in Belfast. The aim of the study was to explore the influence of both schooling and the neighbourhood on young men’s subjectivities and dispositions. Permission was gained from the principals of two Catholic boys’ schools. The research involved spending four and a half months in each school, initially just observing and trying to ‘get a feel’ for the place, and then carrying out more structured research activities. These involved conducting focus groups and interviews as well as using some visual methods, which included video and plasticine model making.4 The approach was methodologically eclectic in order to obtain a rich variety of data. I have written about the specific methods elsewhere (Ingram, 2018; Ingram, 2011) and don’t have the space to explore these in depth within this chapter. The study involved Year 11 boys (aged 14–15). However, the research strategy was multi-layered, focusing in turn on the wider institution of the school, one year group within the school, individual classes within that year group, focus groups from those classes, and individual working-class pupils from these focus groups. As the wider school environment was important to the study, participants for the focus group were selected on the basis of volunteering

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without any initial sifting of class. However, in the secondary school all the boys were later identified as working class based on information about parents’ occupations and parents’ level of education. In the grammar school only three boys were not categorized as working class. These boys were from families that had been upwardly mobile. The boys occupied a position on the cusp of class boundaries. Once I had become a familiar face within the school and had managed to have a few informal conversations with some of the boys (about four weeks into the fieldwork), I asked for volunteers to take part in the rest of the research. In the secondary school I conducted focus groups with one group of academically successful boys and one group of boys from the lowest stream, whereas in the grammar school I conducted focus groups with three groups of boys, making 15 boys in total. In the grammar school, all of the boys were doing reasonably well and were expected by the school to achieve the five or more A*–C grades that are typically used as a measure of success at GCSE level. In both schools, I attempted to understand the experiences of a range of pupils who were perceived to have varying abilities so as to gain as wide as possible an understanding of what it was like to be a pupil in the school, regardless of levels of success. This chapter draws on the ethnographic data set as a whole rather than just focus groups and interviews.

The community The area of Belfast in which the study took place, which I have given the pseudonym Slievemor, is a nationalist area known for its strong sense of community. Many people who live there can trace family connections to the area for several generations. According to folk wisdom those who grow up there don’t want to leave. Certainly, it is common for young people who don’t attend university to remain in the locality and to settle there with their own families; and this makes sense not only because they can find local work through social connections but also because moving outside the locality is not an appealing option, since they have tended not to go beyond the locality in much of their day-to-day living. Because people remain in the area from one generation to the next there is great demand for social housing, and the 2009 waiting list for social housing in this area had close to 2,500 people on it, with more than 1,500 of those “considered to be in urgent need (housing stress)”. Intergenerational geographical immobility is not the only factor creating strong community bonds. Leonard (2004) maintains that the difficulties experienced by nationalist communities through ‘the troubles’ have helped to cement community ties and networks. She argues, “These networks are partly a response to decades of economic and social disadvantage resulting from political discrimination and the suppression of cultural identity. Support networks and reciprocal transactions are a common feature of life” (Leonard, 2004: 931). In working-class Catholic communities, people are therefore politicized to recognize deprivation as a structural problem stemming from

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a history of sectarian social policies, rather than as a result of individual deficit, and this enhances social capital within a neighbourhood as self-help networks spring up (Leonard, 2004). Bearing these factors in mind, it is easy to see how the area is likely to engender a strong sense of a working-class identity that is relatively homogeneous. Likewise, understanding something of the neighbourhood is crucial to understanding the dispositions of those within it. Despite being located in the same locality and catering for the educational needs of young men from the same neighbourhood, the schools were very different in their approach, obviously due to the fact that they had pupils with very different entry levels of attainment but also because the expectations of pupils and staff were embedded in a long history of divided education. These divisions are multiple within secondary schooling in Northern Ireland, which has a higher proportion of single-sex schools than the rest of the UK, a greater involvement of the Church in schooling, and a high percentage of pupils educated in schools with a mostly Catholic or mostly Protestant population. These dividing lines for education in terms of gender, religion, and academic selection have been normalized as the way things have been done for generations. Both staff and pupils’ parents would all have been educated according to these boundaries. It is important to think about the ways in which schools generate a sense of identity and a position over time and in relation to wider social structures. The position, ethos, history, and reputation of a school are all tightly bound up together and impact the way that people within the institution think and behave.

The grammar school The grammar school is a single-sex boys’ school situated in the working-class locality of Slievemor, where pupils are selected according to attainment.Within the school, 21%5 of the young people are entitled to free school meals (FSM). While this figure is much lower than the secondary school discussed in what follows (45%), it is still slightly higher than the Northern Ireland overall school average (16.5%) and substantially higher than the NI grammar school average for FSM entitlement, which in 2009–2010 was 6%. A teacher who has worked in the school for 25 years describes it as “a working-class grammar”. In the past, it would have drawn in middle-class Catholic families from all parts of Belfast and the surrounding towns and villages, but it has recently seen a decline in its social diversity. The school finds itself catering for an increasingly (now almost exclusively) local population. Currently it is having to reduce its entrance requirements in response to a decline in the school-aged population. This means that over the past five years it has steadily increased the number of its pupils (mostly local and working class) who have not achieved highly in the 11+ exam. At the time of the study, the intake, broken down by 11+ grade, was approximately 25% A, 25% B, 25% C, 25% D.6

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Arguably, the more comprehensive the school becomes, the less attractive it is to the middle classes seeking elite education for the advantage of their children. Indeed, another Catholic grammar school on the edge of Slievemor (and closer to middle-class locales) is able to boast an almost 100% A-grade intake and has become the school of choice for middle-class Catholics in this quadrant of Belfast and beyond. However, the grammar school is able to draw on its long tradition of academic and sporting achievement despite the fact that it is starting to lose its academic reputation within the community and that children from beyond the local area are less likely to attend. Regardless of perceptions, the school is still producing good grades. The high achievement of the school is reflected in the GCSE results. In 2010 (when the boys in my study sat their GCSEs), more than 95% of pupils gained five GCSEs at A*–C.

School ethos We have high expectations of our students. We seek to create an orderly, safe and positive learning environment which enables the holistic development of every pupil. We continually review, evaluate and assess our progress and engage with best educational practice as a means of school improvement. We challenge our students and support them in achieving their true potential as mature young men who will use their skills and talents to work for justice in the wider world. (The principal’s address on the grammar school website)

This statement highlights progress and improvement as well as orderliness and safety and arguably conveys a sense of authoritarianism in the approach taken to run the school, where orderliness is somehow meant to enhance holistic development. This approach is mashed with a Catholic ethos highlighting the importance of social justice in a not-wholly-integrated or congruent way. It appears to be a statement constructed around relevant buzz words with a ubiquitous platitude added in order to tick the Catholic ethos box. The statement on ethos confirms my first impressions of the school as a formally run institution with emphasis on discipline, order, and putting everything in its place.

Everyday practices, relationships, and subjectivities In order to elaborate on the institutional context and provide something of an understanding of how the school operates, I will give some detail about the relationships, interactions, and attitudes prevalent in the school. I will begin by discussing the video surveillance of the pupils, as it helps to establish the dominant attitudes towards the student body. The principal had installed Closed Circuit Television (CCTV) cameras throughout the corridors of the school in order to monitor behaviour. This greatly annoyed the pupils to whom I spoke, who made me aware of the existence of the cameras. They felt that it was an infringement of their privacy and claimed

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that a camera was even in position at the door to the toilets. The need for the cameras was at best dubious, as from what I could see the pupils were largely well behaved in the corridors, while in the classroom the teachers had high expectations in terms of behaviour. The use of CCTV, along with the generally high level of monitoring and checking pupils’ behaviour, was symptomatic of and helped to (re)produce an authoritarian institutional habitus that policed students’ movements. Through the shared social conditions the members of the school internalized the institutional expectations: teachers developed dispositions to keep children in line through monitoring and ‘correcting’ even their bodily movements, while students developed dispositions that were geared towards conforming. What struck me most, having previously spent four and a half months in the secondary school, was the lack of pupil–teacher interaction in most of the classes in the grammar school. The approach to teaching was generally very traditional, with teachers talking and pupils passively receiving – albeit with opportunity for asking and answering questions by first raising their hands – further influencing students’ dispositions to be shaped according to the institutional mould. Despite what I perceived to be excellent behaviour the teachers often complained about the falling standards in behaviour within the school, often blaming the ‘background’ of the boys. The boys’ good behaviour was evidenced by their conduct on the corridors and in the classrooms. For example, on the corridors the boys moved about in a fairly orderly way, while in the classrooms the boys were very quiet and attentive and would often raise their hands to answer questions. For the most part, they appeared to thoroughly engage with their work and got on with it with minimal fuss. Despite what I observed to the contrary, many teachers made complaints to me about poor behaviour. The following is from my fieldnote diary, based on a conversation I had with a teacher (Mrs Andrews) and recorded shortly afterwards: N:  It’s a nice school. The pupils seem to be quite well behaved. MRS A:  It’s not what it used to be. It really has gone downhill. Standards are slip-

ping – like the sort of child we are seeing now. They are lazy wee gits, and their attitudes – I blame their parents. It’s their backgrounds, their upbringing. Like, they weren’t brought up like you and I were. In talking to another teacher, who had worked in non-selective schools in the area (including as a substitute teacher in St. John’s), I discovered that not all staff have the same opinions of the boys. Mr King shows an awareness of how relatively well behaved the pupils are. Interestingly, he is from the area and seems to have developed a good rapport with the pupils: N:  Teachers

here don’t really seem to recognize that it’s not a difficult school. I’ve heard a lot of teachers saying how difficult it is, and it’s interesting to hear your perspective, having been in other schools.

Working-class boys, educational success 83 MR K: When

I first started here I couldn’t believe it. I thought it was the best school I’d ever been in. It’s fantastic, you know the kids are superb. Maybe some teachers have been here ten years, maybe some have never been in another school and they see that standards have slipped compared to what they used to be because far more kids with Ds in their 11+ are getting into here now, so there is a sort of different calibre of children, for want of a better word, and the school hasn’t shifted in its attitudes and structures to cope with that, if you know what I mean.

Interactions with individual teachers appeared to be the key to the success and indeed survival within the school of some of the young people. In particular, some of the most disaffected – and in danger of being excluded – boys talked of relationships with teachers as a barrier to learning, turning them off education. For example, John talked about teachers treating him “like shit”. The school’s approach to discipline is summed up by Kenny in the following conversation: K: Classrooms

are like prison cells, flipsake, and you’re allowed out, for like an hour a day. And teachers are like peelers [slang for police]. N: Are they? K: Some of them are, some aren’t too bad but eh you get the odd one that’s a bit of a melter [short for someone who metaphorically melts your brain by being really annoying].You’re like told what to do – I know you have to be but it’s like forced on you. N: What gets forced on you? K: Work. There’s probably a better way than the way they do it. They just hand it out. It would be good if they could get through to you in a fun way. N: So work isn’t fun? It’s just stuff that gets handed out? K: Yeah, and you just take it down. Some teachers . . . they just make you take down notes and even if you haven’t got a clue what to do, they just make you take down notes. N: Yeah? Do you have many freedoms in school? K: No, not really. As I say, you are only allowed out for an hour a day, not even, it’s only about fifty minutes. N: What about in individual classes? K: There’s some classes like. N: You have freedoms in? K: Like history, with our form teacher, he’s not as strict as some of the other teachers we get. There’s more of a relaxed atmosphere and stuff instead of some of the other ones. In other ones, there’s tension and stuff. That’s why I like history, it’s one of my favourite subjects and I like it because of the good atmosphere.You’re allowed to talk as long as you get your work done and stuff like that.You can talk as well as work and that’s better. Some teachers just make you do work and nothing else. As long as you get that done and they just keep on handing out work.

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It can be seen from the interview that Kenny favoured a particular approach to discipline that some of the teachers used. His favoured approach involves a degree of informality. Other boys talked similarly about the approaches of different teachers being linked to motivation to work, with the general consensus that a ‘relaxed’ or informal approach in which teachers respected the pupils worked best. Indeed, interest in a subject was linked to individual teachers. One teacher, who was often cited as a favourite and whose classes I observed to be fun and interesting yet highly productive, talked of his approach to teaching, which was in line with what the boys told me they wanted. He said, “Kids like to be liked. A bit of banter going out the door, a wee punch in the arm, a few anecdotes – they want to see the real you”. Some boys fared especially badly under regimented approaches, in particular those who were not willing to bend culturally to middle-class mannerisms and forms of expression. Charlie and John, in particular, had difficulties managing formal relationships. Charlie, for example, would use casual and informal language when talking to teachers. He would respond to questions saying “aye” instead of “yes”, which, on more than one occasion that I witnessed, prompted the teacher to insist on him not only saying “yes” but adding “sir” to the end as an ‘appropriate’ form of address. These attempts to put Charlie in his place antagonized him, and he would occasionally follow the incident up with a cheeky comment, perhaps in an attempt to recover some of his pride.

The secondary school The secondary school is also a single-sex boys’ school situated in the workingclass neighbourhood of Slievemor. In the school 45% of the pupils were entitled to free school meals (FSM) at the time of the study. This was much higher than the Northern Ireland average of FSM entitlement, which was 16.5%. Most of the boys who attend the school have experienced explicit educational failure, either through achieving poor results in the 11+ exam or through failing to be perceived to be ‘good enough’ to sit the exam. Despite this perceived failure and the accompanying low levels of educational self-esteem that the entrants carry with them, the school attempts to be a positive environment with a culture of achievement. The walls of the school are emblazoned with motivational slogans such as “Aim High, Achieve More”. The walls, especially around the entrance of the school, also have many photos, stories, newspaper clippings, and so forth, which highlight past and present pupils’ achievement. These include educational trips abroad and awards for cookery and sport, as well as a former student’s success in gaining a first-class honours degree from Queen’s University Belfast. This seemed to indicate a sense of pride in the school and belief in its pupils.These photos were placed in areas that would be passed frequently by pupils, staff, and visitors.

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School ethos To create a centre of excellence for pupils and staff, which sets and achieves high standards; promotes self-image and collective responsibility; offers opportunities for academic and vocational pathways for all pupils. (Principal’s address on school prospectus)

The stated ethos of the school is only an indicator (as sanctioned by the principal and senior management) of what the school wishes to promote about itself. Of course, on a day-to-day practice it may not actually live up to its stated ethos and culture. It is useful to consider what Bernstein (1966) has called the expressive and instrumental cultures (or orders) of a school, as relating to its conduct, character, and manners. In the secondary school the ethos and culture were mostly in alignment, apart from the occasional staff member whose approach to education opposed the direction in which the principal was steering the school. When I asked the principal to articulate the school’s ethos, he stated, The ethos is about equality for all, creating high expectations and aspirations for all pupils and all abilities, and then creating opportunities for those pupils to taste success and to strive for further success. We try to live it rather than just put it in words. In order to ‘live’ this ethos the school works very closely with the local community, opening the school up for community events and adult education. It is hoped that the links with the community will encourage the boys to see the school in a positive light and as a space that they can use in the future even if they don’t achieve highly at this point in their lives.They understand that we care about them. Even for those pupils who are at risk we have aspirations for them. We give them a hope that the education that we give them will open doors. And the door is always open to them to come back to us at a later date. The principal of the school has a progressive attitude, evident in the way that he is very open to change in approach to education. He is willing to try new educational programmes and to mix vocational qualifications into the curriculum. The school has won an award for its community engagement, and on an open day which I attended, the interactions between staff and prospective parents and pupils were friendly and ‘down to earth’. One parent told me that she thought the school was very “welcoming”. While overall the school instituted caring dispositions in the teachers towards the pupils through its informality and friendliness, not all teacher identities were open to being steered. Those who clung to a more traditional view of the pupils tended to be the older members of staff whose dispositions were firmly entrenched in structures of the past.

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Everyday practices, relationships, and subjectivities Generally speaking most of the teachers have an understanding of and are sympathetic to the social context within which they operate, evidenced in the positive (albeit often gendered) interactions between pupils and teachers that I witnessed on the corridors, where, for example, teachers joked with pupils about football teams. The teachers showed respect for the culture of the boys by engaging them in conversations they found interesting and relevant to their lives. The school is therefore, arguably, a space where pupils are free to express working-class culture. Throughout my time in the school I witnessed a great deal of informality in some of the relationships between the staff (including the principal) and the pupils. Indeed, the pupils, when talking about pupil and staff relationships, expressed admiration for certain teachers who spoke to them (and even disciplined them) in ways that accorded with their working-class masculine identities. One particularly vibrant tale recalls how Mr Flaherty intervened in a snowball fight in the playground one lunchtime. According to the boys, one of their mates, ‘Big Ginger Jim’, hadn’t heard Mr Flaherty tell everyone to stop the snowball fighting and get to class. When Jim lifted his arm to throw another snowball Mr Flaherty yelled across the playground, “Jim, you big ginger bastard, I can spot you a mile off! Now put that down and get inside!” This apparently got the attention of the whole schoolyard; silence fell and order was restored. The boys expressed admiration and respect for Mr Flaherty’s methods of discipline, which they said also included punching filing cabinets when he was annoyed. Even though he was at times formidable many boys said he was their favourite teacher because he was ‘dead on’ (a local term meaning sound and easy to get along with). The informal relationships were not universal, and there were some teachers who had a more formal approach. These teachers tended to not engage in casual conversation with the pupils and did not make attempts to get to know the pupils personally. Interestingly, the pupils, by and large, expressed greater admiration and respect for – and claimed to work harder for – the teachers whom they described as “down to earth”. The staff were aware of the differing approaches of different teachers, and it was even something that was discussed at staff meetings. Mr McNally, a member of the senior management team, was very keen that all the teachers in the school take a respectful and understanding approach to interacting with the young people, and he personally placed a huge emphasis on building relationships. He held up this thing. And it was “all kids should be lined up in a straight line” and “all kids should come into the room in a certain way” and he held up somebody’s model of what they interpreted as good teaching. And it worked for them and that’s good but see to be honest, you look at our much lower ability classes. How much of that can they take in a day? How much of that regimental approach, where there is no real relationship

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building, there’s no real motivation built into its . . . the whole approach of the lesson is along the lines of pure discipline and managing behaviour and making sure that misbehaviour doesn’t happen. Em, but there’s only so much of that our lads can take. And they’ll blow up and they’ll become demotivated and all that there. (Mr McNally) The different approaches to discipline had different effects on the different groups of pupils within the school. Unsurprisingly, it was the pupils in the lower streams who found it particularly difficult to cope with a regimental approach. Admittedly, these pupils were challenging and difficult to motivate, but they also managed to be more productive in classes in which the atmosphere was pleasant. Mr McNally was again critical of these teachers and their effects on the pupils (“the lads” as he affectionately calls them). He said, You’ve probably seen them in the staffroom – they see themselves as very well organised; they don’t tolerate any misbehaviour in their room, you know, very regimental. See if every teacher had that approach the school wouldn’t be a very nice place for our lads. Yet for some of the pupils the school was indeed, at times, not a very nice place. The environment was more supportive of those who were seen as the ‘respectable’ rather than the ‘rough’ working-class boys, and as I have shown elsewhere, this was true even when the rough working-class boys were hardworking and positive about learning (Ingram, 2018). Within the school I observed two contrasting classes: the top class who were described as a “trustworthy and lovely class” and the bottom group who were described as “intellectually challenged” and “not to be trusted”. I was also advised not to leave my handbag out in the classroom when I was with the bottom group – advice I ignored with no negative consequences. As the previous descriptions of the two classes implied, the teachers, by and large, did not value the bottom group, and therefore, they seemed to negatively judge the particular type of working-class identity that they displayed – the ‘smick’7 identity (see Chapter 6 in this volume in which Tarabini et al. similarly discuss the devaluing of the working-classes). The teachers presumably felt justified in holding these negative value judgements, as the boys in the bottom group often behaved badly, swore at teachers, and were very unenthusiastic about work. However, I would argue that their experience of school was needlessly oppressive, and they were often unfairly treated with disrespect. The following example is from observation notes made whilst spending time in the classroom with the bottom group. The boys are in class and are sitting around a table together with the teacher (11 pupils present). The conversation moves on to current affairs and politics. Jonathan says “Tony Blair and George Bush don’t know what

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they are doing”. He appears to want to have a serious discussion but the teacher immediately interjects using a very hostile tone of voice, “Jonathan, are you as a young adult able to give an opinion on that? Your consciousness has just been developing over the last couple of years. Do you seriously think you are qualified to give an opinion on this matter?” Jonathan looks embarrassed (his face turns red) and meekly responds, “No”. I felt very uncomfortable during this exchange because of the underlying assumptions of the teachers and the messages that were conveyed through the statements that they made. It is clear that the teacher assumes that the boys have not developed adequate mental capacities to have any real awareness of themselves or the world in which they live. Jonathan is patronized into agreeing with this and is left feeling stupid and embarrassed. Through school these boys are taught “to know their place and to sit still in it” (Illich, 1971: 74). It is quite clear that the teacher thinks these boys are less than capable of forming their own thoughts and opinions. This is perhaps why he complained about them every time I showed up to observe his class. He was very unhappy to have to teach them and said it was a waste of time. Sometimes I would offer to take the class to do a focus group session or to take small groups out. The teacher was always very accommodating, even grateful that I was relieving him of his burden. It became clear to me that Mr Joyce pathologizes the boys and their families and sees them as responsible for their own positions in life.The following entry from my fieldwork diary details a conversation he had with me after teaching this class one day, talking about how fights can start very quickly: MR J: It

can just go from a wee bit of banter to a full-scale fight in a matter of seconds. I think it is a secondary school thing – like my son goes to a grammar school and he’s maybe been in one fight in the entire time he’s been there. N:   Is it an all-boys school? MR J: Yeah, it’s all boys and there are very few fights. Like, these lads, I don’t really think they have the intelligence to know how to deal with the banter and all that, you know? They just can’t work out what to do and lashing out is the easiest thing for them. Now there’s a study in itself – why do these boys fight so much? Like is it their backgrounds? A large portion of them are from single-parent families so they wouldn’t be experiencing adult aggression in the home. Does it come from their mates on the streets or is it something innate, something emotional? The assumption behind these statements is that the boys are essentially aggressive and unable to deal with their emotions – as they are not experiencing aggression in the home, then it must be something in their nature that makes them as they are. The teacher compares them to his son, who has a very different experience in his grammar school, where they are apparently able to manage their emotions. Several of the boys in the class that Mr Joyce was referring

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to had been through a lot of recent emotional trauma.Two of the boys’ mothers had died within the last two years, one of the boys had suffered from bullying, and many of them had statements for special educational needs. The teacher said that he thought that one of the boys was using his mother’s death to get away with his bad behaviour, arguing that he should be over it by now because it was 18 months ago. I pointed out that bereavement is a very lengthy process, but he said that he lost his mother when he was young and he just had to get on with it.This showed a lack of empathy and a failure to understand the forces at play within these kids’ lives. For some middle-class teachers, it can be difficult to really put themselves into the shoes of a working-class person, as their own reality is so removed from the working-class reality (see Chapter 6 for a parallel analysis of the negative impact of teachers’ attitudes towards working-class young people).

Conclusion In Northern Ireland, the grammar school system creates socially unjust educational outcomes, as do grammar school systems in other parts of the UK. Young people who do not attain the grades for admission to a grammar school are left to schools where attainment is on average significantly lower than the national and the UK average. The vast majority of these young people are from working-class backgrounds, whereas the vast majority of young people in Northern Irish grammar schools are from the middle classes. It is clear that the maintenance of grammar schools will maintain social inequalities. In terms of social mobility grammar schools can at best promote the mobility of a select minority of the working classes, but this comes at the expense of the wider working classes who are denied the same form of education as their privileged peers. This chapter has shown the differences in experiences of schooling for young men from the same neighbourhood who attended the two types of school. It is a contribution to understandings of the everyday practices within schools that frame and position working-class young people as having deficit and in need of fixing through educational influence. In both schools, the pupils who were valued were those who were not steadfast in presenting themselves culturally as working class, while the students who were valued were those who were prepared to embrace the cultural appropriate behaviours of the middleclass in terms of manner and accent. These arguments are echoed in Jackson and Marsden’s (1962) seminal text on grammar schools, written more than 50 years ago, as a critique of the experiences of working classes who attended grammar schools in England. The grammar school endeavours to mould and shape the boys into middleclass citizens, preparing them for professional careers and instilling in them the importance of tradition and academic performance to ultimately ‘help’ them to escape from their backgrounds. In order for children to become successes, they are expected to mould themselves into archetypal grammar school boys and develop appropriate manners and dispositions – a grammar school habitus.

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The following words were spoken by a senior Irish political figure on a visit to the school and were published in a school newsletter. They sum up the institutional habitus quite nicely and accurately capture the dominant attitudes towards the pupils: Many a ragged personality was honed and rounded into a confident, articulate, able young professional.They filtered out into the civic life of Belfast, of Ireland and every part of the globe. The school is proud of its ability to shape these ragged personalities and filter them out into society and has a strong history of doing just that. But for those who are not amenable to reshaping, the school can become a very hostile place. Through their experiences of the institution teachers internalize the demand for high expectations for behaviour. For some boys, the gap between their own idea of appropriate behaviour and manners and the conception of appropriateness sanctioned by the school is too great to straddle. The school, through its history of educating the bright young minds of the poor, engenders the taken-for-granted assumption that its role is to work on and remodel the students in preparation for life. On the other hand, the secondary school is characterized by a generally accepting institutional culture that has affinity with (those who are seen as) the ‘respectable’ boys. Throughout the school the boys are supported to maintain their habitus, and many of the teachers try to accommodate rather than change the ‘respectable’ boys’ identity. Within the school it is taken for granted that the pupils are from working-class backgrounds, and they are accepted as they are. Many boys are supported to achieve educationally without having to undergo a radical transformation of identity. Of course, this picture is complicated by the few teachers who do not conform to the dominant ways of thinking within the school. It also becomes complicated when considering the experiences of the low-achieving boys. There is a degree of ambivalence in the acceptance of these boys. On the one hand the school promotes the idea that it is acceptable to have a working-class identity, but for many teachers the boundary of acceptance is drawn between the upper and lower streams. The lower-streamed class was more likely to suffer from being pathologized by teachers, and their habitus did not accord easily with the one promoted by the institution, as the examples of their treatment show. Rather, the school is an environment that is culturally supportive of aspirational working-class boys. These boys are accepted as they are and are not expected to conform to a middle-class stereotype in order to find a smooth path to success that includes building relationships with teachers. There are clear difficulties for working-class young people within a grammar school system, regardless of the type of school they attend or their success or failure therein. For grammar school kids, the issues they face are around a challenge to their cultural identity and an attempt to reshape them in the middle-class mould. For secondary school kids, there are different issues for the lower- and higher-achieving boys. For the higher-achieving boys being

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positioned in a secondary school means that they do not benefit from the ‘grammar school effect’, which is the phenomenon of higher attainment at age 16 for young people at grammar schools compared to their 16-year-old secondary school counterparts who matched their attainment at age 11 (Gallagher & Smith, 2000). For the low-achieving boys, the secondary school is a place in which they come to understand themselves as lacking educational value. In both cases models of educational success are problematically predicated on the idea that social mobility is desirable and beneficial to the working classes and that achieving it requires acquiring a form of educational success that involves the abandonment of working-class identity. A new conceptualization of success is needed for the working classes that recognizes their cultural value and does not promote social mobility as the answer to inequality. It needs to be recognized that social mobility creates rather than solves social inequalities, as it benefits the few rather than the many.

Notes 1 Scotland has been excluded from the analysis and discussion, as its system and policies are discrete to that region and differ from the rest of the UK mainland. 2 General Certificate of Education (GCSE) exams are taken at the end of the fifth year of secondary school, when students are around aged 16, in a range of different subjects. The government benchmark for success is five or more GCSE passes at grades A*–C. 3 The 11+ exam was an exam historically taken in England, Wales, and Northern Ireland at the end of primary school. Success in the exam afforded access to prestigious grammar schools. 4 These methods encouraged the boys to create visual material that represented their identity, and this was then used to develop discussion in semi-structured interviews. 5 All demographic figures are from the Northern Ireland Statistics and Research Agency www.nisra.gov.uk/. 6 The grading system used measures performance with a lettering system in which A is the highest and D the lowest grade. 7 In Belfast the word ‘smick’ is used for someone who might be perceived as a rough working-class boy. The term is used pejoratively and is similar to the English word ‘chav’.

References Atkinson, A., Gregg, P., and McConnell, B. (2006). The result of 11 plus selection: An investigation into equity and efficiency of outcomes for pupils in selective LEAs. CMPO DP, no. 06/150. Bernstein, B. (1966). Elaborated and Restricted Codes: an Outline, Sociological Inquiry, 36(2), 254–261. Burgess, S., Dickson, M., and Macmillan, L. (2014). Selective Schooling Systems Increase Inequality. Institute of Education London, Department of Quantitative Social Science Working Paper No 14-09, Retrieved May 2014, from http://repec.ioe.ac.uk/REPEc/pdf/ qsswp1409.pdf (accessed January 2018). Gallagher, T., and Smith, A. (2000). The effects of the selective system of secondary education in Northern Ireland. Retrieved 1 September 2000, from www.education-ni.gov.uk/ publications/gallagher-and-smith-research-research-papers (accessed January 2018). Illich, I. (1971). Deschooling Society. New York: Harper & Row.

92  Nicola Ingram Ingram, N. (2011).Within school and beyond the gate: the difficulties of being educationally successful and working-class, Sociology, 45(7), 287–302. Ingram, N. (2018). Working-Class Boys and Educational Success:Teenage Identities, Masculinity and Urban Schooling. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Jackson, B. and Marsden, D. (1962). Education and the Working Class. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Leonard, M. (2004). Bonding and bridging social capital: Reflections from Belfast. Sociology, 38(5), 927–944. Ruane, C. (2008). Education ministers statement for the Stormont education committee. Retrieved 31 January 2008, from https://web.archive.org/web/20081003105901/www. deni.gov.uk/index/85-schools/6-admission-and-choice/statement_for_the_education_ committee_48_kb_.pdf (accessed January 2018).

Part IV

Secondary school transitions

6 Framing youth educational choices at the end of compulsory schooling Aina Tarabini et al.Choices at the end of compulsory schooling

The Catalan case Aina Tarabini, Marta Curran, Alba Castejón and Alejandro Montes Introduction The transition to upper secondary education is of crucial importance within the EU Strategic Framework on Education and Training 2020. According to Eurostat 2016 data, 10.7% of young people aged 18 to 24 had left education and training without completing any upper secondary programme, while the EU target is to decrease this rate to less than 10% by 2020. The case of Spain is one of the most alarming of all the EU28 countries, as the rate of early school leaving1 still counts for 18.3 of its young people (18% in the specific case of Catalonia). This represents the highest level in the EU and surpasses the national European target of 15%. Official national and regional discourses and policy documents in this field commonly frame this transition as a matter of individualistic and rational choice, related to young people’s achievement, talents and personal aspirations. In fact, as it is the first transition after the end of compulsory schooling in Spain, it is understood as the first in which a ‘real choice’ for young people is provided. It is a choice that is expected to mainly rely on individual interests and possi­ bilities as the two main drivers guiding this transition. According to that logic, hegemonic conceptions of upper secondary school transitions in Catalonia and Spain are highly decontextualized in political, social and institutional terms. In this context, the objective of this chapter is to demonstrate that upper secondary educational transitions in Catalonia2 are mediated by three main kinds of elements: systemic, institutional and teacher related. These mediations are of crucial importance in order to understand the construction of educational aspirations and expectations among young people and to facilitate understanding of why some transitions are understood as ‘normal’ or ‘taken for granted’ according to different youth profiles. The specific focus of the analysis is on the construction of working-class students’ aspirations and expectations at the end of their compulsory secondary schooling (Grades 9th and 10th). The analysis is based on an ethnographic study conducted in five public lower secondary schools in Barcelona. The case studies, developed as part of the ABJOVES project,3 were conducted over a year and a half (2015–2016; 2016–2017) and include

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interviews and focus groups with working-class students and teaching staff,4 data and documentary analysis and observation of regular lessons, teacher meetings and guidance sessions. The structure of the chapter is as follows. The first section addresses crucial contextual factors in order to understand educational transitions in CataloniaSpain. With this objective, the structure of the educational system is explained as well as the mechanisms of internal and external differentiation within secondary schools.The second section is focused on systemic aspects, highlighting how the structure and features of compulsory and post-compulsory secondary education in Catalonia-Spain affect students’ aspirations and expectations. The third section is intended to analyze institutional aspects by showing how grade retention and ability grouping practices during compulsory secondary schooling are mediating young people’s educational expectations and aspirations. Section four is focused on teaching aspects and, specifically, the impact of teachers’ beliefs and expectations on students’ identities, self-confidence and self-esteem. Section five presents an overall discussion and concludes the entire analysis.

Understanding the context: the structure of lower secondary education in Catalonia-Spain The Spanish education system has, since the mid-1990s, been compulsory and formally comprehensive from the ages of 6 to 16 years old. This means that, in legal terms, all students in compulsory schooling are subjected to common curricular standards with no internal differentiation beyond age parameters. The intention of this structure is to postpone specialization until upper secondary schooling, thus avoiding the separation of young people into specialist or selective tracks during the primary (ages 6–11) and lower secondary (ages 12–16) phases of schooling. Although this common structure continues over the entire period of compulsory education, primary and lower secondary education in Spain are structurally differentiated, and in public schools, each phase is provided by separated institutions, generally representing very different professional cultures.5 In this sense, the Spanish education system represents the ‘typology 2’ described by Green et al. (1999) in their analysis of the organization of lower secondary education in different European countries. As the authors indicate, this typology is featured as follows: ‘the system makes a clear distinction between primary and lower secondary phases, and young people are not separated into specialist or selective tracks for the lower secondary phase’ (21). The formal comprehensive and non-differentiated structure of lower secondary education in Spain, however, runs alongside high levels of grade retention and multiple forms of ‘de facto’ ability grouping. According to these elements, Mons (2007) locates the Spanish education system within a ‘uniform integration model’ in which, according to Dumas et al. (2013), ‘the inclusive nature of a comprehensive education is more a formal concept than a reality’

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(66). As indicated by Mons (2007), the key features of this model are as follows: a long common structure for all students, an intensive use of grade retention (especially in lower secondary), unofficial practices of ability grouping (mostly in lower secondary) and the scarce use of individualized teaching mechanisms. These features are of crucial importance when it comes to understanding how educational opportunities for young people are framed in the national context and also how their educational aspirations and expectations are built. Furthermore, they explain why the transition from lower to upper secondary education is the most relevant in the Spanish case, in both analytical and effective terms. The comprehensive structure of the Spanish compulsory education system until age 16 explains why the impacts of educational transitions are fully expressed at this moment. The internal differentiation of lower secondary education in real terms explains why grade retention and grouping practices are crucial mechanisms in explaining the different opportunity frameworks regarding transitions to upper secondary education. Details of internal differentiation mechanisms during lower secondary education in Catalonia are explained in what follows. On the one hand, it is crucial to take into account the fact that 21% of 15-year-old Catalan students have repeated a grade at least once during their compulsory schooling trajectory (the national average is 31.3% and the OECD average 11.3%) (PISA, 2015). Moreover, as Eurydice (2011) indicates, these numbers cannot be explained solely by considering legal provisions on repetition,6 as they are very similar to those of other European countries with much lower retention rates. The main cause of high retention rates in Catalonia and Spain is a very deep-rooted belief within the educational community in the benefits of this practice, altogether with a lack of institutional mechanisms and incentives to develop individualized modes of integration (in terms of Mons) in the everyday life of schools. Moreover, repetition rates are not randomly distributed among students, but they mostly affect students from low socioeconomic backgrounds, those of migrant status and boys (PISA, 2015). In Catalonia, socioeconomically disadvantaged students report repetition rates four times higher than their peers from wealthier backgrounds (CSASE, 2014). What is more, as indicated by the OECD (2014), these disparities cannot be exclusively explained by different achievement levels between students from different backgrounds. On the contrary, even when their performance is the same, socioeconomically disadvantaged students are more likely to repeat. These data indicate that schools’ decisions on grade retention are clearly mediated by teacher expectations and beliefs regarding their students, thus contributing to the reproduction of social inequalities in this field. All in all, grade retention contradicts the very logic of comprehensive systems, as many students are left behind in the daily life of lower secondary schools. They repeat the same curriculum, they are separated from their peers, they usually feel punished and stigmatized and, as will be shown in the following

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sections, this clearly influences their aspirations and expectations for the near future. On the other hand, ability grouping, as has been indicated, is a widespread practice among lower secondary schools in Catalonia. Even if official data on this field is scarce, some scholars state that a third of secondary schools in Cat­ alonia use ability grouping as a regular practice to manage students’ heterogeneity (Ferrer et al., 2009). According to PISA (2015), only 30.2% of 15-year-old students in Catalonia are enrolled in schools in which students are not grouped by ability into different classes (the OECD average is 54.2%). So even if the national legislation does not contain any provisions for separating students by ability, this is a pervasive practice in the Catalan context, clearly framing students’ educational attitudes, experiences and opportunities. In fact, the majority of ability grouping practices are hidden behind different grouping modalities included in national and regional laws and regulations, such as so-called flexible groups or adapted groups. According to the law, flexible grouping or adapted groups are mechanisms to manage students’ heterogeneity whilst guaranteeing the principles of the inclusiveness and comprehensiveness of the system.7 Consequently, a flexible organization of groups and of the curriculum is provided in order to better attend to students’ needs and to provide individualized support to each of them. The very name of this pedagogic device entails including flexibility in each of its meanings: in the time students spend within the same groups, in the number and typologies of students grouped together, in the subjects covered in each group, in the teachers responsible for each group and so on. Of course, there are secondary schools that use flexible grouping and respect its very nature, but as previous research has already indicated (Tarabini et al., 2016), on many occasions flexibility is just an official name for the development of classical homogenous grouping by ability in practice. Moreover, identically to repetition, students enrolled in the lowest-ability groups or in ‘flexible’ and ‘adapted’ groups are mostly from low socioeconomic backgrounds and cultural minorities. According to CSASE (2014), ability grouping is a common practice used in 86% of the most disadvantaged secondary schools, while the percentage in less disadvantaged schools is less at 64%. So ability grouping represents one of the main mechanisms of internal segregation within Catalan secondary schools, with clear consequences in terms of educational success. As numerous studies in this area have pointed out (Gamoran, 2009), ability grouping not only has negative impacts on students assigned to lower groups (by hindering their learning, self-esteem and social position within the school, among other factors), but it also hampers the levels of equity and excellence of the entire system, as it exacerbates inequalities without raising performance levels (OECD, 2012). In the following sections, we will analyze in detail how students experience these mechanisms from a subjective perspective and their impact on how students conform their educational aspirations and expectations.

6 years

Age 6–12

6 years non-

compulsory Age 12–16

4 years

Lower Secondary

Figure 6.1 Schematic presentation of the Catalan education system

Age 3–6

Age 0–3

Primary Education

Child Education

2 years (16–18)

Voca
onal educa
on

2 years (16–18)

Baccalaureate

General

Upper Secondary

Higher Voca
onal Educa
on 2 years

University 4 years

Tertiary Education

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Systemic aspects: academic and vocational training in Catalonia-Spain The objective of this section is to analyze the impact of the Catalan secondary education system on the configuration of students’ educational imaginaries, aspirations and expectations. Specifically, the features of upper secondary education will be highlighted, including their connection with lower secondary schooling. Upper secondary education in Spain is organized into two tracks: academic or general (Bachillerato, ISCED 3A) and vocational (Formación Profesional de Grado Medio, ISCED 3B). Both tracks last for two years (from 16 to 18 years old) and, at first sight, have the same access requirements: a lower secondary schooling (ISCED 2) certificate. However, both tracks have historically developed under different conditions, and nowadays both Catalonia and Spain account for some of the lowest percentages of participation in vocational upper secondary education. Until the mid-1990s, thanks to the progressive application of the 1990 Education Reform Act (LOGSE, Ley Orgánica de Ordenación General del Sistema Educativo), compulsory education in Spain ended when students were 14 years old. After that, only students with a basic education certificate could enrol in academic upper secondary education, whilst students without this certificate were allowed to enrol in vocational training. This substantial difference in the access requirements built up vocational training as a ‘second-level’ track, with low levels of social prestige attached and purely intended for those ‘not able’ to follow the academic track. The LOGSE Education Act not only expanded compulsory schooling to the age of 16 but also established equal-access requirements for both post-compulsory tracks. Nevertheless, as is clearly indicated in this student’s account, nowadays the vocational track is still perceived as a ‘secondlevel track’ within the Catalan educational community.8 Everybody wants to do the academic upper secondary track, nobody has detailed information on vocational training, no (. . .). Most students doing the vocational track are those who have repeated courses, who are not good at studying and so on (. . .). If you can choose, you are not going to choose vocational. (Leo, 15 years old, grade 9) Differences in the social prestige of both tracks are one of the main reasons explaining the substantially dissimilar social composition between them. In Catalonia, 87.5% of young people aged between 15 and 34 whose parents have undertaken tertiary studies are enrolled in the academic upper secondary track, in contrast with a scant 39.4% of young people whose parents hold at maximum a compulsory education certificate (Ferrer et al., 2013). The same pattern is reproduced in terms of the migrant background of students.

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Therefore, even if very little official data are available on this topic, the distribution of the social intake between both tracks points to severe inequality patterns. What is more, there is a crucial difference explaining the students’ access to both tracks of upper secondary schooling: access to the academic track requires nothing more than the minimum qualification, whilst access to the vocational track takes into account the qualifications obtained during lower secondary education, above all in the most requested specializations. So, even if at first sight it could seem counterintuitive, it is explained by the chronic lack of public provision in vocational training.This clearly connects with the idea of Gale and Parker (Chapter 3 in this book) that for the working classes and the marginalised groups desires and aspirations are always informed by possibilities and not the other way around, as the hegemonic discourses in this field anticipate. Next, some information on the provision of vocational training is provided. First of all, although over the last few years the provision of public vocational training in Catalonia and Spain has progressively increased, there is still a big deficit in this area, even in a context of growing demand. Nowadays, the public provision of academic upper secondary education is almost double that of the vocational track. Second, there are crucial disparities in the provision of different specializations of vocational training, in both terms of supply and demand. This means that in some of the most requested specialities such as health, cookery or sports vocational studies, it is the private sector that is offering the majority of the supply. Moreover, the most requested specialities, as indicated before, are very selective even in the public sector, so only students who achieved higher marks in the compulsory schooling system can access them. Third, the provision of vocational training is very unequally distributed across the Catalan territory, leaving some territories almost uncovered in terms of provision for these specialities and thus entailing intrinsically associated mobility costs when they are selected. Last but not least, the majority of public secondary institutions in Catalonia provide both lower secondary education and academic upper secondary education, whilst vocational upper secondary education is mostly provided by specialized institutions. Consequently, there are few public institutions that provide the two post-compulsory tracks altogether with lower secondary education. This organization of supply has clear consequences in terms of students’ choices. All these elements together explain why, for some students, it is ‘easy’ to choose the academic track even if their ‘first option’ would be to select the vocational one. This thus reinforces its subsidiary character in terms of both demand and supply. It’s not so easy for us. At least, not for me. I mean, if I have to pay for my professional course I’m not going to do it. Because I can’t. And if I have to go to the other side of the town, I won’t do it either. I can’t pay for a bus ticket every day. (María, 15 years old, grade 9)

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Institutional aspects: the impact of schools on providing opportunities The aim of this section is to analyse how different institutional mechanisms for managing pupils’ heterogeneity – specifically grade retention and ability grouping – have an impact on students’ experiences, learner identities and educational aspirations and expectations. As stated by Ingram in Chapter 5 of this book, it is crucial to take into account the ways in which schools generate sense of identity among their students. In relation to grade retention, the analysis shows that repeating a year has strong negative effects on students’ educational trajectories and consequently has an impact on how students conform their educational aspirations and expectations. In particular, the analysis reveals that grade retention has negative effects in two different but interrelated ways: (1) their relationships with their peers and teachers and (2) their learning identities. In fact, repetition has crucial socioemotional implications for students, which affect their self-confidence and selfesteem. On the one hand, they are separated from their peers, while on the other they feel labelled and stigmatized by their teachers and, in sum, they feel they are ‘not good’ at studying and internalize the opinion that school is ‘not for them’. I could see that my friends were going to class together and I was not, they were having experiences that I was not having and this was affecting me a lot, you know, maybe it’s better for your studies but it destroys you psychologically because you begin to feel you are a failure because it’s the only thing you can feel. (Joana, 16 years old, grade 9) How can I possibly call myself a good student if I’ve repeated twice? This has removed any kind of motivation I could have had to continue studying, I’m so lost, I don’t know what to do with my life (. . .) the thing is that I go to class with kids that are three years younger than me and fuck, that makes me feel so stupid. (Axel, 16 years old, grade 9) As we can see in Joana’s and Axel’s speeches, repetition clearly affects students’ self-esteem and, consequently, the way they face their educational future. ‘It destroys you’, says Joana; ‘That makes me feel so stupid’, says Axel. The practice of repetition thus increases the sense of futility of young people, hindering their motivation to continue studying. What’s the point for these students of making effort and imagining a successful educational future when they feel that they are not good enough and when the practice of repetition only confirms and reaffirms this feeling? In relation to ability grouping, the analysis also shows that being enrolled in lowest-ability or adapted groups – in which the majority of our sample is placed – has a clear impact on students’ educational opportunities. Even if grouping practices are enacted by schools in different ways, they have – at least – the

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following elements in common: first, a highly homogeneous composition in terms of social and ethnic background; second, more emphasis on ‘controlling behaviour’ than on learning achievement; third, a significant reduction in content and fewer options in relation to elective courses. This last point is of crucial importance, as the variety of elective subjects that each student can choose at the end of compulsory schooling determines to a great extent the type of itinerary they are going to follow in their post-compulsory school destinations. Consequently, ability and adapted groups have a crucial impact on students’ relationships, experiences and learning identities, affecting their engagement with school in emotional, behavioural and cognitive terms. As wellestablished research in this area has indicated for years (Ireson and Hallam, 2005; Oakes, 1985; Van Houtte and Stevens, 2015), homogeneous grouping practices have devastating repercussions for students’ confidence and learning; their self-perception, expectations and aspirations; and their sense of fairness and justice. All of these elements are present in the speeches and experiences of the students included in our sample. As it is expressed in the following quotations, feelings like anger, frustration, stigmatization, futility, blame or shame are quite persistent in students grouped in low-track groups. We do some classes with the ordinary group and when we go into the regular class it is like everyone is turning to look at us like ‘shit, here are those idiots again’, it’s like you are invading their territory and you don’t feel comfortable, believe me (. . .) Or it’s like they are telling you all the time, of course you’ll pass your exams because you’re in the dumb group. (Lucía, 16 years old, grade 10) Some students will tell you: ‘you obviously pass your exams because you are in the adapted group’ and that makes you feel very angry, you know? (Juan, 15 years old, grade 9) The thing is that the teacher of the other group was telling their students that it was better that they weren’t in our class, if they didn’t want to end up as stupid as us . . . and what comes to your mind is why she has to say that if she doesn’t know us. (Claudia, 16 years old, grade 10) Furthermore, being enrolled in adapted groups has an additional impact on the way students face their immediate educational future. In fact, they affirm that the reduction of academic content in these groups limits their opportunities to consolidate basic skills that they are convinced they need in order to be prepared for post-compulsory education. I want to continue studying [after compulsory schooling], you know? But I think I have the feeling that we are not learning here. I am aware that I couldn’t follow the learning pace of a normal group but at least a midpoint. (Sofía, 16 years old, grade 10)

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Moreover, one of the main paradoxes emerging in this field is this: in the majority of compulsory secondary schools in Catalonia, students in adapted or lowest-ability groups are not encouraged or even allowed to enrol in academic upper secondary schooling, as their teachers believe they do not have the ‘academic level’ or even the ‘entitlement’ to follow this track. This element not only consolidates the crucial differences in the social prestige of both postcompulsory tracks (academic or vocational) but, at the same time, it leads these students to a dead end: they do not have ‘the level’ for the academic track and neither the academic marks nor the resources to access the vocational track they would like.

Teacher aspects: the crucial role of teachers’ beliefs and expectations In this section we are going to focus on the construction and impacts of teachers’ beliefs and expectations. On the one hand, we explore how the assumptions that teachers make about their students’ abilities and potential are mediated by the students’ social and cultural backgrounds. On the other hand, we analyze the implications of these assumptions for students’ self-confidence, identities and self-esteem. The following analysis directly connects with Romito’s indepth exploration (Chapter 7 in this book) regarding the role of teachers in ‘cooling out’ the ambitions of the working-class students in Italy. As numerous studies over the last few decades have examined (Diamond et al., 2004; Dunne and Gazeley, 2008; Rist, 1970), students from the lowest socioeconomic backgrounds or those from ethnic and cultural minorities are subject to lower expectations from their teachers, who have less confidence in their potential than in that of their more socially and culturally advantaged peers. Accordingly, teachers’ explanations and expectations regarding their students’ success or failure are not independent of their specific background. In this sense, one of the most common assumptions among the teaching staff in our sample is that educational failure, particularly for students from low socioeconomic backgrounds, is mainly explained by a lack of interest and effort, either on the part of the students themselves or on that of their families. The most important factor for explaining educational failure is the interest the student has. If the student is interested, committed to their education, then he or she will learn. But there are students who have no interest at all. They come here to do nothing, they are not interested in anything and of course they fail. (Pedagogic coordinator at secondary school) What do you think is behind this student profile? Okay, first is their (the students’) attitude. And second are the parents. Collaboration with the

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parents is fundamental. Parents need to see that our work is important, they have to value teachers, to take what we say seriously. If parents don’t do this, it is very complicated. (Pedagogic coordinator at secondary school) Thus, the mobilization of meritocratic or even deficit assumptions to explain working-class students’ educational failure works as a ‘protective mechanism’ so that teachers can avoid questioning both their role in the production and reproduction of school failure and dropping out (Tarabini, 2015). In fact, as a consequence of these assumptions, teachers tend to externalize the reasons for school failure outside of the school realm, thus reducing their own responsibility for students’ learning, especially for students from lower social classes. Teachers consider that students’ lack of motivation or interest is beyond their scope, arguing that their tasks as secondary school teachers do not include broad responsibilities or interventions but rather require them to be experts in the subjects they teach: We are secondary school teachers, we have university degrees, we know about our subjects, but we are not psychologists – we are specialists. I can explain whatever you want in my field, but I didn’t study psychology and pedagogy, so I do what I can with the students. I try to understand what I can, but you can’t ask the impossible. (Pedagogic coordinator at secondary school) Within this framework, the roots of educational failure reside not in schools but in the students and their families, while school structures, cultures, practices and mechanisms remain beyond question and immutable (Tarabini, 2018, in press). As indicated by Diane Reay in Chapter 2 of this book, working-class educational failure is treated in terms of deficit and blaming, assuming that it is the students’ behaviours, values and norms where the causes of failure reside. Furthermore, teachers’ expectations in relation to students’ future pathways are not socially neutral. Based on the analysis, teachers showed different expectations of post-compulsory destinations according to their students’ social background. However, social class and ethnicity are not always made explicit when teachers talk about these future expectations. Rather, teachers refer to particular successful trajectories among working-class or minority students as an argument to deny the effect of social inequalities on educational outcomes. Finally, it is crucial to highlight the impact of teachers’ expectations both on pedagogic practices and on teacher–student relationships. On the one hand, and with regards to pedagogic practices, curriculum simplification is one of the most prominent effects of biased teacher expectations, as teachers tend to simplify and reduce curriculum content when they teach in adapted or lowestability groups. Consequently, it is assumed – even if not always explicitly – that unequal access to knowledge during compulsory education is something

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‘natural’ and reasonable, thus directly harming the right of all students to have access to a basic and compulsory curriculum. We cannot teach the same content to all groups. This is not possible. They wouldn’t get to the end [of compulsory schooling]. If we want all of them to achieve the certificate we need to adapt the curriculum for those most in need. (Tutor teacher grade 9 at secondary school) As can be seen in the previous quotation, some teachers perceive a fundamental trade-off between achieving the compulsory schooling certificate and the acquisition of equivalent knowledge for all students, thus illustrating one of the most important contradictions of the Catalan compulsory education system. On the other hand, daily interactions between teachers and students are one of the most powerful mechanisms for the transmission of teachers’ expectations to their students. Negative interactions, such as shouting at pupils or disregarding students’ requests, are clearly perceived by students as signals of indifference and a lack of care: Teachers pay more attention to those who study than those who do not. Teachers tend to ignore those who do not study. And you know, what a child needs is for teachers to pay them attention. (Ángel, 15 years old, grade 8) They [teachers] constantly tell me: ‘you are not going to succeed’ and I want to be successful, but if they repeat to me the whole time ‘you are not good, you are not going to achieve that’ I finally believe ‘I can’t do it’, that’s all! (Mar, 15 years old, grade 9) This type of teacher–student interaction plays a key role in understanding students’ educational experiences and tends to reduce their engagement with school. In fact, most of the students highlight the importance of feeling relevant and respected by their teachers in order to be motivated at the school and to feel they belong to the school. On the contrary, relationships based on hostility or distrust, or in which teachers give their students no encouragement or hope, make students feel resigned about their academic, professional and life potential.

Conclusions The analysis developed in this chapter has shown that a proper sociological understanding of students’ identities, attitudes, expectations and aspirations needs to go far beyond individual factors. High rates of early school leaving in Catalonia-Spain, low levels of upper secondary acquisition across the population

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and the patterns of inequality framing this area are neither understandable nor solvable if social and institutional factors are not included in the matrix. The analysis of systemic factors has proved that the very structure of upper secondary schooling generates different opportunity frameworks for the students to succeed in this transition. The kind of supply of vocational and academic training provided, the access criteria to enter each track and the connections between lower and upper secondary schooling are of crucial importance for understanding why different countries provide different opportunities in this field. In the case of Catalonia-Spain, the historical lack of development of vocational training has been proved as a crucial factor in explaining students’ educational decisions once they have finished their lower secondary schooling. If the academic pathway has – in global terms – more demand than the vocational one, it is not because it is ‘more interesting’ by itself but because there are more possibilities to access it (not to succeed in it). As explained, vocational training is not equally distributed across the Catalan territory (particularly for some specialities) and the public offer is underdeveloped. In the same vein, if the working class students are over-represented in the vocational pathway, it is not necessarily because they are ‘intrinsically more interested’ in it but also because of the construction of its social prestige. The analysis of institutional factors has shown that practices of grade repetition and ability grouping are key mechanisms in explaining not only students’ potential success during compulsory schooling but also their transition to upper secondary schooling. Even if Catalan and Spanish law outlines a formally comprehensive structure to the education system from the ages of 6 to 16 years old, ability grouping and grade retention are widespread practices among Catalan secondary schools. Specific schools thus play a key role in the contextualization and enactment of these pedagogic practices. The analysis has proved that, instead of opening up new opportunities, repetition and ability grouping close opportunities for success and clearly condition the options to either access academic and vocational schooling or to drop out. On the one hand, these pedagogic devices have a clear impact on students’ identities, selfconception and self-confidence. On the other, they explain the kind of learning acquired during compulsory secondary schooling, thus framing the possibilities for accessing and succeeding in post-compulsory schooling. The analysis of teacher-related factors demonstrates that students’ opportunities to succeed at school are mediated by their teachers’ beliefs and practices. On the one hand, teachers’ expectations of students’ abilities, dispositions and possibilities are shaped by their social and cultural background. On the other hand, these expectations are communicated to students through everyday interactions and specific pedagogic practices, which affect students’ identities, selfconfidence and self-esteem. Moreover, teachers’ beliefs and practices are not independent of the very structure of national educational systems, and in the specific case of Catalonia-Spain, they are clearly shaped by the contradictions of a comprehensive system that only acts on a theoretical level rather than in the daily life of schools.

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In sum, the analysis demonstrates the need for a comprehensive understanding of educational processes, in which attitudes and dispositions, expectations and aspirations and decisions and strategies are not built in a vacuum but within a complex amalgam of systemic, institutional and teacher factors that frame individuals’ educational desires, possibilities and opportunities.

Notes 1 The European Commission (EC) defines early school leaving as the ‘percentage of the population aged 18–24 with at most lower secondary education and not in further education or training’ (European Commission, 2013: 8). 2 Even if the focus of this chapter is on Catalonia, one of the regions of Spain with full competences in its education system, the structure of the education system relies upon national laws and, consequently, this section combines a specific analysis of Catalonia with a general analysis of the national education system. 3 The project “Early school leaving in Spain: an analysis of educational motivations, decisions and experiences of young people” (ABJOVES) is an R&D project that was funded by the Spanish Ministry of Economy, Industry and Competitiveness (Ref. CSO2012– 31575) for a period of three years (2013–2016) and coordinated by research group GEPSUAB (PI Aina Tarabini). 4 The fieldwork includes 47 interviews with teaching staff, five focus groups with teachers, 54 interviews with students (41 of which are working-class students and the focus of the current analysis) and six focus groups with both middle- and working-class students. 5 This is, indeed, one of the main differences – among many others – between public and private schools in Spain. Private schools (being completely private or publicly subsidized) provide primary, lower secondary and (most of them) upper secondary academic education in the same building, thus guaranteeing smooth and continuous educational transitions for their pupils. 6 According to national law, there are important restrictions on repetition during compulsory schooling. In Spain, a pupil can repeat once during primary education and twice during lower secondary schooling. Exceptionally, a student can repeat the fourth grade in lower secondary school twice if he/she did not repeat any grade at a lower secondary level. 7 Under current legislation, grouping students by ability is allowed only in core subjects (such as mathematics or languages) and only on a temporary basis. 8 See also Chapter 4 (Boone et al), 7 (Romito) or 8 (Celik) in this book to realize that the different prestige and legitimacy associated to vocational and academic tracks is not specific from the Catalan case but a highly widespread trend among European countries.

References CSASE (Consell Superior d’Avaluació del Sistema Educatiu). (2014). Anàlisi del rendiment acadèmic a l’ensenyament obligatori de Catalunya. Barcelona: Departament d’Ensenyament, Generalitat de Catalunya. Diamond, J. B., Randolph, A., and Spillane, J. P. (2004). Teachers’ expectations and sense of responsibility for student learning: The importance of race, class, and organizational habitus. Anthropology & Education Quarterly, 35(1), 75–98. Dumas, A., Méhaut, P., and Olympio, N. (2013). From upper secondary to further education: European odels of post-compulsory learning, in: J. Janmaat, M. Duru-Bellat, P. Méhaut and A. Green (eds.) The Dynamics and Social Outcomes of Education Systems (pp. 46–69). London: Palgrave Macmillan.

Choices at the end of compulsory schooling 109 Dunne, M., and Gazeley, M. (2008). Teachers, social class and underachievement. British Journal of Sociology of Education, 29(5), 451–463. European Commission. (2013). Reducing early school leaving: Key messages and policy support Final Report of the Thematic Working Group on Early School Leaving November 2013. Eurydice. (2011). Grade Retention During Compulsory Education in Europe: Regulations and Statistics. European Commission. Ferrer, F., Castejón, A., and Zancajo, A. (2013). Educació. Joventut i educació en temps de crisi. Transicions juvenils i condicions materials d’existència, Enquesta a la joventut de Catalunya 2012, 1, 77–116. Ferrer, F., Castel, J. L., and Valiente, Ò. (2009). Equitat, excel· lència i eficiència educativa a Catalunya: una anàlisi comparada. Barcelona: Editorial Mediterrània. Gamoran, A. (2009). Tracking and inequality: New directions for research and practice. WCER Working Paper, No. 2009–6, Madison: University of Wisconsin – Madison, Wisconsin Center for Education Research. Green, A., Leney, T., and Wolf, A. (1999). Convergences and Divergences in European Education and Training Systems: A Research Project Commissioned by the European Commission DirectorateGeneral XXII. Luxembourg: Office for Official Publications of the European Communities. Ireson, J., and Hallam, S. (2005). Pupils’ liking for school: Ability grouping, self-concept and perceptions of teaching. British Journal of Educational Psychology, 75(2), 297–311. Mons, N. (2007). Les nouvelles politiques éducatives: La France fait-elle les bons choix? Paris: Presses Universitaires de France. Oakes, J. (1985). Keeping Track: How Schools Structure Inequality. New Haven:Yale University Press OECD. (2012). Equity and Quality Education – Supporting Disadvantaged Students and Schools. Executive summary. Paris: OECD. OECD. (2014). Are disadvantaged students more likely to repeat grades? in: PISA Focus (n° 9). Paris: OECD. PISA. (2015). PISA 2015 database. Retrieved from www.oecd.org/pisa/. Rist, R. (1970). Student social class and teacher expectations: The self-fulfilling prophecy in ghetto education. Harvard Educational Review, 40(3), 411–451. Tarabini, A. (2015). Naming and blaming early school leavers: An analysis of education policies, discourses and practices in Spain, in: A. Kupfer (ed.) Power and Education: Contexts of Oppression and Opportunity (pp. 146–166). London: Palgrave Macmillan. Tarabini, A. (2018, in press). Schooling and the multiple sites of exclusion: a social justice perspective. London: Palgrave McMillan. Tarabini, A., Curran, M., and Fontdevila, C. (2016). Institutional habitus in context: Implementation, development and impacts in two compulsory secondary schools in Barcelona. British Journal of Sociology of Education, 1–12. Van Houtte, M., and Stevens, P. (2015).Tracking and sense of futility:The impact of betweenschool tracking versus within-school tracking in secondary education in Flanders (Belgium). British Educational Research Journal, 41(5), 782–800.

7 Choosing the right track

Marco RomitoChoosing the right track

Educational decisions and inequalities within the Italian educational system Marco Romito Introduction According to recent data from Eurostat (2016), Italy ranks second-to-last in the European Union for its share of persons who have completed tertiary education. In Italy, the percentage of those aged 30 to 34 with a tertiary education degree is 26.2 percent, against a European mean of almost 40 percent. While the country has achieved its Italian Headline Target Europe 2020, this low level of educational attainment is obviously problematic. Within the context of increasingly unstable and competitive knowledge capitalism, the capability to mobilise highly skilled human capital is key to protecting citizens against social exclusion (Sassen, 2014). Moreover, low educational attainment persists, particularly among adults whose parents have lower levels of education. The OECD has pointed out that among non-students aged 25 to 44 whose parents have below upper secondary education, 54 percent do not attain upper secondary education themselves. This is the highest proportion among all countries participating in the OECD Survey for Adult Skills (PIAAC), except Turkey. Eurostat has pointed out that Italy has one of the highest rates of early school leavers in Europe (although progress has been made in recent years) and that issues related to social inequalities are also crucial in this regard (Eurostat, 2016). As other studies have shown, students from working-class families and those of foreign origin are particularly likely to leave post-compulsory education before obtaining a qualification (Aina et al., 2015). These data call into question how the Italian educational system produces and reproduces social inequalities and, as a corollary, a mass of unqualified or poorly qualified people who are thereby at risk of encountering serious obstacles to acquiring full citizenship within the contemporary knowledge society. In particular, these data draw attention to the functioning of the Italian tracking system that research has long identified as a key booster of the reproduction of educational inequalities. The Italian educational system is characterised by strong track differentiation as students move from lower to upper secondary school. Aged about 13, Italian students choose to continue their secondary education via various publically financed secondary educational programmes: the academically oriented liceo track, the technically oriented Istituto Tecnico track, and a vocational training

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track via the Istituti Professionali and Formazione Professionale.1 As track allocation affects both the probability of early school leaving and of accessing and completing higher education, research has long examined this educational transition as a key point at which to study the processes leading to the reproduction of social inequality in education (Ballarino & Schadee, 2010; Triventi & Trivellato, 2009). Although access to university is formally open to every student holding any secondary school Diploma, in the 2015/2016 academic year, eight out of ten matriculates had a liceo education (Miur, 2016). Thus, access to a generalist and academically oriented programme is commonly key to obtaining higher educational credentials within an increasingly competitive field. It is at the crucial branching point of track differentiation that strategies of social closure and processes aiming to protect or gain educational (and social) privilege emerge as particularly meaningful. Research has shown that social background – and particularly parental education – continue to influence upper secondary track allocation, and indeed this influence is (slightly) increasing (Guetto & Vergolini, 2017). This, on the one hand, supports the idea that the expansion of Italian upper secondary education has led, as in other countries, to increasingly relevant patterns of internal social differentiation (Lucas, 1999). On the other hand, this helps explain why inequalities in higher education have remained stable through time despite an open-gate policy that have granted the access to university to all students having completed five years of upper secondary education regardless of the type of track chosen, their school results, and generally without conditioning the admission to selective procedures (Ballarino & Panichella, 2016). The channelling of underprivileged students into devalued educational tracks is widely debated within the sociological literature which points out the role played by biased school filtering processes and mechanisms of selfexclusion (Duru-Bellat et al., 2008; Gamoran & Mare, 1989). In Italy, the freechoice principle regulating the transition from lower to upper secondary school, the absence of school-based admission procedures, and the lack of direct costs associated with the choice of more academically oriented tracks,2 have mainly driven researchers to focus on issues of self-exclusion. The processes by which educational ambition is constructed, as well as the role played by teachers and guidance processes in the choices made, have rarely been explored (Bonizzoni et al., 2016; Romito, 2014, 2017). Based on ethnographic research carried out in the city of Milan, this chapter presents the results of a study that attempted to follow through 18 months the educational decision making of a sample of 30 lower secondary school students. I focus on two dimensions that can be considered particularly relevant to the reproduction of social inequalities in Italy through the choice of upper secondary programmes. First, I focus on the role of “taken-for-granted” assumptions in shaping students’ aspirations and their embeddedness within familial biographies (see Reay’s chapter in this book for an excellent theoretical reflection on how “choices” are crucially embedded into different social classes’ practical sense). Second, I point out that aspirations and attempts to move “beyond the

5 years Age 6–11

Primary Education

3 years Age 11–14

Lower Secondary

Figure 7.1 Schematic presentation of the Italian education system

6 years non-compulsory (0–3 / 3–6)

Child Education

Training courses (3 + 1 + 1 years)

Vocational track (5 years)

Technical track (5 years)

Academic track (5 years)

Upper Secondary

Higher technical education (1 or 2 years)

University (3 + 2)

Tertiary Education

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familiar” – to embark on an upwardly mobile trajectory through an academically oriented track – was found to be far from marginal among working-class and immigrant families. I show the peculiarity of teachers’ guidance roles in this context and the logics behind their socially biased recommendations. In particular, I show how teachers “cool down” the educational ambitions of underprivileged families and are key agents contributing to unequal track choices within the Italian context.

A case study on secondary effects3 Research has long shown that inequality of educational trajectories results from the cumulative effect of two mechanisms. On the one hand, social origin conditions school or academic results; on the other, it weighs on students’ orientation when they face educational branching points. Using this analytical distinction, defined by Raymond Boudon as the “primary” and “secondary” effects of social stratification (Boudon, 1973), research has shown that transition points are crucial and distinct sites of social selectivity (Bourdieu & Passeron, 1970; Jackson, 2013). The Italian educational system constitutes a particularly meaningful case in which to study secondary effects, for two main reasons. First, studies analysing the choice of upper secondary educational programs at the end of grade 9 estimate that secondary effect explain between 50 and 70 percent of the differences between social groups in educational transitions (Contini & Scagni, 2013), the higher share among European countries (Jackson, 2013). Second, track sorting is mostly driven by familial educational preferences, as the transition from lower to upper secondary education is regulated by the principle of free choice.4 In order to explain persistent patterns of inequalities in upper secondary school choices, Italian sociological research has mainly used quantitative data and been inspired by rational action theory (Breen & Goldthorpe, 1997). Studies have emphasised that choices are the outcome of rational deliberation by families coping with differing cost–benefit structures based on their social class (Guetto & Vergolini, 2017; Olagnero & Cavaletto, 2011; Panichella & Triventi, 2014). Other researchers, relying on qualitative data, have focused on students’ social networks and on their specific cultural milieus. These studies have stressed the embeddedness of educational preferences within students’ homeworlds and how educational decisions are strongly conditioned by patterns of residential segregation and peer-group pressures (Carrera et al., 2012; Eve, 2010; Ricucci, 2010; Romito, 2012). Less emphasis has been given to choices as an arena of social class competition (Ball, 2003) and to the role played by emotions and taken-for-granted assumptions on educational preferences (Archer & Hutchings, 2000; Ball et al., 2002). Within the Italian sociology of education there is indeed a lack of discussion on how social reproduction can take place routinely and unplanned because of the operation of the habitus, a “practical sense” generated by the interiorisation of the social structure (Bourdieu, 1977). As Bourdieu has highlighted, the

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perpetuation of inequalities in educational choices is often driven by a common sense grid of perception and self-classification that defines what is and what is not “for the people like us” (Bourdieu, 1990: 64). By using a Bourdieusian toolbox and focusing on the processual dimension of choice (Cicourel & Kitsuse, 1963),5 the aim of this contribution is to show that the adherence of educational preference to social location is not automatic, nor is it unavoidable. The ethnographic field research I will briefly synthesise in the following pages allows us to understand how, despite the absence of formalised school-based filtering mechanisms, attributing secondary effects to selfexclusion alone can be deceptive. Teachers’ guidance practices constitute a key juncture point that allows families’ self-perceptions to match with the structure of the educational field and its ordering criteria.

Research design The data analysed in this chapter were gathered through ethnographic research conducted between March 2012 and June 2013 at two lower secondary school complexes in a major Italian urban context (Milan). These schools were chosen on the basis of their capacity to reflect (albeit partially) relatively common lower secondary school social environments within urban contexts in the north of Italy.6 One school is situated within a heterogeneous, predominantly middle-class context. The other is located near a public estate complex and serves mostly a working-class and immigrant-origin population. I was admitted to these schools to carry out a research project approved by school managers, granting me the possibility to observe classroom activities, teaching staff meetings, and guidance practices and to interview teachers, students and parents. During the research process, I particularly focused my attention on two classes, one in each school. The choice of these classes has been mainly due to teaching staff availability to allow my presence during the school activities. Nonetheless, these classes were not peculiar in any sense within each of the schools where I carried out my fieldwork with regard to the social composition of their students and to the main characteristics of the teaching staff in terms of gender, age, and seniority. I carried out eight months of participant observation of teaching activities in these classrooms, including focused observation of guidance practices, and conducted interviews with a sample of 30 students and their families, identified on the basis of the principle of theoretical saturation (Glaser & Strauss, 1968).7 Through observations and interviews, my aim was to follow these students (and their parents) from the middle of seventh grade (March 2012) to the end of eighth grade (June 2013), when they had to formalise their upper secondary school choices. Interviews, teaching staff meetings, and a number of teaching and guidance classroom activities were recorded, transcribed, and subjected to conversational analysis (Hutchby & Wooffitt, 2008). In this chapter, I will consider a very limited amount of the empirical material gathered through this research. In particular, I will not provide an in-depth

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analysis of guidance activities (Romito, 2017), nor will I discuss the role played by issues related to the social composition of schools and their institutional habitus on educational choices (Tarabini et al., 2016).8 Moreover, I will not point out the specificities surrounding the choice processes followed by students of foreign origin, which I have explored elsewhere (Bonizzoni et al., 2016; Romito, 2016). In what follows, I will mainly use interview excerpts to exemplify some of the main processes that the fieldwork enabled me to identify as particularly crucial in conditioning upper secondary educational choices. I will attempt to provide a theoretically informed examination of these processes based on a Bourdieusian analytical framework that I will sketch out in the following pages.

Know your place Within the Italian context, moving from lower to upper secondary school means having to navigate an educational system that has remained relatively unaltered in its main characteristics for decades. Although the system was reformed during the 1960s, the neat demarcation between academic, technical, and vocational tracks – and the structural exclusion of the working classes from the most academic-oriented educational programme – goes back at least to the Riforma Gentile (1923) instituted under the Fascist regime. In this regard, it is relatively unsurprising that families encountered during the fieldwork exerted their intentionality within relatively tight pre-reflexive boundaries shaped and conditioned by their social location. On the one hand, the stability of the structure of upper secondary school enables the educational experiences of students’ parents and relatives to operate as a frame of reference. On the other hand, social class differences in archives of (educational) experiences (Gale & Parker, 2015) result in differences in parents’ capacity to navigate the educational market and in their aspirations for their children. Chapter 3 in this book, written by Gale and Parker, is specifically oriented to delve into the theoretical analysis of both transitions and aspirations as navigational capacities based on archives of experience. In this sense, the present chapter is intended to empirically develop the theoretical proposal of Gale and Parker. PARENT1 (MIDDLE CLASS): 

I am trying to get some additional information about schools and so forth . . . but there has never been an issue about the type of track to choose. I have been educated in a liceo, most of the people I know, they all have been educated in a liceo. For me, upper secondary education is liceo. Honestly, I don’t know nothing about technical school, or vocational . . . I have never even thought to get information about it. PARENT2 (WORKING CLASS):  I wanted to help my daughter as much as I could to help her making a good choice, for her future. So, I go with her to all the open days at the catering institute in the area, to allow her to look and have an idea. INTERVIEWER: Are you going as well to have a look to other type of schools such as technical or licei?

116  Marco Romito P2 (WC): 

No . . . I mean it never actually came out as an option . . . technical . . . I don’t know . . . You know what? – about vocational . . . I already know where to go, cause I did this type of school myself, and I have also other friends that have experience with the catering institute, so they tell me “try to go there”, “that school is a good one” . . . so I have already a direction, see what I mean?

These interview excerpts have been chosen as exemplifying how, in many instances, educational choices may emerge as a taken-for-granted passage of a “normal biography” (Du Bois-Reymond, 1998). Reflexivity, rational reasoning, and evaluation of different options, is performed only within the margins of a socially constructed landscape of possibilities (Albrow, 1997). Here the concept of habitus can be used to account for the “internal matrix of disposition, shaping how an individual understands and engages with the social world [and that] demarcate[s] the extent of choices available to any one individual” (Reay, 2004: 435). As other research has shown, studying the processes of educational choices means to account for how the internalisation of social structures predisposed individuals to position themselves within the educational field on the basis of what they feel as appropriate for “people like us” (Archer et al., 2014, 2007; Reay, 1998a). However, choices as a practical expression of agents’ habitus, as non-decisions (Ball et al., 2002: 54), only partially describe the mechanisms involved in many of the decision-making processes I have followed in depth during my fieldwork. I refer in particular to processes undertaken by many working-class and immigrant families. Indeed, these families appeared more capable than I had expected of gaining access to a landscape of possibilities beyond their familiar contexts. Two main processes may account for this phenomenon.The first is related to the comprehensiveness of the Italian lower secondary school system, together with the prohibition of ability grouping, which may contribute to raising the ambitions of working-class students via the peer group effects of relatively socially heterogeneous classrooms.9 The second pertains to the macrotransformations involving the city of Milan and its region in recent decades. Similarly to other countries and territories, processes of outsourcing and polarisation of occupational structures has made traditional working-class educational trajectories vulnerable to economic uncertainty, precariousness and instability (McDowell, 2003). In this context, vocational and technical education can be perceived as a particularly unappealing route to gaining the work skills and qualifications for a job market that lacks openings in this area or only offers access to very low-paid and unstable jobs (Beach & Sernhede, 2011). Although certain occupational fields, such as restaurant work, catering, and the fashion industry, are relatively lively within the city of Milan, many of the workingclass parents I interviewed expressed worries about allowing their children to be channelled into educational trajectories that would make it more difficult for them to access higher education. Therefore, while traditional working-class

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educational trajectories could not be taken as unproblematic passages through a “normal biography”, access to a relatively heterogeneous social network, together with the possibilities opened up by the free choice regime, encouraged those occupying a dominated position within the social space to bet on an academic track as a strategy of intergenerational social mobility or, more pragmatically, as an attempt to cope with the lack of decent working opportunities available within the lower segment of the labour market.

Cooling-out ambitions10 TEACHER 1:  The

problem that we have is to make them understand that they need to be realistic.We cannot encourage just everyone to go to a liceo. I am sorry about it, but we do not have to give them illusions.

Positioned at the juncture between a comprehensive and a stratified educational level, lower secondary school teachers are called on to play a crucial and difficult guidance role. While their everyday work with their students is based on the assumption that grouping and streaming practices hinder the equalisation of educational opportunities, the educational system asks them to operate, particularly through the provision of teachers’ recommendations,11 a rigid classification that fixes and anticipates students’ educational chances. How do teachers cope with this task? What rationales and logics support them in this operation? Fieldwork revealed that students’ school results account only partially for the type of advice students receive. School results predicted teachers’ recommendations only for a relative minority of particularly low- or high-performing students. For the majority of students obtaining intermediate results, teachers’ recommendations responded to a secondary logic.12 TEACHER 4:  It

is hard to tell, but if you know a student for a while, you can perceive his [sic!] potential. I can have two students getting the same grades in my subject, but I know they are not the same type of student. INTERVIEWER: How? TEACHER 4:  Intuition, we try to look at their inner talents . . . at their attitudes . . . which is something difficult . . . difficult to tell for example when parents ask us why you recommend this, why you recommend that. . . . As this excerpt shows, the matching operation teachers employ often relies on subtle and intuitive criteria of classification that they find difficult to make explicit but that, nonetheless, allow them to distinguish between “bright”, “interesting”, and “smart” students on the one hand and the “ordinary” ones on the other (cf. Bourdieu, 1989).This operation is based on a rhetoric of the “gift” through which students are defined by their “inner potential”. The following conversation, registered during a teaching staff meeting, illustrates how teachers’ guidance advice relies on how students are classified beyond their school results and that distinguishing a liceo-type of student relies on the capacity to display

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a vocabulary, a language hexis and certain cultural traits that are irremediably conditioned by their upbringing. TEACHER 6: Riccardo

(his parents have both completed higher education), I really don’t understand him. I have the feeling the he could really be a little genius. You can see it from the words he uses that are difficult for children of his age! Or from the way he behaves as he participates in the classroom discussion. . . . T9:  He has worked very badly with me. T6:  If I’d base it on the work he has done with me I would not hesitate to recommend him for a vocational programme. T9:  Surely he has the potential. T6:  He is the type of student that maybe could find in liceo that challenging situation where he will flourish, academically speaking. T9:  He can do a liceo, and I think not badly. T6:  Surely. I choose this conversation excerpt because it briefly exemplifies a key aspect of the evaluation processes I observed on which teachers’ recommendations are based. Teachers’ evaluations of their students, and their agreement on it,13 is very often based on a shared practical sense and on certain unspoken assumptions that make them “have a feeling” to correctly match students and secondary educational programmes. Teachers share a professional (and class) habitus fabricated through long and successful socialisation within the structure of the school field and its ordering criteria (cf. Bourdieu, 1989). It is a habitus that allows them to make distinctions and predictions based on the interiorisation of the regularities (selective criteria, structure of probabilities) defining the Italian upper secondary school system. In Bourdieu’s terms, when classificatory schemes are sedimented into dispositions, a complicity between habitus and field is developed, allowing agents’ practices to adjust to (and reproduce) the structure of the field (Bourdieu, 1977: 72). Teachers conflate what they know to be a “typical” successful liceo student (traditionally marked by specific cultural traits and habitus determined by social upbringing) with the “ideal” liceo student (the one it is believed will be at ease in that educational trajectory). In this way, teachers become, often unwittingly and as a result of their specific “practical sense”, guardians of a school order structured to exclude workingclass students from access to the most rewarding educational trajectories. TEACHER 11:  A student

grown up in a certain family, where parents spoke in a certain manner, where values are . . . of a certain type – you understand that his structure is of a certain type . . . and we [teachers] know that he wouldn’t cope with . . . I don’t know . . . philosophical studies, literature and all the subjects that are taught in a liceo.This is a world he doesn’t belong in.

As this excerpt points out, teachers’ recommendations are bounded to a “realistic” anticipation of students’ probabilities of success and to the value accorded

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to class-based cultural traits within the upper secondary school field. Inherited cultural capital – incorporated and made visible by how students behave, talk, and interact within the classroom environment (Bourdieu, 1986) – constitute in this regard unspoken criteria of distinction that contribute to making guidance practices socially biased. While teachers acknowledge the risks of “unrealistic aspirations” on students’ future educational trajectories, their practical sense leads them to operate a cooling-down function that relies on judgement based on a global evaluation of the cultural capital students have at their disposal. However, within a free-choice regime, further analysis is needed to cast light on if and how teachers’ recommendations allow them to concretely filter families’ track choices and, consequently, if and how they can be considered as relevant to the monopolisation of secondary academic tracks by the middle and upper classes. Therefore, I now turn to families’ reactions to teachers’ anticipations of their children’s educational futures.

Teachers’ views in the decision-making process Teachers’ capacity to prevent students from making “bad choices” depends on their persuasive abilities, on a symbolic work allowing their categories of judgement to be interiorised as an instrument of students’ own self-matching. In the previous section I pointed out one of the logics pertaining to teachers’ “practical sense” that may help explain why they tend to position working-class students in vocational and technical tracks more often than middle-class students, even when school results are similar. Here I want to point out that teachers’ attempts to cool down academic track aspirations are generally effective only among those families lacking the cultural and symbolic power necessary to refuse teachers’ categorisations. In what follows, I will discuss excerpts from conversations and interviews regarding two students – Martin, an under-performing middle-class student, and Anna, an average-performing working-class girl – chosen because of their capacity to illustrate the processes and operations through which cultural capital plays out within the field of choice and the benefits it gives. The peculiarity of cultural capital as an instrument for social closure is that it needs to be transmitted from one generation to the other through a process of incorporation. However, as Martin’s case shows, specific contingencies can hinder children from acquiring the disposition needed to respond adequately to school requirements. Although Martin came from a middle-class background – his father is a small entrepreneur, his mother a manager in a public institution – based on his poor school results, his teachers were convinced that he was not suited for an academically oriented secondary education and recommended he enter technical school in geometry. The following interview excerpt illustrates how Martin’s mother reacted to teachers’ advice and highlights the specific resources pertaining to the cultural and symbolic domain needed to refuse it. MARTIN’S MOTHER:  I tell

you what I said to Michael when we received the teachers’ recommendations: never mind! Teachers don’t know you.

120  Marco Romito INTERVIEWER:  But they know how he performs at school. . . MARTIN’S MOTHER:  Listen, he wants to go to a liceo, art programme, because

he wants to be a car designer . . . to me that vocation is enough, he has to follow his dreams. His teachers don’t know his dreams. His school results? They have nothing to do with this choice. He is an adolescent, he is in evolution! INTERVIEWER:  Don’t you think he may have difficulties in a liceo? MARTIN’S MOTHER: Nobody knows, this is what teachers don’t understand. I give you two examples. I was a very good student at his age . . . so that everybody agreed I had to go to a liceo, classics programme, because I was good in humanities subjects. Well . . . I have been held back for two years! I changed to a scientific programme and I found my own way after that. Second example, my brother, good student, did a scientific lyceum from the beginning . . . went to university, did engineering at the university . . . until he got tired and gave up. I still remember the day he told me “I am changing, I am enrolling in philosophy!” . . . People change! The decision-making process can be described as a symbolic field in which agents interact and struggle to frame students’ identities so that a choice can be made among the discrete educational options available. Choices can be described as intersubjective constructions made up within a field of symbolic interactions (Cicourel & Kitsuse, 1963) inhabited by agents endowed with heterogeneous cultural and symbolic resources (Bourdieu, 1991). These resources condition agents’ capacity to impose their own judgement criteria and determine teachers’ capacity to make things happen according to their intention (Austin, 1962). In this regard, Martin’s mother’s capacity to refuse teachers’ attempts to limit her son’s horizons of possibility relied on two key resources; two ways through which cultural capital can be put to work at the micro-social interaction level (Lareau & Weininger, 2003). First, parents’ own educational experiences and the firsthand information provided by their networks constitute valuable resources to create a counternarrative to the one produced by teachers (Slack et al., 2014). Having experienced long educational trajectories – often lacking that linearity that teachers’ recommendations assume – allows them to refuse any attempt to fix their children’s educational potential to previous school results. On the other hand, having experienced successful educational trajectories enables these parents to be reassured by the perception that, if needed, they will have the capacity to support their children.14 A second way through which cultural capital operates during the choice process relies on parents’ confidence in assuming the role of educational experts (Reay, 1998b). As research on family–school relationships has shown, this role constitutes a key asset shaping parent–teacher encounters, negotiations, and accommodations benefiting children’s progress and success in the schooling process (Lareau, 2003). In the choice context, cultural capital allows parents to feel entitled to propose a different reading of their children’s capacities and a different framing of how the decision-making process should be handled.

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In this regard, lack of cultural capital is made evident when, as in the case of Anna that follows, parents assume a subordinate position vis-à-vis teachers’ cate­ gorisations. In this case, teachers can change both parents’ and children’s views enacting a form of symbolic power that fixes working-class students’ school identities and produces choices that accord with teachers’ criteria of judgments and classifications.15 ANNA’S MOTHER:  Everything

is changed now . . . at the start, Anna had the idea of going to a technical programme. She was taking pretty good marks recently so we [parents] were also convinced about it . . . But now, listening to teachers . . . I am in trouble . . . because they say she should go to a vocational school. INTERVIEWER: Why in trouble? Teachers’ recommendations are not binding. . . ANNA’S MOTHER:  I know but . . . I also went there to talk with the teachers but if they say she has to take a vocational . . . it is because they think a technical school is too difficult . . . like she won’t cope with it . . . I want the best for my daughter, I don’t want to make her suffer if she does something she is not suited for. INTERVIEWER:  Why should she suffer? You said she is growing up, getting better marks at school. ANNA’S MOTHER:  I know . . . that’s my perception but . . . I don’t know . . . I did vocational and I dropped out, see what I mean? I think teachers know these things better . . . it hurts. . . . It hurts when you have an idea . . . you start seeing things a bit differently . . . but you realise you are wrong. INTERVIEWER:  Have you changed your mind? ANNA (INTERVIEWED AT THE END OF THE SCHOOL YEAR): Yes. INTERVIEWER:  Some months ago, you told me you wanted to go for a technical

programme, what makes you change your mind? ANNA:  I realised that maybe a technical programme requires me to study too much. INTERVIEWER:  How you realise it? ANNA: Talking with teachers . . . I don’t like it (that school) any more. INTERVIEWER: What your mother says about it? ANNA:  (laughing) She prefers a technical school. But just because she did not

have the opportunity to study, when she was young, she wants me to do it. INTERVIEWER:  Maybe she knows you, she knows you can do it. ANNA: Yes, she knows me but . . . she do not know . . . she just say she would like

that . . . she don’t know much about how different schools are. I think my teachers know me better . . . in terms of school stuff, if a school is difficult, how I work at school, from the school point of view I mean. The first reported conversation exemplifies the reaction to teachers’ coolingdown attempts among parents who perceive themselves as lacking the right knowledge to produce a valuable and appropriate evaluation of their children’s educational chances. Contrary to Martin’s case, Anna’s educational aspirations

122  Marco Romito

are vulnerable to teachers’ symbolic aggression. Here, teachers’ recommendations are not ignored or refused – they are considered as a frame of references to imagine future educational trajectories. Aiming to move beyond the familiar social space and lacking firsthand information to reassure them, working-class parents’ attempts to resist teachers’ cooling-down recommendations are generally easily challenged. On the one hand, teachers provide an expert view on their children’s educational value that is accepted as capable of anticipating their realistic educational (and social) destiny. On the other hand, teachers’ judgments provoke, as the second conversation vividly illustrates, a destabilising effect on how children themselves perceive the value of their parents’ views of the educational field. Non-verbal communication is key in this respect. Anna laughs at her mother attempt to convince her that a technical school is to be preferred to a vocational one and devalue her point of view (vis-à-vis her teachers’ one) while recognising that her mother’s biography inhibits her capacity to be a reliable point of references in the choosing process.

Concluding remarks Based on data gathered through an ethnographic research, this chapter provides an analysis of educational decisions within the Italian tracked educational system. As past research has long underlined, track choices as students move from lower to upper secondary school constitute a key and relatively distinct site of social selectivity.Within a free-choice regime, such as the Italian one, students’ social backgrounds weigh considerably on the type of educational programme chosen, even controlling for previous school performance. In this regard, the Italian educational system constitutes an interesting case for the study of the “secondary effects” of social stratification on educational trajectories. Past research has underlined the role played by background factors on educational preferences, leaving unexplored the real process of choice and the role of other mediating mechanisms and agents on the shaping of educational aspirations. In this chapter, I have shown that an ethnographic research design allows a description of how choices emerge from a field of symbolic interaction inhabited by agents endowed with a different symbolic power. In particular, fieldwork data has highlighted the key role of teachers’ guidance practices on the construction of track choices for working-class and immigrant families. Three aspects emerging from the fieldwork are particularly notable. First: although rarely explored by the Italian sociological literature, choices very often appear as the outcome of a “practical sense” framing agents’ intentionality within a specific landscape of possibilities that are determined by their social locations. Choices are neither irrational nor the outcome of an entirely rational deliberation (Hatcher, 1998). They emerge from a field of social interactions and of (historical) structural inclusion/exclusion that bounds agents’ cognitive schema and, consequently, the feasible options to consider and evaluate. Second: although the Italian educational system has remained relatively stable

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in its structure and inequalities across generations, the educational preferences of the families occupying a dominated position in the social space cannot be entirely interpreted as a result of automatic internalisation and adjustment to the rules of the game. On the contrary, I have pointed out that micro-level social interactions (pertaining to the relatively socially mixed reality of the Italian comprehensive lower secondary school) and macro-level transformations (the growing vulnerability of traditional working-class trajectories in a postindustrial context) can contribute to encouraging the working classes to raise their educational ambitions. Third: confronting increasing interest in generalist, academically oriented tracks, lower secondary school teachers interpret their guidance role in conservative terms. They are worried about the possible failure of those students who lack the cultural attitudes, dispositions, and language hexis that are believed to lead to success within academically oriented educational programmes. Consequently, teachers interpret their guidance role as aimed at warning against “unrealistic” aspirations and to solicit adaptive choices that generally exclude the possibility of challenging the structure of the educational order.

Notes 1 Most upper secondary school tracks last five years and allow students to obtain a Diploma granting access to further education. The Formazione Professionale lasts three years but is not a dead end track: students obtain a three-year vocational qualification and may supplement it with two more years of secondary education in order to obtain a Diploma. 2 The relevance of private school institutions is marginal within the Italian context. The upper secondary school system is publically funded, enrolment fees are more or less non-existent, and basic educational materials, such as books and writing materials, may be granted based on a means test. 3 Boone et al also develop an extensive theoretical and empirical analysis on the secondary effects of social class in their chapter depicted to educational transitions in Flanders (see Chapter 4 in this book). 4 The Italian free-choice regime was introduced as part of a massive process of reform during the 1960s and 1970s, which delayed the age at which tracking began from 11 to 14 years, eliminated streaming or ability-grouping practices in both primary and lower secondary school, and abolished admission examinations at the passage to upper secondary school (Barbagli, 1974). 5 An emphasis on the processual dimension of choice is clearly outlined by Cicourel and Kitsuse’s (1963) ethnographic exploration of post-secondary educational choices in US. These authors show how educational decisions are embedded in intersubjective relationship developing through time and among plurality of social actors (teachers, counsellors, students, parents, etc.) endowed with different views, schema of perceptions, and material and symbolic resources. 6 In particular, a certain heterogeneity of students’ social class background, which is due to the history and the structure of Italian urban areas (Magatti & De Benedetti, 2006; Tammaru et al., 2015), and the presence of students of immigrant origin. 7 Students have been selected mainly on the basis of their class and ethnic background, school profiles (high performing/low performing), and gender. The aim of the sampling process has been to reach a significant heterogeneity of the sample, allowing comparisons among cases, but also a significant homogeneity of sub-groups allowing more robust interpretation.

124  Marco Romito 8 For a quantitative study pointing out the relevance of institutional habitus on the production of patterns of educational inequalities within the Italian context, see Pitzalis (2012). 9 A qualitative analysis of students’ social networks, which I cannot develop further here, has highlighted their social heterogeneity and shown that underprivileged students expressing academic track aspirations generally benefited from connections through friendships with students from higher classes. 10 See also Chapter 6 in this book (Tarabini et al) for an analysis on the crucial role played by teachers in “normalising” and “fostering” particular choices and transitions among their students according to their social class. 11 Teachers’ recommendations were introduced in 1964 as a consequence of the 1962 reform instituting comprehensive lower secondary schools and the abolition of admissions examinations for entry to upper secondary school. The law defined teachers’ recommendation as a non-binding evaluation of the most appropriate upper secondary educational programme for students. 12 I base this observation on the data I could collect particularly within the two classrooms in which I carried out participant observation and in which I sampled the students to follow during the decision-making process. Similar results have been found in other countries (André, 2012; Boone & Van Houtte, 2013; Oakes & Guiton, 1995). In Italy there is only two quantitative study treating this issue (Argentin et al., 2017; Checchi, 2010), and it confirms the observations gathered during my qualitative case study. 13 It was, to a certain extent, surprising how teachers generally agreed on distinctions operating beyond school performance. As one of the interviewed teachers argued, “We can discuss issues related to sub-track options . . . but most of the cases we don’t even have to talk about it”. 14 During an interview, Martin made explicit his doubts about his capacity to cope with the demands of an academically oriented school but also his perception of a safety net that could allow him to overcome possible difficulties: “I know that in some subject I am not very . . . fast . . . so I know I will need maybe someone that explain me thing two times, or maybe three (laughing). My mother can help me with that . . . but she also said that we can also ask someone just also once a week coming at home to help me out.” 15 See also Chapters 4 (Boone et al) and 10 (Kosunen et al) to see how families mobilize their different capitals in order to reproduce their privileges and secure successful transitions for their children as well as access to legitimated educational routes.

References Aina, C., Casalone, G., and Ghinetti, P. (2015). Family Origin and Early School Leaving in Italy: The Long-Term Effects of Internal Migration (pp. 237–259). Berlin Heidelberg: Springer. Albrow, M. (1997). Travelling beyond local cultures: Socioscapes in a global city, in: J. Eade (ed) Living the Global City: Globalization as a Local Process. London: Routledge. André, G. (2012). L’orientation scolaire. Héritage sociaux et jugements professoraux. Paris: Presses Universitaires de France. Archer, L., DeWitt, J., and Wong, B. (2014). Spheres of influence:What shapes young people’s aspirations at age 12/13 and what are the implications for education policy? Journal of Education Policy, 29(1), 58–85. Archer, L., Hollingworth, S., and Halsall, A. (2007).‘University’s not for Me – I’m a Nike person’: Urban, working-class young people’s negotiations of ‘Style’, identity and educational engagement. Sociology, 41(2), 219–237. Archer, L., and Hutchings, M. (2000). ‘Bettering Yourself ’? Discourses of risk, cost and benefit in ethnically diverse, young working-class non-participants’ constructions of higher education. British Journal of Sociology of Education, 21(4), 555–574.

Choosing the right track 125 Argentin, G., Barbieri, G. and Barone, C. (2017). Origini sociali, consiglio orientativo e scelta del liceo: un’analisi sui dati dell’Anagrafe Studenti. Politiche Sociali 4(1): 53–73. Austin, J. L. (1962). How to Do Things with Words. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Ball, S. (2003). Class Strategies and the Education Market: The Middle Class and Social Advantage. London: Routledge. Ball, S., Davies, J., David, M., and Reay, D. (2002). ‘Classification’ and ‘Judgement’: Social class and the ‘cognitive structures’ of choice of higher education. British Journal of Sociology of Education, 23(1), 51–72. Ballarino, G., and Panichella, N. (2016). Social stratification, secondary school tracking and university enrolment in Italy. Contemporary Social Science, 1–14. Ballarino, G., and Schadee, H. (2010). Allocation and distribution: A discussion of the educational transition model, with reference to the Italian case. Research in Social Stratification and Mobility, 28(1), 45–58. Barbagli, M. (1974). Disoccupazione intellettuale e sistema scolastico in Italia. Bologna: Il Mulino. Beach, D., and Sernhede, O. (2011). From learning to labour to learning for marginality: School segregation and marginalization in Swedish suburbs. British Journal of Sociology of Education, 32(2), 257–274. Bonizzoni, P., Romito, M., and Cavallo, C. (2016). Teachers’ guidance, family participation and track choice: The educational disadvantage of immigrant students in Italy. British Journal of Sociology of Education, 37(5), 702–720. Boone, S., and Van Houtte, M. (2013). Why are teacher recommendations at the transition from primary to secondary education socially biased? A mixed-methods research. British Journal of Sociology of Education, 34(1), 20–38. Boudon, R. (1973). L’inégalité des chances. Paris: Armand Colin. Bourdieu, P. (1977). Outline of a Theory of Practice. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bourdieu, P. (1986). The forms of capital, in: J. Richardson (ed.) Handbook of Theory and Research for the Sociology of Education (pp. 241–258). New York: Greenwood. Bourdieu, P. (1989). La noblesse d’état: grande école et esprit de corps. Paris: Minuit. Bourdieu, P. (1990). In Other Words: Essays Towards a Reflexive Sociology. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Bourdieu, P. (1991). Language and Symbolic Power: Constellations (Vol. 13). Cambridge: Polity Press. Bourdieu, P., and Passeron, J. C. (1970). La reproduction. Eléments pour une théorie du système d’enseignement. Paris: Edition de Minuit. Breen, R., and Goldthorpe, J. H. (1997). Explaining educational differential. Rationality and Society, 9(3), 275–305. Carrera, L., Palmisano, L., Petrosino, D., Salvati, A., Schingaro, N., and Simonetti, F. (2012). Destini segnati? Segregazione territoriale, scelte e percorsi scolastici in tre quartieri di Bari. Bari: Progedit. Checchi, D. (2010). Il passaggio dalla scuola media alla scuola superiore. RicercAzione, 2, 215–235. Cicourel, A. V., and Kitsuse, J. I. (1963). The Educational Decision-Makers. New York: BobbsMerrill Company. Contini, D., and Scagni, A. (2013). Social Origin Inequaities in Educational Career in Italy: Performance or Decision Effects? (pp. 149–184). Stanford: Stanford University Press. Du Bois-Reymond, M. (1998). ‘I Don’t Want to Commit Myself Yet’: Young people’s life concepts. Journal of Youth Studies, 1(1), 63–79. Duru-Bellat, M., Kieffer, A., and Reimer, D. (2008). Patterns of social inequalities in access to higher education in France and Germany. International Journal of Comparative Sociology, 49(4–5), 347–368.

126  Marco Romito Eurostat. (2016). Europe 2020 education indicators in 2016. Eurostat Newsrelease, 71. Eve, M. (2010). Integrating via networks: Foreigners and others. Ethnic and Racial Studies, 33(7), 1231–1248. Gale, T., and Parker, S. (2015). Calculating student aspiration: Bourdieu, spatiality and the politics of recognition. Cambridge Journal of Education, 45(1), 81–96. Gamoran, A., and Mare, R. D. (1989). Secondary school tracking and educational inequality: Compensation, reinforcement, or neutrality? American Journal of Sociology, 94(5), 1146–1183. Glaser, B. G., and Strauss, A. L. (1968). The Discovery of Grounded Theory: Strategies for Qualitative Research. London: Weinfeld and Nicolson. Guetto, R., and Vergolini, L. (2017). Educational expansion without equalization: A reappraisal of the ‘Effectively Maintained Inequality’ hypothesis in children’s choice of the upper secondary track. European Societies, 19(1), 1–27. https://doi.org/10.1080/1461669 6.2016.1236283. Hatcher, R. (1998). Class differentiation in education: Rational choices? British Journal of Sociology of Education, 19(1), 5–24. Hutchby, I., and Wooffitt, R. (2008). Conversational Analysis. (2nd ed.). Cambridge: Polity. Jackson, M. (2013). Determined to Succeed? Performance Versus Choice in Educational Attainment (ed.). Stanford: Stanford University Press. Lareau, A. (2003). Unequal Childhoods: Class, Race, and Family Life. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press. Lareau, A., and Weininger, E. B. (2003). Cultural capital in educational research: A critical assessment. Theory and Society, 32(5), 567–606. Lucas, S. (1999). Tracking Inequality: Stratification and Mobility in American High Schools. New York: Teachers College Press. Magatti, M., and De Benedetti, M. (2006). I nuovi ceti popolari. Chi ha preso il posto della classe operaia? Milano: Feltrinelli. McDowell, L. (2003). Redundant Masculinities: Employment Changes and White Working Class Youth. Oxford; Malden; Carlton: Blackwell. Miur (2016). Gli immatricolati nell’a.a. 2015/2016 il passaggio dalla scuola all’università dei diplomati nel 2015. Roma: Ufficio Statistica e Studi del Ministero dell'Istruzione, Università e Ricerca. Oakes, J., and Guiton, G. (1995). Matchmaking: The dynamics of high school tracking decisions. American Educational Research Journal, 32(1), 3–33. Olagnero, M., and Cavaletto, G. M. (2011). The educational choices of working class adolescents: Opportunities and constraints. Italian Journal of Sociology of Education, 7(1). Panichella, N., and Triventi, M. (2014). Social inequalities in the choice of secondary school. European Societies, 16(5), 666–693. Pitzalis, M. (2012). Effetti di campo. Spazio scolastico e riproduzione delle disuguaglianze. Scuola Democratica, 6, 26–46. Reay, D. (1998a). ‘Always knowing’ and ‘never being sure’: Familial and institutional habituses and higher education choice. Journal of Education Policy, 13(4), 519–529. Reay, D. (1998b). Class Work: Mothers’ Involvement in Their Children’s Primary Schooling. London: UCL Press. Reay, D. (2004). It’s all becoming a habitus: beyond the habitual use of habitus in educational research. British Journal of Sociology of Education, 25(4), 431–434. Ricucci, R. (2010). Foreign adolescents at school: A research in Turin. Italian Journal of Sociology of Education, 2(1), 106–128.

Choosing the right track 127 Romito, M. (2012). Crescere alle Vallette. Una ricerca sulla riproduzione delle disuguaglianze sociali tra i figli degli immigrati meridionali a Torino. Polis, 26(2), 227–254. Romito, M. (2014). L’Orientamento scolastico nella tela delle disuguaglianze? Una ricerca sulla formulazione dei consigli orientativi al termine delle scuole medie. Scuola Democratica. Learning for Democracy, 2. Romito, M. (2016). Una scuola di classe. Orientamento e disugaglianza nelle transizioni scolastiche. Milano: Guerini e Associati. Romito, M. (2017). Governing through guidance: An analysis of educational guidance practices in an Italian lower secondary school. Discourse: Studies in the Cultural Politics of Education, 1–16. doi:10.1080/01596306.2017.1314251. Sassen, S. (2014). Expulsions: Brutality and Complexity in the Global Economy. Cambridge, MA: Cambridge University Press. Slack, K., Mangan, J., Hughes, A., and Davies, P. (2014). ‘Hot’, ‘cold’ and ‘warm’ information and higher education decision-making. British Journal of Sociology of Education, 35(2), 204–223. Tammaru, T., Ham, M. van, Marcińczak, S., and Musterd, S. (2015). Socio-Economic Segregation in European Capital Cities: East Meets West. London; New York: Routledge. Tarabini, A., Curran, M., and Fontdevila, C. (2016). Institutional habitus in context: Implementation, development and impacts in two compulsory secondary schools in Barcelona. British Journal of Sociology of Education, 1–12. doi:10.1080/01425692.2016.1251306. Triventi, M., and Trivellato, P. (2009). Participation, performance and inequality in Italian higher education in the 20th century: Evidence from the Italian Longitudinal Household Survey. Higher Education, 57(6), 681–702.

8 Social class, institutional habitus and high school choices in Turkey Çetin ÇelikHigh school choices in Turkey

Çetin Çelik

Through the systematic ‘choices’, it makes among the places and events and people that might be frequented, the habitus tends to protect itself from crises and critical challenges by providing itself a milieu to which it is as pre-adapted as possible, that is a relatively constant universe of situations tending to reinforce its dispositions by offering the market most favourable to its products. (Bourdieu, 2008b, 61)

Introduction In Turkey, the relationship between educational performance and socioeconomic background is considerably strong. Almost 70 percent of students who are low performing academically come from lower socioeconomic backgrounds (Yıldırım et al., 2013). In other words, the chances of obtaining upward social mobility through education are slim for students from working-class background. While there are various reasons for this strong relationship such as parental income, regional differences, quality of schools and teacher qualifications (Dincer & Kolasin, 2009), the early tracking of students into differently organized and hierarchically ordered high school types at eighth grade through common central tests is the primary factor. This early sorting mechanism at the end of secondary school, when students are 13 years old, results in the increasing effect of family social and economic resources on the educational performance of students. Students from lower social classes are cumulated in less prestigious high school types such as vocational high school and imam hatip high school, whereas students from middle and upper social class background are overwhelmingly represented in prestigious school types such as anatolian science high school or anatolian high schools (Oral & Mcgivney, 2014). As the site of education has been seen as the most potent tool by secular and conservative powers for shaping youth in Turkey, the regulations and arrangements about secondary education have a complicated and confusing history. Presently, there are at least eight different types of high schools; anatolian science high school, social sciences high school, anatolian high school, anatolian technical high school, anatolian vocational high school, anatolian imam hatip high school, industrial vocational high school and private high schools

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(Eğitim Reformu Girişimi, 2017). There are various sub-categories of technical and vocational high schools such as anatolian medical vocational high school and industrial vocational high school. Among them, the most prestigious schools are academically oriented anatolian science high school and anatolian high school. These schools prepare students directly for centrally-organized university entrance exam. General high school also has an academic curriculum and prepares students for the university exam, but it is not as prestigious as anatolian science high school and anatolian high school. Vocational high schools and their various forms prepare students for the mostly blue-collar and intermediate jobs and having low prestige. It should be noted that there is also an inner hierarchy of vocational high school types; for example, medical vocational high school is more prestigious than industrial vocational high school. While the term anatolian, which traditionally symbolizes academically selective high schools, was added to the name of general high school, vocational high school and imam hatip high school with regulation in 2013, the hierarchy of the schools did not change much. The scores and prestige of each school type and each school in each type are determined by demands of students to enter this school each year.The higher the demand, the higher the schools’ base point. While the base scores necessary to enter a school slightly change each year, the hierarchy of school types and even schools themselves are remaining mostly stable, with anatolian science high school is at the top and industrial vocational high school and imam hatip high schools at the bottom.1 The standard central tests that regulate the transition from secondary school to high school have a complicated history in Turkey.This regulation began with Exam for Transition to High School (LGS) in 1997 and then it was replaced by Secondary School Exam (OKS) in 2005, Placement Test (SBS) in 2008, and Transition from the Basic Education to the Secondary Education (TEOG) in 2013 respectively.2 The SBS score was composed of the scores of three central exams that were organized in sixth, seventh and eighth grades. This was criticized, as it was test centred, and replaced by TEOG. TEOG score is now an aggregate of two scores: the yearly average scores of sixth, seventh and eighth grades and the scores from centrally held exams in six main classes in the same grades; they are math, Turkish, science, education of religion and ethics, foreign language and Ataturk’s principles and history of Turkish revolution. Students are expected to make choices for different high schools by looking at their base scores in the previous year. Students fill out the high school selection form by placing the schools at the top they want most, and they are placed into their choices by their scores. If places are available, students may go to high schools the base score of which is lower than the school they qualified to go in the standard central test. The institutional organization of the education system as such has made the scores students get from the standard tests, LGS, OKS and SBS in the past and TEOG in the present, incredibly important, as the high school type students are going to attend shapes their life chances in many ways. The statistical variance analysis of student performances between and within schools, for example,

4 years 6-10 approx.

Vocational Education

Religious Vocational Education 4 years

Technical Education

General Education 4 years 14-18 approx.

General Education 4 years 10-14 approx.

Religious Education + compulsory course 4 years + Arabic + Koran + Life of the prophet Muhammed + Basics Religious Knowledge

Secondary High School

Secondary Middle School

Figure 8.1 Schematic presentation of the Turkish education system

Early childhood education 0-3 / 3-6

Primary School

Vocational School of Higher Education (2 years)

University Education 4/5 Education

Tertiary Education

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clearly shows that 53 percent of low achievement is due to the quality differences between school types in Turkey (Polat, 2009). 50,02 percent of general high school students attend an undergraduate program compared to only 8,99 percent of students from industrial vocational high school (MEB, 2017). As for the labour market, in 2010, 73 percent of industrial vocational high school graduates were unemployed (Aktaşlı et al., 2012). So, the high school types indeed structure and configure future educational and labour market careers, and, thus, life trajectories of students in Turkey. Within this context, the early standard tests at the end of secondary education determine the difference between an adequate existence and a life of poverty and the attendant consequences for health and well-being in the eyes of many parents for their children’s future. As I previously demonstrated (Çelik, 2016), parents from lower, middle and upper socio-economic backgrounds invest in private courses with varying degrees within the limits of their budgets to increase their children’s scores in these tests. This situation puts incredible stress on the students and has led them to depression, illness and occasionally suicide (Birgün, 2016), as most probably they understand these test scores as definitive statements about their identities (Reay & Wiliam, 1999). While research increasingly shows the early tracking at the end of secondary education channels students from different social class backgrounds into different high school types and deepens inequalities, the politicians and policy makers have defended the tracking procedure by arguing that it gives students an equal chance to succeed in the same competition (Avcı & Çakır, 2014). This gravely misleading neo-liberal meritocratic discourse, together with contemporary education policies promoting individualism, privatisation and choice, conceals systematic reproduction of inequalities on the one hand. It generates an ethical framework that sees each student as responsible for his or her success on the other hand.

Background to the study Having this critical role of early tracking in the reproduction of educational inequalities in mind, I was carrying out research on how general high school (GHS) and industrial vocational high school (IVHS) types influence educational achievement of students from working-class backgrounds in Istanbul, Turkey through a project funded by Marie Curie Career Integration Grant between 2012 and 2016 – the Project ID: 304148. The study was designed as a longitudinal qualitative case study. Students in GHS and IVHS types at tenth year were selected and are being followed for a three-year period till they graduated. The study was composed of three waves of data collection made each year, around March, April, May and June. I conducted in-depth interviews with 40 students, 20 females and 20 males, 15 to 18 teachers and five to seven school principals (and administrators) and a few parents in each wave of data collection in the years 2013, 2014 and 2015. The student interviewees were aged from 14 to 17 years old throughout the research. In total, I conducted around

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170 in-depth interviews. I supplemented this data with focus group interviews with students and teachers and ethnographic observations in both school types. I chose these school types because they offer different career pathways, one academic and one vocational, and were relatively reachable by working-class students. The schools were in one of the disadvantaged districts of Istanbul. I decided to collect data mainly from these two schools because they were geographically close to each other and because they were in the neighbourhood where I was born and grew up and partly attended one of them. The interviewees, except some of the teacher interviewees in GHS, were from the working class, in that their parents were low-paid labourers in manufacturing and service sectors or unemployed. I anonymized and disguised all names, places and institutions where necessary, except for the city name. In the text, I placed (f) for a female and (m) for a male to the students’ name in reporting their quotes to make their sex clear for the readers. In this study, I was specifically interested in two things: how students decided to come to different high school types, one “worthy” and one “unworthy”, and, afterwards, how the institutional habitus of these schools were shaping their pro-school identity and educational achievement over time. While students were assumed to be sorted into these different high school types by their SBS scores, I discovered in carrying out the field research, expectations of parents, prior experiences of siblings and recommendations of previous teachers were significant for the respondents’ choices. For students, the decision-making process was emotionally loaded with anxieties, desires and ambivalences, which is hard to comprehend through the lens of neoliberal rhetoric that equalizes success with performance and aspirations (Stahl, 2015). For example, I met a group of students in IVHS who received sufficiently high scores in SBS to attend GHS. The rational choice, which analyzes decision making processes with rational calculation and strategic goals (Reay, 2005), did not explain to me why this group of students did not make the “right” choice. They did not choose GHS, which is more likely to lead them to a university education, and thus “better” life chances but chose a “wrong” option, IVHS, which often leads students to undervalued jobs and unemployment. I started to mentally tussle with the question of what made these students choose symbolically an undervalued option over a “worthy” one and why they denied this potential possibility of upward mobility.

Choices, habitus, field and habitus clivé A great body of literature has focused on different choices and decisions of students from various class and ethnic backgrounds in education and placed them within the complex ecology of personal, social, cultural issues. Many of these studies draw attention to the role of rational decisions, achievement records and previous grades in the students’ strategic decisions and choices in the field of education. This literature often tends to present underachievement and leaving school as a lack of necessary motivation and aspiration of students, as it was

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commonly assumed that educational participation and achievement is naturally desired for everyone (Skeggs, 1997; Stahl, 2015). Within the scope of this literature, some studies have also drawn attention to the role of psychosocial factors and identity rather than conscious decisions on educational participation, choice and achievement to understand the experiences of students from different social class backgrounds (Reay, 2015, 2002; Archer et al., 2007). Reay (1998), for example, captured the role of social, economic and psychological resources in the family and previously attended schools in the choice-making process of students from different social class and ethnic backgrounds for higher education. Archer and Yamashita (2003) have shown that working-class students who left school at the age of 16 view themselves as not good enough for post-compulsory education and set certain limits for themselves as result of a complex interaction of inequalities of race, class and gender on the one hand and institutional processes and educational policies on the other. Reay et al. (2001) examined the experiences of non-traditional applicants to higher education and showed that, unlike more economically privileged students, the choices of these applicants are constrained by travelling costs, having to work and a sense of place.Their research demonstrated that the institutional habitus of high schools in the form of quantity and quality of career advice, curriculum and educational status inscribe themselves on the students’ choices, and the students converge to the types of universities that have some degree of coupling with the institutional habitus of the high schools. These and other studies that place the identity formation and psycho-social resources at the centre of choice making in the realm of education often employ the concept of habitus. It is a particularly useful construct for grasping tense relations between decisions and identity because, on the one hand, it refers to an interplay of the conscious and the unconscious for a behaviour; on the other hand, it also relates to personhood that acts through its bodily incorporation of social relationships and meanings (Taylor, 1999). While habitus represents a critical conceptual tool for understanding the decision-making process, Bourdieu’s interpretations of the term are not uniform. The concept has evolved through his career from stressing the singular unity of class habitus to appropriating more elastic versions of it (Bennett, 2007). He defined habitus as “generative and unifying principle which retranslates the intrinsic and relational characteristics of a position into a unitary lifestyle, that is, a unitary set of choices of persons, goods and practices” (Bourdieu, 1998: 8). The individuals located in neighbouring positions in social space are socialized in and by similar conditions, and these conditions act on their behaviour and attitudes and tastes and choices, that is the structure of their habitus, and then this structure of habitus generates structuring dispositions that form social practice (Bourdieu, 2008b). However, in The Sketch for a Self-Analysis, Bourdieu had a more elastic interpretation of habitus based on his long upward mobility and argued that the difference between his class origin and the present social class instituted a habitus clivé, a sense of being torn by contradiction (Bourdieu, 2008a). As habitus

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is strongly linked to a field, individuals pay psychological costs as they climb the ladder of mobility. Contemporary research has recently started to document how the misalignment between habitus and field or being torn between the competing worlds destabilizes habitus and results in hysteresis (Reay et al., 2005; Ingram, 2009; Thatcher et al., 2015; Friedman, 2016). In this chapter, I, however, want to draw attention through the high school choice experiences of the working-class students to – as we know from statistical regularities – a more often occurring phenomenon: retreating of individuals to familiar fields when they anticipate potential incongruences between their own habitus and the structures of a new field. This way, individuals do not allow the structures of the new field to filter through into their dispositions, as Ingram and Abraham (2016) argue, and re-confirm their habitus by rejecting the alternative field, dispositions and perceptions. In the following, I will discuss students’ choices by employing a Bourdieusian framework. My intention is to disentangle underlying dynamics of the school choices in relation to individual students (habitus), the type of educational institution (institutional habitus) and their confrontations (habitus clivé and/or reflexivity). Contrary to individual habitus, which refers to structured propensities to think, feel and act in determinant ways (Wacquant, 2005), institutional habitus refers to coordinated practices in a social field, which constitute dispositional qualities of institutions (Burke et al., 2013). In other words, the interconnections among habitus in the certain social field form social fictions that act through and upon individuals. Therefore, the concept is particularly useful for understanding impact of a cultural group or social class on an individual’s behaviour as it is mediated through an organization (McDonough, 1997). Reay, David and Ball (2001) comprehend the concept as a set of predispositions, taken-for-granted expectations and schemes of perceptions based on which schools are organized. More concretely, it refers to educational status, organizational practices and expressive order, which covers expectations, conduct, character and manners in school (Tarabini et al., 2016). This connects strongly with Chapter 5 in this volume, in which Ingram discusses the cultural practices of two different school sites and their impact on students.

Class constraints on choices While a strong relationship between success and aspiration is frequently assumed, the class-specific dynamics underlying aspiration processes are not well studied. In neo-liberal discourse, aspiration is usually seen as a personal character trait, and its formation in the deeply rooted material and emotional constraints of social class is overlooked (Stahl, 2012). My interviews with a group of students who, whilst having had high enough scores to attend GHS, chose IVHS posed an interesting case for aspiration processes within the limitations of social class. When I asked the interviewees procedural questions about the school selection process, their answers convinced me that they were not tracked to IVHS

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without having sufficient information about the differences of school types or by accident such as confusing the order of schools wrongly in the school selection form. The students adequately elucidated the requirements, workings of GHS and IVHS and practical steps of school choice processes, such as where the form is taken, how it is filled, how to prioritize schools in the form, how many schools one can choose and so on. Furthermore, my interviewees were satisfactorily knowledgeable about potential career paths these school types would lead to. In their descriptions, as Melisa (f) remarked in the following, GHS was portrayed as challenging but potentially leading to university education “such as attending a law department to be a lawyer”, whereas IVHS was a place to enrol if “one wants to be carpenter or cook”.When specifically asked what attracted them to IVHS, they often inclined to stress, as Hüseyin (m) did in what follows, that IVHS is less risky for them. In GHS, how to say there are brighter and more hardworking students . . . We think we should go to IVHS, this way we could have at least an occupation at hand, that’s why we came here. Otherwise, my scores were enough to attend GHS. . . This point, securing an option at hand, learning an occupation in case of not being able to pass the university exam, was the most common reason for students to choose IVHS. While students’ choices for IVHS look pragmatic at first sight, the quote evidently exemplifies the considerations of social class my interviewees were exposed to while making their choices. My interviewees thought, as Hüseyin stated, GHS is for “. . . brighter and more hardworking students” who, as another interviewee, Emre (m), says, “. . . are having courses one after another . . . and must work all the time” and probably “looking down on us (IVHS students) . . .”. While having good enough grades and scores, the students I talked to believed they do not fit in GHS.The institutional habitus of GHS provides students with a sort of scholastic socialization. It has academic orientation and prepares students for university. The students in GHS usually have high scores and commit themselves to success in the university exam. In this school, teachers are motivated, mostly female and mostly from the middle-class background. While they tend to empathize with students, academic expectations are high, meritocratic values are strong, and students evaluate themselves and are evaluated by their teachers and peers on their class grades. While there were slight differences in the perceptions of my interviewees about the degree of demandingness of the curriculum at GHS, almost all of them uniformly pointed out the challenging character of classes there. Hakan (m), who had good enough scores and grades to attend GHS, said in the interview that I could have gone to GHS but many told me that GHS is hard, you can’t do it there and so on. So, I was undecided about it for some time, but then I did not want to go there.

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This and other statements by the students demonstrate that the students were not ignorant about differences, expectations and potential career prospects of the schools in question, but they chose a sort of “unworthy” option, as they think they do not fit into the GHS. Bright but having unstable lives; we do not fit in there

As articulated earlier, the students were prone to portray GHS as challenging, which was not for them but for brighter students. Each time I confronted them by saying they are equally brilliant because they had good enough scores to go to this school type, they often implied in their remarks the necessity and importance of studying steadily for being successful at GHS. When Ibrahim (m), whose transcript is full of high grades from various classes in primary and secondary school, said he never thought of the GHS as an option because of hard courses there, I confronted him. IBRAHIM:  I did

not because the courses are hard there. I mean, I did not think

of it. RESEARCHER:  But

your primary and secondary school years are full of certificates of achievement and merit. IBRAHIM: Yes, yes, but it is different. And, how to say, there is something else. When I finished the 8th grade, I did not start the 9th grade directly. I stopped my education and worked for a year as my older brother went to the military. I worked fully for a year. I came to school a year later. RESEARCHER: You worked when your brother went to the military? IBRAHIM:  I mean, he was not married back then. He was living with us. We were in a rough state financially, could not make two ends meet for some time, that’s why . . . ehmmm I had to work . . . I mean, no one asked me to work. They actually said do not do it, just continue your education. But, they were aware of the situation already. I thought I could go on with my education a year later. Implicit rather than spelt out in his quote is Ibrahim’s feeling that he does not fit in GHS. He felt he could not continue to study due to the instability of the economic situation in the family. Ibrahim, like other interviewees, thought he did not have time and comfort to focus on the classes due to his circumstances and constraints.These students excluded the “unrealistic” option and refused to enter an unfamiliar field, the structures and challenges of which are presumable. In their study on the choices of non-traditional applicants to higher education, Reay et al. (2001) argue that these applicants think they do not fit in traditional universities and, therefore, for them, the choice process is a sort of psychological self-exclusion in which these universities are discounted. My interviewees seem to go through a similar psychological self-exclusion process in the transition from secondary education to high school education. While material conditions significantly constrain the range of interviewees’ opportunities, we see that even

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if they surpass these constraints and get a chance for possible upward social mobility, the imprint of the long-term socialization in restricted circumstances works at a psycho-social level and causes the denial of this potential upward mobility – a process which contributes to the reproduction of class hierarchies in the Turkish educational system and society. Unlike IVHS, which prepares students for blue-collar jobs, GHS prepares students for university exams, and yearly grades are part of the university exam score. Therefore, one must work in a disciplined way until the end of high school. However, almost all the interviewees in my sample, who could have attended GHS, work regularly in summers, weekends and, two of them, even at nights during the semester. Hakan, for example, works in a theme park in summers and weekends; Musa often works as a waitress in various cafés. Melisa works in sweatshops in summers and regularly helps her mom at home. Emre told me that he is working at the reception desk of a hotel nearby at nights, makes good money from tips, but he naps during daytime in the classes. Nurşah (f), who was regularly undertaking household chores at home as her mom was working, recounted how she came to decide to attend IVHS. I wanted GHS. I went there (the school) and talked to the teachers. They said your grades good, so choose this school. Then, they said I need work continuously as I do now and make progress step by step.They said I should not have any downfall . . . then I talked to some elder friends.They told me that the teachers there (at GHS) are not good. I mean, they make you fail in the class if you do not listen to the teacher.You should not misbehave at all. Then, I thought “what’s that?”. I was thinking about the faculty of architecture at university, then I looked here and saw construction program. So, I decided to come here. While Nurşah was planning to choose GHS, she changed her mind as she made sure that she must study stably, stay focused and make no mistake along the way until the university exam. Such requirements of GHS make the possibility of attending this school unrealistic for my interviewees. Thus, they converged to a more secure and familiar option, IVHS. The reason why students think they do not fit in GHS is associated with their classed anxiety that stems from feeling in their bones that they cannot work and study at the same time at GHS. The students must work to maintain their life in the absence of economic resources, and this prevents them from attending a more academic school type. This classed anxiety manipulating their educational pathway towards IVHS is clearly documenting that the interplay between capitals and how lack of economic capital has a direct impact on the development of objectified cultural capital in the form of educational credentials. Alongside the anxiety caused by irreconcilability of working and studying at the same time, the students see themselves as unfit for GHS because of their perceptions of its student intake. They associate schools with certain student profiles and come to think that they would be alienated if they attend certain

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schools. Hakan recounted to me during the interview that while he could enrol to GHS, he changed his mind because  . . . I do not know how to say, but I mean in GHS most of them are in good shape, their income is regular. I have a cousin, my aunt’s daughter in GHS. She failed the class last year and now repeats the class this year. My aunts’ husband is doing business in the gas sector. His income is different than our income. I mean, some sort of exclusion is going on there in this school about spending money. I mean to me GHS looks like a place for a bit wealthier ones. When I prompted further whether the same thing can be said for the student profile in IVHS, he responded as follows: Look, it is clear who goes to what school. I mean, I never saw someone from Büyükçekmece in this school. I guess there is no one here from there. I mean, this environment, how to say, students here in this school are living close by. We all came this school. My cousins insisted my father should send me to a GHS in Başakşehir. Normally they ask 2500 TL enrolment fee, but I could have enrolled in this school only for 100 TL enrolment fee because my uncle talked to the school principal. So, I could have attended this school together with my cousins. But, I do not know how to say, it was clear that it was not for us but rich ones. The youngest students have 100 TL pocket money over there. So, I did not want to go there. Obviously, Hakan associated GHS with wealthier students and did not want to register there at the end of a seemingly arduous and painful choice process. He refrained due to perceived mismatch of the institutional habitus of GHS to his reality, Hakan selected IVHS, as he found this place reassuring regarding the student profile, which is mostly like him. In addition to the feelings of being unfit in GHS due to its wealthier student profile, an unease also becomes apparent with the necessity to take private courses or attending dershane at GHS to compete with other students. Dershanes are the enterprises that filled in the economically lucrative niche in the market created by the test exam industry in the Turkish educational system. Dershane literally means “place of study” where students learn and do tests from each class and pay for it.With time, these enterprises normalized and came to be perceived as an essential part of the educational system to pass the university exam. Dershane, as another demanding aspect of GHS, scares and acts on the students’ school choices by reinforcing their feelings about the incompatibility between themselves and GHS. Musa (m)’s case is in point; I am working since the 7th grade. I enrolled 7th grade and started to work. Along the 7th grade, I worked as a hairdresser for a year. Then, I left this place and began to work in a taxi stand. My father was a taxi driver back

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then. I was working at the taxi stand where he worked. I worked for a year there. Then, I worked in carpenter shop for three years. Now I am working in Metro (a supermarket chain) . . . all this time I couldn’t study for my courses. Normally my courses were not too bad. I also started to attend dershane as I was planning to go to university. But then, I do not know, we could not afford it anymore. So, I quitted it. . . While the reasons for work are widely differing such as helping family budget, attending dershane, accumulating for future or buying brand-name clothes, for the students at IVHS, having paid work is almost a norm that starts at quite early ages. While wanting to attend university, Musa chose IVHS as a secure option and registered to dershane; however, he could not work, study and visit dershane at the same time. Musa’s story is a richly informing exemplification of the universal struggle and the emotional costs of this struggle for the students from the working class when they try to reconcile the structures of two different conflicting worlds in their biography. The comparative character of the data collected in this research project reveals that students’ concerns and anxieties regarding not fitting in GHS are not unwarranted. Meral (f) is from a Kurdish family who moved from Batman to Istanbul in 2008. Unlike her fellows at IVHS, she enrolled in GHS. In all my three interviews with her each year and my regular observations in school, I have witnessed how she was struggling to succeed academically and working at the same time. Last summer I worked fully. I worked in a restaurant . . . It was difficult. You do dish all the time. I worked there to earn some money for going to dershane. I was going there at five in the evening and returned at midnight. I was working there at the peak time.You do dishes so much so that you do not feel your back after some time. But what else one can do, when one is compelled. I do not want to impose myself on others . . . I mean if I do not earn my dershane fee, and sit at home, then my mom would rub my nose in it. Now I have at least an ace up in my sleeves. Having internalized the motivation for academic brilliance, Meral was regularly working in summers to save money for enrolling in dershane. Simultaneously, she was also taking care of her sister and frequently cooked at home. Meral was seeking to reconcile different, conflicting fields while she was trying to realize her dream of passing the university exam, and this situation was putting immense pressure and stress on her. In my three years of interviews, I observed Meral as stressed, depressed and having hard times in the classes. Her case evidently exemplifies how fragile and unprotected students from the working class can be in an environment in which neoliberal competition and academic excellence is valued. Heightened emotional sensitivity, alienation and depression are possible routes for students who try to merge conflicting fields without the necessary support. It is notable that the predilection of the interviewees to

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IVHS, a familiar field, was due to their anticipation of the same conflicts, anxieties and ambivalence that Meral constantly suffered from. For me, students’ tendency to choose IVHS is about the parallels or overlaps between their own working-class habitus and institutional habitus of the school type. IVHS has a vocational orientation and non-academic curriculum. While one can theoretically go to university from this school type, the curriculum does not include a high enough number of science courses and does not prepare one for the university exam. The profiles of students are exclusively working class. Similarly, the teachers are almost only from the working-class background, most of whom graduated from vocational high schools. Only very few among teachers who teach, the so-called culture classes – that means non-shop classes such as Turkish and history – were middle class.Teachers hold low expectations for students. A male teacher, for example, remarked in the interview “. . . they send us incapable students. I mean, students come here based on their previous achievement and our students are quite weak regarding knowledge. So, we here only try to make them gain some self-confidence”. A strong fatalism about students’ future is very common among them (see Ingram’s work in Chapter 5 and Tarabini et al’s work in Chapter 6 for complementary comparisons of teachers’ attitudes).The school has very high grade repetition, and dropout rates and absenteeism is usual. Rather than academic concerns, a master–apprenticeship ethos is dominant in both moral and behavioural codes throughout the school. Teachers sometimes slap male students in specific programs, such as in carpentry and metal technology programs, and this is usually taken as typical. Competitive culture is extremely weak; success is usually defined in relation to manners and behaviours against teachers and elders; rather than seeking rights, being critical, and asking questions, respect and knowing your place are valued. Teachers often tolerate dirty talk among students.They turn a blind eye to their absences in the classes. Teachers tend to see themselves as successful when students do not create trouble. Compared to the institutional habitus of GHS, my interviewees converged to the non-academic institutional habitus of IVHS as it is a more familiar and safe place to them. The convergences and overlaps between habitus of students and institutional habitus of IVHS become noticeable when students talked about what is tolerable and what is not in the two school types. Tayfur, for example, justified his choice for IVHS by remarking the courses at GHS are “difficult. Teachers here at IVHS help us, but they do not help students in GHS”. Like Nurşah’s statement earlier, Tayfur also raises a concern about teachers’ lack of empathy and understanding. By contrast, the students often reasoned that the teachers at IVHS would understand and tolerate them if they do not study continuously or do not appear in school regularly. So I would argue that unlike GHS, which has an academic institutional habitus that stresses the importance of academic manners, grades, meritocracy and career, the institutional habitus of IVHS, which is non-competitive and unambitious and emphasizes moral values more than competitive values, is more familiar to the students.

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My interviews with teachers and three years of participation in GHS and IVHS confirm the perceptions of students about institutional habitus of the schools. Teachers in IVHS, sharing the same social class background with the students, develop a sort of mother–child and father–child relationship with students. I observed various times that both female and male teachers stressed the personality traits of students when they talked about their achievement, not much about their tenacity, determination or devoutness for receiving higher grades. In one of the focus-group interviews with teachers from different programs at IVHS, I asked what achievement means: A: This

is a place for education, not schooling. Schooling is to teach classes. But to me, education is more important than schooling. I should first do a proper education; schooling would come afterwards automatically.You need to talk to students, forget about book, notebook, pen or subject. B: Many teachers today regard answering 100 questions right in the test as an achievement without learning their social roles. . . C:  This is not an achievement. B: No, this is not an achievement. Achievement is to buy an ice cream for a friend, success is, if the two persons beat one, to exclude these two. C:  Exactly, teachers now are different. B:  Today, many teachers cannot understand students here and cannot communicate them. You know why, because in their eyes if students are not hardworking or industrious, then they are bad. Sorry but there is no such a thing. Suppose you are a mechanic, what’s your task? Your task is to repair the car. If the car were not broken, no one would take it to the mechanic. Our role as teachers is the same. Of course, bad students would come to school. Why are we doing here otherwise? Our task is to repair the bad students and teach them good habits, being honest, moral, honourable. This quote is particularly stark, as it evidently exemplifies an expressive order that is valid at IVHS from teacher’s perspectives. Expressive order as an important component of the institutional habitus refers to implicit or explicit practices and attitudes informed by certain assumptions (Bernstein, 1977). As Reay et al. (2001) showed in their study that compared different high schools, the hidden curriculum, types of advice and cultural bias of each school as microdynamics are strongly associated with the profile and possible chances of success of students from different socioeconomic and cultural status. The teachers in IVHS differentiate education (eğitim) and schooling (öğretim) and describe their first and foremost task as the first one based on their assumptions concerning the students’ potential chance of success given their background. By sharp contrast to academic expectations at GHS, the teachers strongly relate teaching to moral codes, respect and handling the situation without any trouble. I would argue that students converge to IVHS within the constraints of their class position and as they feel the correspondences between their own habitus and institutional habitus of IVHS.

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Conclusions Habitus reflects the social position in which it was constructed, and it has, at the same time, seeds of new creative responses in itself to transcend these conditions (Reay et al., 2011). Contemporary research has currently documented the tensions caused by habitus change, usually as a result of social mobility, and how painful this transcending process can be through the concepts of chameleon habitus, habitus tug, cleft habitus, divided habitus (Thatcher et al., 2015). Hysteresis caused by interaction between habitus and two different fields makes individuals confronted with conflicting and contradictory forms of structural influences, and this may create habitus change. In this chapter, I, however, sought to bring a statistically more repeated pattern to readers’ attention; retreating into one’s own familiar field by anticipating potential conflicting structures of a new, unfamiliar field. I believe as much as tensions are instigated by habitus change; there is still a lot to explore about the ways in which habitus consolidates itself in the face of unfamiliar fields; while habitus can change, it is mostly durable and tends to reproduce itself (Bourdieu, 1992). The preliminary analysis of my data from the research documents the subtle inscriptions of social class in the choice-making processes.The fact that the students opted for a non-prestigious vocational type of high school despite gaining good enough scores to attend a comparatively more academically prestigious type of high school is not something that can be easily explained by rationalchoice approaches. Constrained by their circumstances and class positions, my interviewees anticipated incompatibilities between their habitus and the scholastically oriented institutional habitus of the academic school, and this had led some of them to IVHS. As well as the incompatibilities with the institutional habitus of GHS, the similarities or partial overlaps between the class habitus of the students and institutional habitus of IVHS significantly shaped students’ choice making. IVHS is composed of the undemanding vocational curriculum, masterapprenticeship ethos, and the teachers from the working class, who do not judge students by academic performance and empathize with them.Within this context, I consider the students’ choices for IVHS as a semi- or unconscious retreat to a familiar field – which minimizes potential anxieties, concerns and worries that may be caused by unfamiliar but anticipated institutional habitus of GHS. Ingram and Abrahams (2016) conceptualize retreat into the original field resulting from difficulties in accommodating incongruent structures of both original and secondary fields as reconfirmed habitus. Importantly, they differentiate it from the reproduction of habitus because habitus is reconfirmed as a result of encountering an alternative field. My findings significantly corroborate the notion of reconfirmed habitus by relating it to the notion of institutional habitus. My interviewees reconfirmed their habitus when they anticipate the difficulty in accommodating incongruent structures of their class and institutional habitus GHS as coordinated practices in a new social field.

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Overall, considering the institutional habitus of academic GHS and vocational IVHS along the lines of social class habitus of the students, the students’ choices, which look like personal mistakes of calculation, at first sight are understandable. In a way, students’ habitus resulting from the embodiment of the necessities of their preceding socialization prevent them from taking risks and steer them to evaluate the new field as not worthy of investment.

Notes 1 There are also extremely selective private high schools, which accept students with top scores from the common central test and have very high tuition fees. 2 The regulation about the transition from secondary school to high school changed once again on February 14 2018. The content of the new regulation is not fully clear yet.

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High school choices in Turkey 145 ———. (2015). Identity, Neoliberalism and Aspiration: Educating White Working-Class Boys. Routledge Research in Educational Equality and Diversity. London and New York: Routledge. Tarabini, A., Curran, M., and Fontdevila, C. (2016). Institutional habitus in context: Implementation, development and impacts in two compulsory secondary schools in Barcelona. British Journal of Sociology of Education, November, 1–12. doi:10.1080/01425692.2016.12 51306. Taylor, C. (1999). To follow a rule. in: R. Shusterman (ed.) Bourdieu: A Critical Reader (pp. 29–44). Oxford, Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishers. Thatcher, J., Ingram, N., Burke, C., and Abrahams, J. (eds.) (2015). Bourdieu – the Next Generation:The Development of Bourdieu’s Intellectual Heritage in Contemporary UK Sociology. Abingdon, Oxon and New York: Routledge. Wacquant, L. (2005). Habitus, in: J. Beckert and M. Zafirovski (eds.) International Encyclopedia of Economic Sociology. (Pbk. ed.). Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon and New York: Routledge. Yıldırım, H. H., Yıldırım, S., Yetişir, M. İ., and Ceylan, E. (2013). PISA 2012 ULUSAL ÖN RAPORU. Ankara: T.C Milli Eğitim Bakanlığı, Yenilik ve Eğitim Teknolojileri Genel Müdürlüğü. Retrieved from www.meb.gov.tr, http://pisa.meb.gov.tr.

Part V

Higher education transitions

9 National framing and local reframing of students’ transition to higher education in France Agnès van Zanten et al.Transition to higher education in France

Limitations and pitfalls Agnès van Zanten, Alice Olivier, Anne-Claudine Oller and Katrina Uhly This chapter focuses on the policy processes concerning the transition between secondary and higher education (HE) in France and, more precisely, on policy decisions at the national level and their reception at the local level. It uses the concepts of ‘framing’ and ‘reframing’ to describe the different ways in which national and local actors bind ideological and axiological messages and materialise them into organisational and technical tools. The empirical evidence is drawn from a comprehensive study on the role of institutions, markets, and networks in guidance and access to HE. The chapter is organised in three sections. The first presents the theoretical framework and the objects and methods of the empirical study. The second examines the ideas, instruments, and institutional arrangements launched at the national level, while the third focuses on the ways in which local actors working in different contexts interpret and react to these frames. The conclusion points out some of the main limitations and negatives consequences of these processes.

Theoretical framework and methodology Framing through ideas, instruments, and organisational arrangements

The concept of ‘frame’ was first introduced in the social science literature by anthropologist George Bateson, who defined it as ‘a spatial and temporal bounding of a set of interactive messages’ (Bateson, 1972: 197). It has, however, come to be most commonly associated with sociologist Erving Goffman’s book, Frame Analysis (1974). Here, Goffman defines frames as ‘principles of organization which govern events – at least social ones – and our subjective involvement in them’ (Goffman, 1974: 10–11). Inspired by Goffman and by symbolic interactionists, researchers working on social movements have devoted attention to the role of cognitive frames and framing. Gamson (1988) developed a constructionist approach to public discourses as ‘packages’ of elements clustered around a central frame. Different

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social groups might champion different frames, and social movement organisations are viewed as key actors in the reframing process. Snow et al. (1986) undertook a more sophisticated reworking of the concept by distinguishing various processes of ‘frame alignment’ (frame bridging, amplification, extension, and transformation) through which social movement organisations create linkages between their interpretative frames and those of the individuals they seek to mobilise. Although the literature on public problems does not use the term ‘frame’ as a central concept, it has contributed to the diffusion of the idea that the way a problem is defined (or ‘framed’) strongly determines who ‘owns’ the problem, that is, who is legitimate to construct it, to decide what are its causes, and who should solve it and how (Gusfield, 1981). Schön and Rein (1994) have also emphasised that policy controversies arise because the various actors involved in policy elaboration or implementation rarely share the same sense-making paradigm, leading them to select, organise, and put forward different arguments and evidence to support or fight proposals for change. Another perspective still is that of ‘policy paradigms’, which are defined by Hall (1993: 279) as ‘a framework of ideas and standards that specifies not only the goals of policy and the kinds of instruments that can be used to attain them but also the very nature of the problems they are meant to be addressing’. This last definition emphasises the link between the cognitive and the organisational and technical dimensions of social and political action.We are particularly interested here in ‘instruments’ as elements that both play a key role in the reframing of policy goals and are themselves constantly reframed by the actors enacting them at different levels (Howlett, 1991; Linder & Peters, 1989). Like Lascoumes and Le Galès (2007), we consider that ‘an instrument constitutes a device that is both technical and social, that organizes specific social relations between the state and those it is addressed to, according to the representations and meanings it carries . . . and (that is) sustained by a concept of regulation’ (4). We also hold the view that there are similarities between policy instruments and managerial and market devices, as all combine a technical substrate with more abstract rules, representations, and goals (Callon et al., 2007; McFall, 2014). This similarity is reinforced by the fact that the new modes of public action through which the state tries both to avoid protest and to increase cost efficiency are based on delegation to public and private agencies and public– private partnerships (Hood, 1986, 2007). In order to fully understand processes of policy transmission and reception, it is also necessary to focus on ‘institutional arrangements’ that attempt to modify micro-level cognitive, normative, and regulative mechanisms (Scott, 2001). The literature on policy implementation has frequently emphasised the limited effect of external constraints on what occurs in classrooms. This has been attributed to the high degree of discretion that teachers, as ‘street-level bureaucrats’ (Lipsky, 2010), enjoy in the definition of their daily activities, due both to the nature of their work, which implies linking universal norms with the particularistic demands of students and parents, and to the low degree of

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rationalisation and supervision of tasks (Bidwell, 2001). It has also been attributed to the ‘loose coupling’ (Weick, 1976; Weick & Orton, 1990) of the technical and authority structures of educational institutions due to a fragmented external environment exerting multiple and frequently incompatible pressures on schools, to which the latter respond by ‘ceremonial conformity’ to political expectations while protecting the actual technical structures that remain stable (Meyer & Rowan, 1977). While for these reasons it is difficult to radically alter pre-existing arrangements in schools, we consider that change can also take place within them but depends on the interaction of educational professionals’ cognitive structures (knowledge, beliefs, values), their situations (and, more precisely, in our view, the type of school context in which they work), and the kind of policy stimuli that are sent to them by external actors (Spillane et al., 2002). We also hold that policy enactment at the school level implies a process of ‘reframing’, which involves not only the selection, interpretation, and re-elaboration of policy discourses and specific policy texts1 (Ball, 1994; Sutton & Levinson, 2001; Coburn, 2004), but also, and increasingly, the re-definition and re-design of the various instruments and devices that are used to modify practices. Objects and methods of study

Our analyses focus on the transition from secondary to higher education (HE) in France, a process whose complexity is increased by that of the French educational system. The present system comprises five different levels: preschool (ages 3–5, not compulsory but attended by 95 per cent of children), primary school (ages 6–10), middle secondary school (collège, ages 11–14), upper secondary school (lycée, ages 15–17) and HE, now widely but not universally organised on the model diffused by the Bologna process in three levels: licence (bachelor’s degree, three years), master (two years) and PhD (three to five years). Although the minimum school departure age in France is 16 years, most students continue their studies beyond, and 79 per cent of them obtain a baccalauréat. At the lycée, students must choose between three different tracks (general, technological, and professional), which are unequally distributed across establishments. Each track includes further specialisation into series leading to specific baccalauréats. There is a clear status hierarchy between the general and the professional baccalauréat, which is related both to students’ social origins and to the links between secondary and HE tracks: around 80 per cent of holders of a baccalauréat général and 70 per cent of holders of a baccalauréat technologique continue onto HE, while this is the case only for 40 per cent of holders of a baccalauréat professionnel (MEN, 2017). Among holders of the baccalauréat général, those who obtain a scientific baccalauréat stand apart from the rest: their social origins are much higher; they are much more likely than their classmates in other series to get a ‘good’ or ‘very good’ qualification at the baccalauréat, and 95 per cent advance to HE (MESR-SIES, 2010).

Ages 6–11

5 years

Elementary School

Ages 11–15

4 years

Secondary Education Middle School

Figure 9.1 Schematic presentation of the French education system

Ages 3–6

Non-compulsory

3 years

Preschool

3 years (Ages 15–18)

Baccalaureate

Vocaonal

3 years (Ages 15–18)

Baccalaureate

General

Technical and

Secondary Education High School

University Bachelor (Licence): 3 years Master: 5 years PhD: 8 years

Presgious Higher Schools Post-baccalaureate Selecve Entrance 5 years

Preparatory Classes for Presgious Higher Schools Selecve Entrance Classes préparatoires aux Grandes Ecoles (CPGE) 2 years, Followed by Presgious Higher Schools 3 years

Intermediary Higher Vocaonal Educaon Selecve Entrance Diplôme Universitaire de Technologie (DUT) 3 years

Higher Vocaonal Educaon Selecve Entrance Brevet de Technicien Supérieur (BTS) 2 years

Higher Education

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There are also notable differences among baccalauréat holders concerning the tracks they follow in HE, which is highly fragmented and hierarchical in France, with at least five main types of tracks and institutions. The first main division exists between long tracks (three to five years), leading to a bachelor’s or a master’s degree, and short two-year tracks leading either to a degree in technology or a vocational degree, although around 19 per cent of holders of a degree in technology now obtain at least a bachelor’s degree. Within the long-track system, there is a historical division between the system of classes préparatoires to grandes écoles (CPGE two to three years after a baccalauréat), and universities.2 The first segment is more prestigious and offers better job prospects for graduates than universities, which are forbidden by law to select their students, except in some disciplines, such as medicine. Additionally, a growing number of post-baccalauréat schools exist, offering both short and long tracks. Most higher education institutions (HEI) are public, but there has been a significant increase in the 2000s in the number of private institutions, which now attract around 19 per cent of HE students. In order to understand how the transition to HE is framed within this labyrinthine system, we are conducting a six-year (2013–2018) comprehensive qualitative study.3 Focusing on the role of networks, institutions, and markets in the conception, organisation, and implementation of transition, the project covers four areas. The first is policy elaboration and transmission. In order to study how policy makers have framed the transition to HE in the last 25 years and particularly in the 2000s, we have collected and analysed a large number of government reports and official texts from this period and have conducted interviews with policy actors in the ministries of education and HE and in different related government agencies, associations, and unions. We are also conducting a detailed analysis of the web platform that manages students’ HE applications and its changes over time. The second area of research concerns the reception of policy messages and the organisation of transition to HE in upper secondary schools. We conducted a three-year ethnographic study of four lycées located in the Ile-de-France region (two in Paris and two in nearby cities) and chosen according to their administrative status (three public and one private) and their social and academic composition (lycée A: public, socially and academically very selective; lycée B: private, socially and academically selective; lycée C: public, socially and academically mixed; lycée D: socially disadvantaged, academically mixed).This study comprised numerous interviews with directors, head teachers, school counsellors and students, as well as regular observations of school meetings and class councils. In addition to these data, on which most of the empirical analyses of this chapter will be based, we are still exploring two other areas. A third focus of the research has been the organisation of the transition to HE by HEIs and market actors. In order to analyse the first, we have observed open-house events organised by more than twenty HEIs and stands from different types of HEIs at 22 HE fairs, where we also carried out short interviews with HEI managers and visitors and distributed a questionnaire answered by 1,000 students and

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450 parents. Most of these fairs are organised by private agencies, and we are also presently examining the other services they provide through their websites and publications, which include HE rankings and coaching.The fourth research area concerns the analysis of students’ educational projects and how they relate to institutional and market information and advice. This analysis is based on interviews with small groups of students and a questionnaire to which 1,800 students responded.

Framing access to HE through ideas, instruments, and institutional arrangements Combining the authoritarian planning of trajectories with the management of individual projects

Our analysis of policy texts shows the progressive emergence in the last 25 years, and more markedly since the mid-2000s, of new cognitive and axiological frames concerning the transition to HE. The main change concerns a rhetorical shift away from an emphasis on the authoritarian planning of student trajectories to fit governmental goals towards a focus on the management of students’ own educational projects. In the French system that emerged from the structural reforms carried out after WW2, directives and guidelines concerning students’ trajectories were driven by institutional needs between 1945 and 1995. Students were mostly considered from the perspective of measuring their capacities and qualifications in order to improve the match with the newly created educational tracks and with the quantitative job targets set by government plans (Bongrand, 2012). The analysis of policy documents published since the mid-1990s shows, however, a growing emphasis on students’ responsibility for elaborating their educational pathways. This clearly connects with the analysis developed by Brooks and Abrahams demonstrating the increasing treatment of higher education students as consumers in the English case (see Chapter 11 in this book). After a significant policy turn in 1995 giving parents and students the final say in decisions concerning track choices in secondary education, the latter have been encouraged to become actors of their educational futures through the development of personal ‘projects’, a keyword in the French literature on educational transitions.Within this new ideology, policy and institutional actors are expected not to impose decisions but to facilitate students’ transitions. This discursive shift is embedded in two wider policy ‘texts’ or narratives (Ball, 1993) about contemporary individualism. The first promotes a liberalinstrumental perspective emphasising the importance of rational individual choices and the acquisition of strategic skills in a market environment (Brown, 1990). The second promotes a liberal-expressive perspective by giving priority to individuals’ self-actualisation in a culturally open and diverse society (Argoud et al., 2017). These narratives are put forward by different class

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fractions, political parties, and organisations at the national level but also by supranational actors such as the OECD and the European Union (EU). The latter have greatly contributed to their circulation and legitimation, as well as to viewing them as complementary rather than conflicting. This is also the framing favoured by post-industrial firms that have learned to capitalise not only on workers’ strategic skills but also on their creativity, freedom, and selfdevelopment (Boltanski & Chiapello, 2007). It is, however, important to emphasise that if there is a consensual focus on consumers’ interests and desires among policy actors, political, institutional, and market interests are presented as perfectly compatible – rather than conflicting – with them. In their promotion of lifelong learning (LLL), for instance, the OECD and the EU clearly link individual self-realisation and strategic career choices with the development of guidance services delivered by a variety of public and private actors and with national and supranational economic goals (OECD, 1996, 2004; Green, 2000; European Commission, 2001; Bathmaker e al., 2016). In France, policy discourses and directives frequently contain a more or less coherent mix of messages promoting individual projects and choices on the one hand and insisting on the need of state regulation to increase the effectiveness and equity of the educational system on the other. Multiple targets and complex matching of HE provision and demand

The tensions between these various paradigms are visible in the instruments chosen by the government to manage student transitions. A first set of instruments – targets – frequently presented in the social sciences literature as ‘hard’ because of the external definition and evaluation of goals (King, 2007), is formally in line with the traditional centralised and authoritarian government of students’ flows in France. One of the most important, at least symbolically, is the faithful transposition of the EU target of 50 per cent – later downgraded to a more realistic 40 per cent – holders of a HE degree among the new generations. This target frequently appears in government documents, but more with a view to highlight the fact that France has already exceeded the 40 per cent target than to justify specific measures. A second type of target, inspired by those established in some US institutions after the dismantling of affirmative action in universities by local courts (Tienda et al., 2010) and promoted by some French researchers (Weil, 2005), aims at increasing the number of disadvantaged students in selective HE tracks and institutions. Since 2002, following a decision from Chirac’s conservative government, secondary schools, especially disadvantaged ones, have been exhorted to encourage their 5 per cent, and later 10 per cent, of best students to apply to these tracks. Conversely, under the conservative Sarkozy government, a target of 30 per cent of students holding a means-tested scholarship was set up for the public Classes Préparatoires aux Grandes Ecoles (CPGEs) and grandes écoles. A third type of target, introduced in the Education Law of 2013 and left to the Academies,4 concerns the percentage of holders of vocational and technological

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baccalauréats that each of the two major vocational and technological HE tracks, the Sections de techniciens supérieurs (STS) and the Instituts universitaires de technologie (IUT), should ideally select and train. Alongside these targets, a new type of instrument, relying on information technology and aiming to both expand and democratise access to HE, as well as to improve the placement of students in HE, came to play a major role. Taking its inspiration from the algorithm developed in 2003 to improve the distribution of students applying to CPGEs, a new web platform, entitled ‘Admission Post-Bac’ (APB), was established in 2008 and has been used until 2017 to manage applications to all HE tracks nationwide. The platform was expected to give priority to students’ wishes through two mechanisms: the possibility for them to apply to many institutions (a maximum of 36, 12 in each type of HE track) and the asymmetry of information: while in the previous system of paper applications, HE institutions knew how students had ranked them and used that ranking in their selection process, the new APB system did not give them access to that information. Although the policy discourse surrounding APB promoted the liberalexpressive perspective, with a focus on students’ self-realisation, its managerial and technical components clearly tipped the balance towards the liberalinstrumental perspective. Students were expected to act as rational consumers using relevant information on HEIs’ number of places and degree of selectivity, as well as on their own academic ‘value’, to rank their applications in hierarchical order. The APB algorithm proposed to candidates their highestranked choice accepted by the requested institutions without possibility to opt later on for a lower-ranked option. The way the APB system was conceived – and especially the criteria incrementally added since 2008 – also reveals the tension among policy makers between managing and regulating students’ flows. While the initial team of engineers who created the algorithm for the CPGE operated from a narrow managerial perspective, the government officials that extended its use to the entire HE space seem to have initially believed that this modern ‘invisible hand’ will magically produce an effective match of individual projects, institutional interests, and government goals. As we discuss in detail in the third section, this was clearly not the case, and the system, after having undergone severe criticism from various pressure groups and the media, will be replaced in 2018. In this new system, students’ choices do not have to be ranked and are expected to become more ‘rational’ through an assessment by educational professionals, and the number is dramatically reduced (10 maximum). Encouraging professional involvement and inter-institutional coordination

In order to expand and improve students’ transition to HE, French policy makers also thought it necessary to modify the existing institutional configurations in two directions: (1) increasing the amount and improving the quality of professional information and advice provided to students in educational

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institutions and (2) reinforcing the coupling between secondary and HE. Both choices were guided by a common focus on institutional rather than on market intervention and on the extension of professors’ role rather than on the recruitment of guidance counsellors. Policy texts addressing the first objective focused first and in a more directive manner on intra-institutional changes in secondary schools. An important decision was the creation in 1993 of the ‘head teacher’ (professeur principal) position in charge of synthesising the evaluations from all the other teachers of each class and communicating them to students to help them make educational choices adapted to their academic profiles. The head teacher has since been encouraged by other policy texts to conduct ‘personalised interviews’ with all students in the last two years of secondary education. In 2011, another directive established that those working in lycées should ensure two hours of ‘personalised accompanying’ (accompagnement personnalisé) to prepare students for their future HE studies. The new Student plan launched in October 2017 dictates that all lycées must now nominate a second head teacher to help teachers provide advice on the 10 choices that each student can make through the new online nationwide platform. It also encourages lycées to organise a variety of activities (meetings, forums, and visits to HE fairs) during two weeks of the school year that should be devoted to preparing students’ transition to HE.5 Intra-institutional changes could not be so readily imposed on public universities due to their autonomy, which was significantly increased by a law promulgated in 2007. Since the beginning of the 2000s, however, they have been induced through various financial incentives, including a Bachelor plan (Plan licence) launched in 2012 to set up pedagogical innovations to reduce pre-graduate students’ failure. Since 2007, university professors have also been encouraged to voluntarily engage in the assessment of students’ spontaneous university pre-applications and in the communication of relevant advice to them, in spite of the fact that in most disciplines, student selection is forbidden. This task is presented as crucial in the new Students plan, in which university professors are expected to evaluate all applications sent to their institution through the new online platform, but without any guidelines or incentives to encourage their involvement. The government has also taken various steps to strengthen the coupling between secondary and HE. In addition to creating a formal umbrella term, Path to the future (Parcours avenir), to include all activities that middle and upper secondary schools are expected to establish to facilitate students’ transitions, President Hollande’s socialist government also announced the creation of a new educational cycle entitled ‘The bac – 3 + 3 continuum’, including the three years of upper-secondary education and the first three years of HE with a view of reinforcing mutual knowledge and work between the two educational levels. The lycée curriculum and the baccalauréat have also undergone and are presently undergoing important revisions in order to turn them into springboards for HE.

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Another step to reinforce links between secondary and HE is the development of new partnerships between prestigious HEIs and disadvantaged secondary schools. Initiated by some HEIs at the beginning of the 2000s, these initiatives were institutionalised by the state in 2008 through a new policy entitled ‘Climbing for success’ (Cordées de la réussite) (van Zanten, 2010, 2017). Still another step includes administrative changes with a view to increase policy coherence and coordination between the ministries or secretaries of state of education and HE.6 At the national level, these include the joint production of policy texts on access to HE by the cabinets, inspectorates, and personnel of each administration. A new postbaccalauréat commission has been created in each academy to regulate students’ flows between secondary and HE, as well as a new regional public orientation service in each region to coordinate the activity of all the guidance services in line with EU directives on LLL.

The reframing of higher education policies through enactment and reception Resisting and reframing intra- and inter-institutional arrangements to improve guidance

Local actors and institutions, however, have not applied all the directives and recommendations with regard to guidance on access to HE. They have instead offered considerable passive resistance. While they have implemented some, they have done so by reinterpreting and transforming them to suit their interests, values, and views. Resistance to directives and guidelines on guidance in secondary schools is due to four interrelated factors. The first, and the most crucial, is that French secondary school teachers have historically adopted a narrow definition of their role as consisting only of the transmission of knowledge.This definition is coherent with the serial curriculum of French schools, which is characterised by a strong separation between teaching and other activities (Bernstein, 1977). The second is teachers’ declared lack of knowledge about the complex landscape of HE and the absence in policy texts, including those of the new Student plan, of any proposal for their initial or on-the-job training in this area. A third factor is the lack of incentives, financial or otherwise, to encourage teachers to diversify their activities, except for a small bonus for head teachers. Finally, while directives concerning transition to HE are addressed to school directors presupposing that they will be able to impose them on teachers, the former have little leeway to do so. As a result these directives tend rather to reinforce the gap between ‘ceremonial conformity’ to the new norms by directors and teachers’ attachment to their traditional role. Our ethnographic study allowed us to observe significant differences in the framing of transition to HE between schools (McDonough, 1997; Reay et al., 2005). This area of activity was considered more or less important across lycées

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according to their past and foreseeable proportions of students pursuing HE. In addition, in spite of the fact that all schools resorted to the same tools, such as an official PowerPoint, to present the French HE landscape, they used it with a different focus. In school A, where two meetings with parents and at a least one meeting per class on transition to HE were organised each year for the Terminale students, at least 80 per cent of meeting time was used to present the CPGE offerings and selection processes. In contrast, at school C, there were no meetings for parents, and when the HE PowerPoint was used with students, the emphasis was mostly on non-selective university tracks and two-year technological and vocational tracks. Schools also differed in the temporal framing of transition. In lycées A and B, the transition was conceived as a long and smooth process. Information on HEIs’ academic offer and selection practices, as well as advice on students’ abilities and personal profiles, was provided beginning in Seconde (Year 8). On the contrary, in schools C and D, the process was brief and abrupt. Students were encouraged to think about HE choices only in Terminale (Year 10) and mostly only after the official opening of the APB platform in January. Another significant difference concerned the degree of personalisation of information and counselling. Schools A and B provided highly personalised advice to students, with school A focusing on the best strategies to maximise the matching between students’ academic potential and institutional academic expectations, and school B devoting more attention to helping students match their personal qualities with those required by different HE paths and associated jobs. On the contrary, in schools C and D, teachers provided mainly generic and procedural information about how to use the APB platform and, when students asked for more precise advice, told them frequently to use the resources provided by the ONISEP.7 While we did not conduct in-depth ethnographies of HE institutions, our previous studies of elite tracks (van Zanten, 2016, 2017; van Zanten & Maxwell, 2015), as well as observations of open-house events and HEIs’ stands in a variety of HE fairs (van Zanten & Legavre, 2014; van Zanten & Olivier, 2016), have allowed us to note considerable additional differences in the way in which these institutions engage with the process of transition from secondary to HE. The CPGE and prestigious post-baccalaureate institutions use their open house and fairs to provide rich information and advice on their academic requirements and their selection processes, especially to students whom they want to attract because of their excellent academic records. The less prestigious tracks and institutions adopt different logics of action according to their public or private status. Because they do not need to attract students, unless they risk closing tracks, and do not have the necessary financial and human resources, public HE institutions do not invest much time and money in activities related to transition. While some might use open houses to discourage students from vocational tracks to apply to them (Beaud & Pialoux, 2001), they mostly focus these occasions on the honest presentation of their provision and remedial activities for failing students. Private HEIs, especially the newest and less well-known

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institutions, invest much more in marketing, but because they mostly attract students from average or disadvantaged families and schools, their managerial personnel and students present at open-house events and fairs end up providing a lot of generic information and advice to visitors. The coupling of secondary and HE has been slightly reinforced. The -3 + 3 continuum has mainly given way to minor changes in the continuous training of school directors to encourage their involvement in transition to HE. The implementation of the ‘cordées de la réussite’ appears at first sight more successful. This policy did not meet with strong resistance, both because it developed bottom up and where it fitted the different but complementary interests of prestigious HEIs and disadvantaged secondary schools, and also because many of the outreach activities are carried out by HE students or external professionals and do not require strong teacher involvement. However, its voluntary and optional character translates into a problematic geographical coverage, with some disadvantaged lycées cumulating various partnerships and others without any. Moreover, not being a national policy, it concerns only a small group of students. The limits of steering by targets and algorithms

The analysis of several reports as well as of interviews with policy makers and professionals in schools and the results of a previous study on widening participation (van Zanten, 2010) all point in the same direction: the lack of government will and capacity to monitor the implementation of targets has led street-level actors to consider them vague and non-mandatory objectives that they can reinterpret to fit their institutional interests. The target of 50 per cent holders of a HE degree among present cohorts of young people is considered mostly rhetorical by national and local actors, and analyses of figures before and after its appearance in policy texts do not show any systematic effects. While the percentage has indeed increased in the 2000s, being now close to 45 per cent, this increase is much more the consequence of the tendency of holders of general and technological baccalauréats to continue their studies rather than of institutional efforts to reach the 50 per cent target. The implementation of the other targets is even more difficult to assess because of high inter-institutional variation. Those set to widen the participation of disadvantaged students in selective and prestigious institutions have not produced major effects for various reasons. The government itself contributed to limiting the impact of the target of 30 per cent of students with a scholarship in the grandes écoles because, at the same time of its announcement, it introduced new tiers in the scholarship system, providing very limited resources to students and open to the less disadvantaged. This resulted in an artificial increase of scholarship holders. The grandes écoles, however, also played a major role in reducing its effects by obtaining from government that the target percentage be calculated for all the grandes écoles as a whole and not individually. The target was then easily reached because the less prestigious grandes écoles already had attained

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it. As for the 5 and later 10 per cent ‘meilleurs bacheliers’ (best bacccalauréat holders) encouraged to apply to selective HE tracks, the procedure was rendered quite complex in the APB system, both for the feeding lycées and for the selective HE tracks, causing local actors to pay little attention to it. Finally, the quotas of holders of technological and vocational baccalauréats in technological and vocational tracks have lacked success.The main reason is that they go against institutional interests and the ways in which each track tries to rise in prestige by attracting ‘better’ students. While institutes of technology aim at ‘upgrading’ themselves by recruiting a large number of students with a general baccalauréat, vocational tracks try to improve their status by preferring holders of a technological baccalauréat to those with a vocational baccalauréat. Compared to the implementation of institutional arrangements and other instruments introduced since the 1990s to encourage, improve, and regulate the transition to HE, that of APB outwardly seems a success story. In 2016, the majority of HEIs were registered on the platform, which was, in turn, used by 80 per cent of holders of general and technological baccalauréats, making it a central element of the transition to HE. Its rapid and initially unproblematic diffusion is due to the fact that it is a technical device planned to manage large amounts of students’ applications and thus is easy and cheap to generalise. It is also an impersonal mode of coordination that requires neither the engagement of the different actors involved (students, parents, and secondary school and HE professionals) in face-to-face and possibly conflicting relationships, nor the alteration of educational professionals’ work routines, except for adopting the APB’s timeframe and procedures. However, its generalisation fostered changes and created problems that government officials had not foreseen. First, as noted in the previous section, the APB algorithm presupposes a rational consumer. Due to the number and variety of HEIs and students concerned, the degree of strategic planning required became very complex with two significant negative effects. First, students could not easily express their preferences but had to rank their choices according to the degree of supposed selectivity of each track or institution. For instance, a student hesitating between a CPGE and a non-selective university track had to rank the CPGE first, because if he/she had put the non-selective track first, he/she would have gotten automatic admission there and not been offered the CPGE place. This, in turn, tended to reinforce the negative perception of nonselective university tracks and the internal hierarchy of French HE. The system also tended to reinforce inequalities between students according both to their family background and to the school attended, as the strategising that it requires is highly dependent on access to information and advice, and thus on parents’ and schools’ cultural and social capital. In addition, and unsurprisingly, secondary schools reacted to the introduction of the APB in accordance with their organisational or institutional habitus (McDonough, 1997; Reay et al., 2005; Tarabini et al., 2017). The lycées where transition to HE was already a central concern and where families, students, and teachers were already engaged in the strategic planning of further studies

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did not modify their goals and routines. Schools focusing more on reducing students’ dropout and on their success at the baccalauréat than on preparing their transition to HE found it difficult to revise their priorities. Like schools C and D in our study, they have tended to view APB as a new procedural requirement and to insert it into a slightly altered bureaucratic routine. HEIs also made different adaptations to the system according to their profiles. CPGE and HE institutions and tracks that had always selected their students did not change their practices significantly after the introduction of APB except that, with the growing number of applications and uncertainty about how the students had ranked them, they had to examine more applications and pay particular attention to those at the bottom, as they might have to accept them if students ranked at the top chose an equally or more attractive institution. HEIs, and especially universities, that did not select their students were in a different situation. As the number of applicants increased, those tracks in which demand was higher than places had to find ways of eliminating students that did not contravene the principle of open access.While this led some tracks to introduce various forms of disguised selection based on criteria that could be used as proxies for students’ academic and social profiles, especially the lycée attended, the government officially suggested lotteries. These were not only highly unpopular among students and families but were also unsuccessful, and the number of students who ended up without being offered a place increased each year. Dissatisfaction among students and their parents also developed because in order to solve the problem of congestion in oversubscribed university disciplines, the educational authorities decreed that students applying to them could not choose the institution in which they wanted to study but would be assigned by the administration. This change towards greater government regulation in a system initially promoted on the basis of consumer freedom and satisfaction logically reinforced its unpopularity. Together with the lotteries and rumours about disguised selective practices of some universities, suspicion by students, parents, HE unions, and associations increased and led them to demand the publication of the algorithm and more procedural transparency. As the media started to repeatedly point out these problems, the new Macron government elected in 2017 decided to radically change the system. Starting in January 2018, baccalauréat holders will only be able to make 10 non-ranked choices that should be evaluated both by secondary and by HE professors to increase their fit with HEIs’ academic requirements. It is highly unlikely, however, that this system will solve all the previous problems, both because it will not significantly alter students’ choices and because the involvement of teachers and university professors will remain low in the absence of support or incentives. Moreover, the new system might further increase hierarchies between universities and inequalities between university students, as the most prestigious universities will probably use the requested professorial advice to openly select the most academically able students.

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Conclusion Government initiatives to regulate transition to HE in France in the 2000s have had limited positive impact on institutions and students while generating dissatisfaction and unintended negative consequences. A major reason for this is that most of them are quite modest in scope and did not aim to alter the structural hierarchy of the French secondary and HE systems and their effects on educational inequalities (Frouillou, 2017). A second general reason is that these policies try to combine conflicting frames, both with respect to their goals – opening possibilities and providing better services to students, preserving institutional interests and responding to economic and political pressures – and to their modes of action – a mix of local autonomy and state interventionism, of personal and impersonal modes of coordination. A third is that these initiatives have been conceived and launched at the top without significant efforts towards ‘frame bridging’, that is, towards the incorporation of professionals’ perspectives (Dumay, 2014). A closer focus on the actual instruments and arrangements that have been imposed or proposed allows for a more in-depth exploration of their limits. Targets are only effective if policy makers design ways of measuring to what extent they have been attained. In the French educational context, policy makers have chosen to use them as ‘soft’ frames (Moran, 2002), showing the way but not bounding actors into producing a quantifiable performance in order to reduce institutional resistance and protest. In the case of the online APB platform, the negative effects are linked both to its underlying rational choice model that ignores and reinforces differences and inequalities between students and between institutions and to the problematic articulation of student desires, institutional interests, and state control. Additionally, in spite of their differences, both instruments are characterised by a strong incoherence between the proposed cognitive and axiological framing, that is their goals, on the one hand, and the technical and managerial framing involved in their implementation, on the other. The institutional arrangements that the government has tried to promote are also problematic, but for different reasons. Exhorting secondary and HE professors to increase their involvement in students’ guidance has proven quite ineffective, not only because of the lack of support and incentives but also for more structural reasons. While seemingly not very ambitious, these exhortations are viewed by professors as prescribing a radical transformation of their professional identities. Moreover, the proposed changes tend to give more power to educational managers in the organisation of work in schools and HEIs and to tighten the coupling between the technical and the managerial domains and are therefore viewed by professors as an attempt to reduce their professional autonomy. The case of the arrangements aiming at reinforcing the links between secondary and HE institutions is different.While if effectively implemented and generalised they would considerably reduce professional and institutional autonomy at each level, they have remained to a large extent bottom-up initiatives in which each institution perceives some symbolic and material reward from the association.

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Notes 1 See also Chapter 11 in this book for an analysis of policy documents in the case of higher education students in England. 2 The grandes écoles and their CPGE were created after the French Revolution to recruit and prepare ‘talented’ youth to occupy high-level technical and administrative state positions but now, especially the grandes écoles de commerce that developed later on in the 19th and 20th centuries, train much more for managerial positions in the private sector (van Zanten & Maxwell, 2015). 3 The project was supported by a public grant overseen by the French National research Agency (ANR) as part of the “Investissement d’Avenir” program (Reference: ANR-11LABX-0091, ANR-11-IDEX-0005–02). 4 Academies are regional educational divisions that until recently roughly corresponded to regional political divisions. Academies are headed by a rector, who regulates the activities of primary and secondary schools and has a much more limited sphere of competence with respect to HE. 5 See also Chapter 7 in this book for a very interesting analysis on how secondary schools develop different guidance systems in Italy with their resulting impacts in terms of inequality. 6 Since 1974, higher education has had a separate administration from that of primary and secondary education, but depending on governmental choices, this administration has been headed either by a secretary of state or by a separate minister. 7 The Office for national information on education and the professions (ONISEP), created in 1950, is a public national agency that provides information and advice on the school system and the professions through a website, paper publications, participation in HE fairs, and organization of meetings on guidance for school professionals.

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166  Agnès van Zanten et al. OECD. (1996). Lifelong Learning for All. Paris: OECD. OECD. (2004). Career Guidance and Public Policy. Paris: OECD. Reay, D., David, M., and Ball, S. J. (2005). Degrees of Choice: Social Class, Race and Gender in Higher Education. London: Trentham Books. Schön, D. A. and Rein, M. (1994). Frame Reflection. New York, NY: Basic Books. Scott, W. R. (2001). Institutions and Organizations. (2nd ed.). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Snow, D. A., Burke Rochford, Jr., E., Worden, S. K., and Benford, R. D. (1986). Frame alignment processes, micromobilization, and movement participation. American Sociological Review, 51(4), 464–481. Spillane, J. P., Reiser, B. J., and Reimer,T. (2002). Policy implementation and cognition: Reframing and refocusing implementation research. Review of Educational Research, 72(3), 387–431. Sutton, M., and Levinson, B. A. (eds.) (2001). Policy as Practice: A Comparative Sociocultural Analysis of Educational Policy. Westport, CT: Ablex Publishing. Tarabini, A., Curran, M., and Fontdevila, C. (2017). Institutional habitus in context: Implementation, development and impacts in two compulsory secondary schools in Barcelona. British Journal of Sociology of Education, 38(8), 1177–1189. Tienda, M., Alon, S., and Niu, S. X. (2010). Affirmative action and the Texas top 10% admission law: Balancing equity and access to higher education. Sociétés Contemporaines, 79, 19–39. van Zanten, A. (2010) ‘L’ouverture sociale des grandes écoles’: Diversification des élites ou renouveau des politiques publiques d’éducation? Sociétés Contemporaines, 78, 69–96. van Zanten, A. (2016). La fabrication familiale et scolaire des élites et les voies de mobilité ascendante en France. Année Sociologique, 66(1), 81–114. van Zanten, A. (2017). Widening participation in France and its effects on the field of elite higher education and on educational policy, in: S. Parker, K. Gulson and T. Gale (eds.) Policy and Inequality in Education. Singapour: Springer. van Zanten, A., and Legavre, A. (2014). Engineering access to higher education through higher education fairs, in: C. Goastellec and F. Picard (eds.) Higher Education in Societies: A Multi Scale Perspective. Rotterdam and Boston: Sense Publishers. van Zanten, A., and Maxwell, C. (2015). Elite education and the state in France: Durable ties and new challenges. British Journal of Sociology of Education, 36(1), 71–94. van Zanten, A., and Olivier, A. (2016). Les strategies statutaires des établissements d’enseignement supérieur: une etude des journées ‘portes ouvertes’, in: H. Draelants and X. Dumay (eds.) Les Ecoles et leur Réputation. L’Identité des Etablissements en Contexte de Marché. Bruxelles: De Boeck. Weick, K. E. (1976). Educational organizations as loosely coupled systems. Administrative Science Quarterly, 21, 1–19. Weick, K. E., and Orton, J. D. (1990). Loosely coupled systems: A reconceptualization. Academy of Management Review, 16(2), 203–223. Weil, P. (2005). La République et sa Diversité: Immigration, Intégration, Discrimination. Paris: Le Seuil.

10 Preparatory course market and access to higher education in Finland Sonja Kosunen et al.Access to higher education in Finland

Pocketful or pockets full of money needed? Sonja Kosunen, Hanna Ahtiainen and Marju Töyrylä Introduction The Finnish field of higher education (HE) is often considered very egalitarian in terms of access due to its tuition-free organisation, even though several studies show how the student population of the Finnish universities is socially biased (e.g. Nori, 2011; Kivinen et al., 2012), and that, especially to certain status disciplines (such as law and medicine), more students from higher-social-class backgrounds are admitted. The question of how the social background of the applicant and especially the possession and investment of economic capital functions in the admission process are underexplored areas of research. Mari Käyhkö (2017: 18) describes how the Nordic democratic ideal of equality simultaneously denies the existence of class-differences, which leads to the fact that social class is not discussed, even if the differences are experienced. The question of social class in Finnish higher education requires more in-depth and detailed analysis, as there are expected socially biased outcomes of successful admission of the higher social classes to bachelor- and doctoral-level programmes (see Nori, 2011; Jauhiainen & Nori, 2017). As in other contexts (Reay, 2005; Reay et al., 2009), the working-class students also in Finland have been described as counteracting their families’ educational culture and stepping aside from the working-class life course when attending higher education (Käyhkö, 2017). Officially the pathways to status disciplines in Finland are open to all due to tuition-free studies and selection based on meritocratic entrance examinations. However, what is a fairly underexplored area are the actual processes and practices during the admission-process and the role of economic capital that might influence the choices and eventually the composition of admitted students in higher education institutions (HEIs) (analysis on admission-process in France see van Zanten, 2015). The critical question is to be raised when discussing the access to status disciplines in Finnish higher education: is the path currently de facto equally open to everyone regardless of their socio-economic background?

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This article aims to unravel the under-discussed role of private economic capital and the embedded social inequalities in the admission process to the highly competitive status disciplines of law and medicine in Finland, which are the two disciplines with the most expensive (up to more than 6,000 euros) and long-lasting private preparatory courses (up to 9 months) (see Kosunen et al., 2015). By analysing applicant interviews (n = 17) from a Bourdieusian perspective (Bourdieu, 1984, 1985, 1996) during their preparation for the entrance examinations, we aim to investigate what is actually happening and how much economic, cultural and social capital (and their different transformations from one form to another, for example from economic to cultural capital) are invested in the admission process to these degree programmes. Almost all degree programmes in universities, especially in the most selective disciplines, apply entrance examinations to all their candidates. All our interviewees have participated in private tutoring when preparing for the examinations, that is attended preparatory courses as a part of their preparation for the entrance examinations of law and medicine at the universities.The other possibility apart from attending a private tutoring course is to prepare for the entrance examinations autonomously, as all the materials tested in the examination are publicly available, even if not free of charge in most cases. Private tutoring in the form of preparatory courses aiming to prepare the candidates for the entrance examinations was established in its preliminary forms in the 1970s, and several enterprises are nowadays providing tuitionbased tutoring and shadow education to applicants (Kosunen et al., 2015). Even if the studies investigating the preparatory courses in Finland are still few (e.g. ibid.; Räisänen et al., 2014; Kosunen & Haltia, in press; Ahola et al., 2016; Ahtiainen, 2017; Töyrylä, 2017), the work around the topic has high academic as well as policy value, as it deals potentially with patterns of producing and reproducing social positions through occupying educational positions in elite disciplines via utilising economic capital. Preparatory courses have a dual and paradoxical role as formation outside the official education system: on the one hand, they might enhance the chances of getting admitted for the applicants with less inherited cultural capital (but sufficient economic capital); on the other hand, they might just as well, due to the high prices, create a new form of social (self-)exclusion of candidates, who lack economic resources. They cannot thus attend a preparatory course and thereby might not apply at all, as, in the competition with other applicants, they consider their chances insufficient without the support of private tutoring. This creates an interesting paradox in admissions to high-status disciplines in Finland, in which the HE system boasts of providing access to everyone regardless of their economic resources. Our theoretical angle leans strongly on Pierre Bourdieu’s theory of transformation and transmission of capital (Bourdieu, 1984; Bourdieu & Passeron, 1990) and follows the lines of previous applications of it in studies around HE (Reay et al., 2005). We are especially interested in the ways of transforming economic and cultural capital into each other. First, we describe the context in which the preparatory course companies operate and in which the applicants

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buy their services; second, we present the data and the analytical toolkit of this study; and third, we discuss the socially constructed need for private tutoring in this transition, as well as the different forms of capital embedded in this process, with a special focus on economic capital. In the final section, we discuss the possible implications of our findings to the discussion around social justice in access to HE.

Choice of higher education in Finland and the construction of shadow education: preparatory course markets The Finnish higher education system officially comprises traditional universities and universities of applied sciences (Ministry of Education and Culture, 2016a), which have thus far been tuition-free to students who come from EU/EEA countries. The structure of the Finnish education system is further explained in Figure 10.1. All students who have completed secondary education are officially eligible to apply for tertiary education. The selection of students in HE is based mainly on entrance examinations, which are organised by the respective universities and therefore institution and discipline centred. Historically (until the 20th century), higher education and education in general were seen as an upperclass privilege in Finland (Ahola, 1995). Social class distinctions were strong, and university studies, in particular, were out of reach for the lower social classes. (Ahola, 1995: 35–36.) After industrialisation and urbanisation the changes in the society in general started to also show in education, as academic upper-secondary studies became more accessible and popular among the Finnish youth. The post-war population growth in the mid-1900s and the general change from an agricultural society towards an industrial and service-based economic structure raised the need of educating more people. It also made it possible to extend the education system both quantitatively and geographically. The increasing number of applicants and the pursuit of social equality led to a general growth of the Finnish field of higher education (Nevala, 1999): the massification of higher education emerged during the 1960s and 1970s. To control the expanded number of applicants in universities, numerus clausus –method was implemented in all Finnish HEIs in the 1960s (Ahola, 1995: 78), which meant that the number of university places was limited, and student selection was based on entrance examinations or aptitude tests. Soon there were more upper-secondary school graduates than available places in universities (Nevala, 1999: 44–46). The expansion of the field of HE was aimed at providing equal opportunities for everyone to participate in university formation regardless of one’s social background. Social equality was also supported by financial aid and the possibility of a study loan for living expenses offered by the Finnish government (ibid. 53–54). There are no traditional elite universities, but the divisions to more and less elitist education can rather be conceived through differences between

1 year (age 6)

age 0–6

year 10)

addional

(voluntary

9 years (age 7–16)

Comprehensive Education

Figure 10.1 Schematic presentation of the Finnish education system

Pre-Primary Education

Early Childhood Education and Care

(3 years)

instuons

Vocaonal

(3 years)

General Upper secondary schools

Upper Secondary

Universies of applied sciences (3,5–4 + 1–1,5)

Universies (3 + 2)

Tertiary Education

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disciplines. The so-called status disciplines in the Finnish context are medicine, law and economics. The selection of the new students has mostly been based on matriculation examination, entrance examination or, very often, a combination of these two. The decisions about the selection procedures are under the control of the HE institutions and are therefore institution and discipline centred. The competition is harsh, as the number of applicants is still multiple in relation to the available study positions (Nori, 2011). For example, in status disciplines of law and medicine, with the highest number of applicants in relation to available positions in most disciplines, the University of Helsinki in 2017 had 1,477 applicants for medicine (providing 112 study-positions, pharmacy and veterinary education excluded) and 2,449 for law (providing 200 positions) in Finnish-speaking programmes (University of Helsinki, 2017), resulting in acceptance rates of 13.2 per cent for medicine, and 12.2 per cent for law. As the acceptance rates are low, this causes a space of uncertainty among the candidates. The entrance examination–based system has been applied in order to promote equality of opportunity, since getting admitted is officially based on the applicant’s success in the exam and not dependent on earlier studyperformances or certain degrees (as is the case in the UK, discussed in the next chapter). The system has been seen to offer a second chance to those who have graduated from upper secondary school with poor grades, those applying with a vocational secondary education degree and those wishing to get admitted at a later age (Ministry of Education and Culture, 2016b). The current system makes HE in principle accessible to individuals with all kinds of backgrounds. However, even historically the admitted students in status disciplines have come from higher socio-economic backgrounds than HE students in general in Finland (Nevala, 1999: 200). Recently it has been suggested that by the year 2018 the system of student selections should be reformed so that the entrance examinations demanding applicants’ long preparation would be removed and more emphasis in the selection would be given to the grades of the matriculation diploma (Ministry of Education and Culture, 2016b). This puts the groups mentioned earlier in an unforeseen and potentially distinct position in the admission process. The highly selective entrance examinations construct a space for uncertainty within the tuition-free system of HE. One notable device that mediates the choice of HE (see van Zanten & Legavre, 2014) is the private tutoring education market of preparatory courses. The courses are mainly run by private companies and are organised in the biggest Finnish cities. Preparatory courses are commonly used among the candidates, especially when applying to status disciplines such as medicine and law (Kosunen et al., 2015).To pass an entrance exam an applicant has to possess the knowledge and skills based on the specific exam material indicated annually by universities. On the preparatory courses the contents of the entrance examination books are being handled intensively with guidance.

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The role of the preparatory courses in a process of applying to HE in Finland has been examined only in a few studies (e.g. Räisänen et al., 2014; Kosunen et al., 2015; Ahola et al., 2016; Ahtiainen, 2017; Töyrylä, 2017), and the topic is still rather unexamined. When considering the private preparatory courses from the perspective of time required and economic investment to be made, attending a preparatory course requires investing both of the two. The prices of preparatory course (with contact teaching) are known to vary in medicine between 500 and 6,500 euros and in law between 100 and 2,500 euros. The courses in medicine are the most expensive of all provided courses, and the courses in law are also fairly expensive, with a large variety of course type and price. (Kosunen et al., 2015.) In a study investigating reasons of attending a preparatory course (Ahola et al., 2016) it was discovered that half of those who decided not to take a course explained that their participation was not possible due to economic reasons. The attendants of the preparatory courses especially in medicine and law were most likely to be off-springs of parents with a high socio-economic status. (ibid.), which indicates that private tutoring is most commonly exploited by the group of candidates who come from affluent backgrounds and comprise higher cultural capital to start with.

The study The study focuses upon applicants (N = 17) who attended a preparatory course in either law or medicine arranged by a private preparatory course company. Fifteen of the interviews were individual interviews, and one was conducted as a pair interview. Twelve of the interviewees applied for medical studies and five for law. This majoring subject is indicated in the extracts with the first letter of the name of the interviewee (L for law, like Linda, and M for medicine, like Matilda). The interviewees participated in preparatory courses organised by two different companies in Helsinki and applied to different universities around Finland. Seventeen had a degree from academic upper secondary education and one from vocational secondary education, which both provide eligibility of accessing HE. Eleven were female and six male, and their age range varied from 19 to 35 years. Seven of them covered the costs of the course fee totally or partly by themselves, and 10 financed the costs with external support such as parents, relatives or another party. During the preparatory course, 11 interviewees had no actual residential costs, as they were able to stay for example at their parents’ house (in Finland youngsters often move on their own at age 18). T   he interviewees covered living costs during the course by working, others with savings or financial help from external parties. All our interviewees were classified as belonging to different fractions of the middle class based on their parents’ educational and professional background (income was not discussed in the interviews) (Table 10.1). This definition of social class and the two fractions of the middle class were constructed for analytical purposes by us as researchers and were not discussed as matters of class belonging in the interviews.

Access to higher education in Finland 173 Table 10.1 Social class background and gender of the interviewees (N = 17) Family background

Male

Female

Upper middle class Lower middle class

3 3

6 5

Duration of the interviews varied from 30 minutes to 75 minutes. The interviews followed the structure of the thematic interview frame drawn up in advance, but there was also space for flexibility and the narrations of the interviewees. The interviewees and the interviewers (Ahtiainen & Töyrylä, born 1990 and 1988) belong approximately to the same age group, which may have affected the relaxed interaction in the interview situations. To some extent the interviewees might have assumed that there was shared knowledge between them about applying to university and attending a preparatory course. The interviews were analytically categorised and thematised in line with the research task focusing on the discourses surrounding the topics of necessity of buying private tutoring as a part of the preparation and the role of economic capital in the process. Bourdieu’s (1984, 1996) forms of capital and their different transformations were particularly analysed from the material.

Social construction of the need for preparatory courses All the interviewees had decided for one reason or another to participate on a preparatory course as a part of their preparation to the entrance examinations in law or medicine. In the interviews one of the main issues discussed was the perceived urgent need of participating in a preparatory course when applying to these status disciplines. The inevitability of attending a course was not explicitly discussed in anything other than hypothetical ways. Not attending a course was described as a matter of ‘imagined’ or ‘idealised’ others, and it was not considered an option for oneself. It has been the thought, kind of, that law school, business school and med school are such places, where you nearly need to take a prep course to get it that it’s a bit . . . I don’t know if it is just marketing or what ((laughs)). (Leila, 20, lower middle class, applying 2nd time, on a prep course 2nd time) If you want to get into med school or become a lawyer, you have to take a prep course. (Maria, upper middle class, age 35, applying 1st time, on a prep course 1st time) The preparatory courses are officially not attached to universities or their admission processes.The university staff is prohibited from having any connections to

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the private market of preparatory courses, and the knowledge-base of the provided training on the courses is based on experiences of the entrance examinations over the previous years. This obviously rests on the fact that universities seem to test similar things in similar ways year after year. The courses are used to a different extent across disciplines, but for students admitted to the highly selective subjects of law and medicine, the national averages, in terms of students who undertook a preparatory course, are approximately as high as 80 per cent (Kosunen et al., 2017). However, it was hard to track, from where exactly the necessity of the preparatory course originally sprouted. It was evident that the space of competition was difficult to grasp, but the competitiveness of it was acknowledged, as in the following quotation of applicant applying to a less competitive institution: INTERVIEWER:  So

do you think that the applicants [to law school] in Turku [University] and Helsinki [University] differ?

I don’t think so. Or maybe the differences are not that bi- . . . Maybe to Helsinki there will be more such candidates, whom trust the fact that they will get admitted to a tougher school, that they are more self-confident. (Leila, lower middle class, age 20, applying 2nd time, on a prep course 2nd time) The space of competition (Taylor, 2002) and the social space of educational choice (see Kosunen, 2016) were evaluated in terms of competitive hierarchies between candidates and symbolic hierarchies between institutions (this operates in different ways in different systems, and interesting comparisons can be drawn by considering the case of France and the UK presented in this volume). The symbolic positions of the different institutions were discussed in several interviews mainly as matters of reputation, as the actual diplomas derived from all different public universities in Finland should technically have a similar value at the labour market (even if that might not be the case in reality). However, the ‘market awareness’ (Reay et al., 2005: 52) was existent and the hierarchies across HEIs were acknowledged, as the applicants were able to evaluate which were the toughest universities in terms of difficulty of admission. In comparison to being aware of institutional hierarchies, positioning themselves in relation to the other applicants on the field was a harder task. The urge to attend a preparatory course in order to receive support in the admission was constructed discursively as a strategy of enhancing one’s chances of getting admitted over other candidates.The perceived profit was constructed mainly in relation to ‘naturally’ better students than they themselves (imagined geniuses), due to which the course was considered necessary. Previous studies (Kosunen & Haltia, in press) have shown that the marketing strategies targeting the prospective customers are actually trying to attract all kinds of applicants. However, the construction of the ‘imagined others’ contributing to the need of buying a course was constructed on the basis of those candidates who do not

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attend a course. There was a paradox in description of the ones who did not attend a course: they were perceived as the best applicants, who do not need a course and will still get admitted, and simultaneously as applicants who are less ‘motivated’ and less ‘serious’ about trying to get admitted than those attending a course (ibid.). Neither of these positions is an easy position for anyone to take in a time of high competition and uncertainty over the admission. In the discourse of the applicants in this study, their own inferior position to the ‘best’ candidates got emphasised and was applied as a core explanation why they considered the course necessary for themselves. Well in fact I thought that yes, for me it is somehow compulsory [to take a prep course]. Especially, as I started from the scratch, so I thought that I would get a lot from the course in comparison to some, who have already read a lot in advance and gone through all [relevant] courses in high school. (Mona, lower middle class, age 22, applying 2nd time, on a prep course 2nd time) I’m not the golden star among others, who shines so bright that will get past everyone else, but most likely belong to those [who need a course] because I don’t usually stand working that much that I would be the one [the star]. (Martin, lower middle class, age 21, applying 2nd time, on a prep course 1st time) Especially Martin could have been considered as one of the most prominent candidates for the program when considering his previous excellent performance in natural sciences in high school. However, his own perception in this time of uncertainty was that more training would be required, as the uncertainty of the admission was not compensated with his earlier academic success. This then raises the question, who according to this discourse would not need the preparatory course if he does? In the interviews, the social hierarchies between the candidates were presented in a form in which the ones holding the trump cards (Bourdieu, 1984) in the game were the ones who had prepared best prior to the examination. The description was twofold: the best candidates were the ones ‘naturally’ more ‘talented’ than the others (expectedly high cultural capital), and their only competent competitors were those, who gained the needed knowledge and skills (cultural capital through academic social capital) through private tutoring on a preparatory course. The possibility of preparing for the exam individually was considered insufficient among the interviewees in the preparation especially to medical studies: I would say that there you see that I have a clear cutting-edge in relation to those, who did not take that course. Because then it’ll be like that the ones who have not gone through the course, they have come to put together the puzzles [answering poorly to the difficult tasks in the entrance

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examination], but I don’t need to, as I’m over it already, as those [tasks] have been well taught. (Martin, lower middle class, age 21, applying 2nd time, on a prep course 1st time) In some of the cases, the practice of middle-class schooling (Ball, 2003) was evident: Matilda and Matt received parental support verbally and socially as well as financially. The question was not whether they would apply but rather when they would apply to HE and how. The planning for HE had been long term, which can be interpreted as a kind of a middle-class praxis (Reay et al., 2005). It was actually their [the parents’] idea to put [me] to this preparatory course, as I said that, three month-time, I could read, but next year I’ll apply properly, as I have one year to read. Then they [said] that if you try, try properly, and then you take a prep course, that it is sensible to try at maximum and take a prep course, that that’s where you get extra help then. (Matt, upper middle class, age 19, applying 1st time, on a prep course 1st time) Well in principle I would consider it fairly important that [my] parents have always, from the times I was small, helped me with homework and been supportive. . . . that you cannot apply so that [you think] that you can’t do it. That if you lack that [attitude]. And you’ve never done your homework properly, maybe then you can’t [apply]. (Matilda, upper middle class, age 24, applying 2nd time, on a prep course 2nd time) Even if the middle-class discourse on the admission was mainly about the advantages they had in relation to some other candidates, also the overgenerational pressure of occupying the positions existed. Thereby the idea of aiming to get admitted was not interpreted only as a privilege, but also as a perceived necessity, which was implicitly related to processes of reproduction of social positions. There’s a lot of those people whose parents are in the same business and they say they have a lot of pressure, as their parents are in the same branch, to get into law school at first try. (Lisa, upper middle class, age 20, applying for the 2nd time, on a prep course 1st time) The applicants in general presented the course participation as a form of creating certainty in an uncertain time but also as a personal development process, where cognitively and socially their ‘full potential’ would be fostered. The importance of the course as a social unit, providing access to scarce resources

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(information about answering well in the exams) and creating routines and discipline in the preparation process, was acknowledged. Additionally, the experience of these applicants’ friends, who had attended preparatory courses and managed to get admitted, and the related peer-pressure of getting admitted, actually created new social norms in the admission process among the candidates. Attending a preparatory course had become a thing ‘people like us do’ (see Reay et al., 2009: 1110) among these middle-class youngsters. However, the social pressure of attending a course was (even paradoxically) constructed through observing those who were admitted without a prep course: this logic functions as a self-fulfilling prophecy, as the rumour of a small number of applicants preparing and getting accepted on their own was considered an exception. None of these applicants claimed they knew anyone who had gotten admitted without a preparatory course.The recent quantitative findings of admitted students indicate that there is a fair reason for this perception (see Kosunen et al., 2017), as in law and medicine more than 75 per cent of those admitted in these disciplines had participated on a course at least once. I have, oh well (pause), all my friends are studying, and I want to get forward here, and then it is just that if the intake [to med school] of those without a prep course is such an infinitesimal percentage, then you could practically say that you have to take a prep course to get in. (Martin, lower middle class, age 21, applying 2nd time, on a prep course 1st time) Additionally, the question of the amount and form of the embedded cultural capital among those who did not feel the urge of buying private tutoring and were still successful in the entrance examination should be raised. Partly it was related to the previous success in secondary education (mainly institutionalised cultural capital), partly to the perceived family traditions and norms (embodied cultural capital) (Bourdieu, 1984). Well I have a very stereotypical figure, where I don’t think I would fit in myself, but [the admitted students] are such that have written like five straight As and one A-, and as I have definitely not written five As . . . And then those really talented, who have a eidetic memory, and as they’ve once read a book they’ll know it by heart. So it’s pretty stereotypical that good students apply. Geniuses. (Lisa, upper middle class, age 20, applying for the 2nd time, on a prep course 1st time) It was evident that the actual admission process required a lot of different forms of capital (Bourdieu, 1984) from the applicants, such as social networks whom would support in the application process (e.g. doing baby-sitting or providing general social support), prior skills in different topics (such as in mathematics in medicine: the access even to the preparatory courses was denied if their

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knowledge in mathematics was not sufficient to start with) and actual money to attend the course (paying for the fees as well as covering the living-costs during the course). Several transformations from one form of capital to another took place during the whole transition. The most evident of these transformations was the economic capital invested in the course and the skills as a form of cultural capital that were expected from the course after the pedagogical intervention. However, none of the required resources or forms of capital were discussed as matters of interest in terms of gaining access to HE. The differences in the potential success in the competition, regardless of the notions regarding the required forms of cultural and social capital, were reduced into a discussion mainly around the psychological features of the different applicants, especially that of motivation and hard work. The myth of meritocracy (Reay et al., 2009), in which merit is defined as a combination of talent and effort independent of family resources (van Zanten & Maxwell, 2015), was evident in the interview material of these middle-class applicants. This was a way of avoiding the discussion around social inequalities in terms of cultural capital, as well as the most evident difference in access to economic resources to be invested in the admission. In fact, the different starting points and possible inequalities were not clearly perceived as long as money was not discussed explicitly. It is also that what kind of a motivation you have, and what kind of effort you make. But I would not say that it’s a matter of [social] starting points, but [rather] that it is the personal motivation and like what kind of potential someone has to use and how they use it. (Martin, lower middle class, age 21, applying 2nd time, on a prep course 1st time) I started thinking that hey, what if I applied for law school, and then I thought I can’t . . . that it just wouldn’t, that I just couldn’t. But then I found out about things and then I was like that people do get in, it is possible to get in. If you have motivation and if you want, you can get in, that it’s possible. And now that I got the idea and I’m applying to law school, I haven’t got rid of the thought, and probably won’t. (Laura, lower middle class, age 21, applying for the 1st time, on a prep course for the 1st time) In this interpretation it needs to be questioned how much misrecognition of cultural capital is embedded. Are the geniuses, who could make it without a course, actually the ones whose parents have a relevant social and educational background that, in the ways of transmitting cultural capital within a family, are profiting their offspring? If this is the case, this logic does not concern those from the lower social backgrounds. In case these are the only two competitive options for accessing status disciplines in Finnish HE, either by reading at home and receiving the ‘right’ kind of support from the family or attending a

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preparatory course, and if the courses are non-accessible to many due to high course fees, there is a misrecognition of economic inequality in the admission process.

Role of economic capital in the admission process: who can afford applying for HE? Economic capital as a factor contributing to the participation in HE in Finland has been widely discussed in terms of tuition-free education, student support and study loan during the studies. The participation on a preparatory course is not considered studying, as it does not result in official records or belong to the education system: thereby no support is provided for preparatory course participants, and tuition fees are to be freely gathered, as it is not a part of the official education system but private shadow education. Additionally, as the courses concern a phase between secondary and tertiary education, the role of around finance is usually not discussed in the sphere of education but as social policy. Usually the courses are financed either by parental financial support, savings or by working simultaneously (or sometimes all of them). Also, the funding base of the course is related to the social background, where the applicants from lower social backgrounds buy cheaper courses and finance them by working simultaneously, while higher social classes usually receive parental support for more expensive and extensive courses (Kosunen et al., 2017). As the prices in preparatory courses especially in medicine and law are among the most expensive, the question of who can afford them arises: They say that it is tuition-free to study in Finland and so, but I’m starting to feel that especially in those, where it’s hard to get in anyhow, like law school and med school, there I start feeling the difference. That if you don’t take a preparatory course, do you end up lacking a lot of trivia about the exam and all, if you don’t take the course. And if that’s the reason [of not getting admitted], that would not be equitable, that everyone can get in if they just want, as not everyone can afford the course. (Mona, lower middle class, age 22, applying 2nd time, on a prep course 2nd time) And then those less-well-off can’t afford the courses . . . and then at universities the books and all are fairly expensive, that if you really don’t live with your parents and you have no . . . capital anywhere . . . it’s like you can’t really succeed in the same way. (Lea, lower middle class age 20, applying for the 2nd time, on a prep course for the 2nd time) Given that the active course participation and the preparation required for the successful admission are dependent on the time available, the course fees along with the emerging costs of living may construct an unbearable need

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for economic capital for some applicants. However, the discourse around the role of available economic capital turns back to motivation and capability of risk-taking: Oh well. It’s hard to say. [The price], it’s quite a lot of money, but also that is a thing that if you have enough motivation, you spend some time on it, you get the money together for yourself . . . And then, I don’t believe it’s an obstacle but rather a roadblock for someone. (Martin, lower middle class, age 21, applying 2nd time, on a prep course 1st time) The price might, however, turn out to be an obstacle for the whole application process in this discursive space: Well the preparatory course is probably the biggest [financial] step, for all, and when you get admitted then the [student support] probably covers pretty well the studies, but well, the preparatory course [fee] is the biggest step and thereby many might not apply at all, as they experience that it is needed. (Lea, lower middle class, age 20, applying for the 2nd time, on a prep course for the 2nd time) Lea puts forward a major issue regarding the economic capital invested in the HE admission: in case the preparatory courses become inevitable in the process and the prices remain high, this might bring about a new form of social (self-) exclusion, as some of the prospective candidates may not apply in the first place, as they would not believe in their actual chances of getting admitted. The most interesting part concerning the role of economic capital was the repetitive contrasting to tuition fees in private universities in other countries. The logic was that the Finnish HE-system has to be equal, as it is tuition-fee free, and no other forms of economic inequalities could actually be thoroughly acknowledged among these youngsters. Those [less-well-off] have just different starting points, but pretty well the same possibility exists . . . as you can’t buy anything [private university education]. Or well, you can buy all these courses and so on, but if you’re good, you get in. (Matt, upper middle class, age 19, applying 1st time, on a prep course 1st time) The economic capital used on a preparatory course was interpreted as an economic investment, which will pay itself back in later professional phases enabled by the qualification that it helped to secure. For the most affluent applicants, the money, as such, was not a question: rather, using private economic capital for buying the tutoring service was considered a valuable and profitable

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investment. The consumerist discourse around education as a private investment, a way of transforming economic capital into different kinds of cultural capital in the long run, was discussed: It might get expensive, but when I become a doctor, it’s ok, because in the future I will make money. So the money comes back to me, it does not disappear from me. It’s not a small money, but this course gives me a lot of opportunities and I get quickly further with it . . . earlier to university, earlier out of school and earlier to working life. (Maria, upper middle class, age 35, applying 1st time, on a prep course 1st time) I feel it’s worth it. If with that I get admitted. . . . And when I start working as a doctor it’s not impossible to pay that back; then I can pay the money back to my [relative]. (Mona, lower middle class, age 22, applying 2nd time, on a prep course 2nd time) Given the tuition-free nature of the Finnish HE, saving money for studying has not been really known as a common practice, but as our following examples show, might be becoming or have become one already. Some of the applicants discussed how they are using their saving into buying the preparatory course in order to enter the studies. I have some possessions or capital that my parents have gathered me. it’s been saved for me for my studies, so I don’t feel it’s money away from anything else, as it has been saved for this purpose. . . (Lea, lower middle class, age 20, applying for the 2nd time, on a prep course for the 2nd time) Back then, when I took [the savings] out of my saving account . . . which is meant to help me out with getting a mortgage or so. Then I thought that this is ((pause)) this is kind of the same. That this is an investment in the future. (Max, lower middle class, age 20, applying 3rd time, on a prep course 2nd time) Regarding the transformation of capital (Bourdieu, 1984, 1996), this was an intended procedure in which the cultural capital (in the form of knowledge) led to saving and investing economic capital into private tutoring, which was supposed to bring skills (trump cards) in the examination and thereby result in a university place and a degree from a status discipline (institutionalised cultural capital). When entering the labour market, this institutionalised form of cultural capital would translate into economic capital, after which the original investment could be paid back.

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Even if the educational inequalities are relatively subtle in the Finnish context in relation to some more stratified others, the social inequalities in the educational journey to HE seem to persist, even if in a more hidden form. The social positions the applicants’ families have and the accumulation of capital seem to push the offspring of higher social classes to further studies, even in the same status disciplines, much stronger than those from lower-social-class backgrounds. Paradoxically, for those from the lower social classes who can afford a course, it might actually function as a trump card in the admission.

Discussion The analysis revealed three different groups of candidates with different relationships with preparatory courses and perceived competitiveness in the competition over the university places, which as a finding is supported by previous studies dealing with the marketing practices of the preparatory courses (Kosunen & Haltia, in press). The three distinct groups of applicants were constructed in the discourse of this one group of candidates, who all were attending preparatory courses: the ‘naturally talented’, the ‘motivated’ and the ‘non-motivated’. They themselves seemed to belong to the group of so-called motivated that were in the need of external support in the admission-process. The reasoning behind this division was strongly bound to the need of attending a preparatory course and to the goal of being successful in the competition over places. Only the first two groups were considered competitive. The imagined group of the ‘naturally talented’ was perceived as high in cultural and social capital by many means (such as being ‘geniuses’ with visual memory, for example, as well as hypothetically coming from higher social backgrounds and having received the support from their parents, who themselves would be working in the branches of law or medicine), and thereby their economic investment in the form of buying a preparatory course was not required. However, in these status disciplines this group remained hypothetical, as even the best students from the upper middle class would not consider themselves as belonging to this category. The group of ‘motivated’ exchanged economic capital into cultural on preparatory courses. They aimed to gain embodied cultural capital (e.g. skills in ways of answering the entrance examination questions with the ‘right’ style) through private tutoring, which would be translated into success in the admission and then later transformed into institutional cultural capital in the studies. After finishing with the studies, the institutionalised cultural capital in the form of a juridical or a medical degree, along with the social capital derived through the shared university experience, would result in high employability and in high economic returns, salaries. Thereby the idea of transforming different forms of capital into each other (cultural and economic into a different kind of cultural capital and then eventually back to economic) was a long-term plan for the offspring of the middle classes. Obviously, this sort of planning would require cultural, social and economic capital to start with. A pocketful of money might

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not have been enough as it comes to the immediate costs during the preparation time prior to the HE-admission. The roles of capital were misrecognised (Bourdieu, 1986), especially when discussing the third group, perceived as non-motivated and not really competitive. Perceptions of this group reduced the role of different forms of capital into individual psychological features, such as lack of motivation. This follows a neo-liberal argumentation over individuals’ freedom and responsibilities, as if no social or structural inequalities existed.The economic thresholds that would prevent some of the applicants from attending a preparatory course would also place them discursively in the third group of non-motivated applicants, which was positioned in the discourse as a non-competitive group.This as such would not officially prevent anyone from applying to status disciplines in Finnish HE, but this might increase the likelihood of not trying among those who, due to economic reasons could not attend a course, and due to socially constructed reasons believe it would be necessary for them. Following this logic, the socially constructed need of participating in private tutoring as a part of the preparation to the entrance examinations to status disciplines might create a pattern of de facto social closure, which again would reinforce the elitist nature of those disciplines. The construction of the discourse around actually competitive ways of applying to status disciplines seems to include a social class bias, enable a pattern of social exclusion and possibly a forum for ‘voluntary self-exclusion’ from lower social backgrounds (as the means available in the admission are not considered discursively adequate) but is being misrecognised due to the strong psychological discourse penetrating the discussion. This neoliberal psychologisation of the resources required in the admission puts the responsibility on an individual applicant and dismisses the argument concerning economic inequalities, as it is reduced into a matter of sufficient motivation and sacrifice.The role of restricted access to economic capital as a factor influencing the successful admission to Finnish tuition-free higher education would require further analysis.

References Ahola, S. (1995). Eliitin yliopistosta massojen korkeakoulutukseen. Korkeakoulutuksen muuttuva asema yhteiskunnallisen valikoinnin järjestelmänä. Turku: University of Turku. Ahola, S., Asplund, R., and Vanhala, P. (2016).Valmennuskurssit – välttämätön paha vai jotain muuta? – ketkä osallistuvat valmennuskurssille ja miksi? Tiedepolitiikka, 4, 61–67. Ahtiainen, H. (2017). Valmennuskurssit ja koulutusmahdollisuuksien rakentuminen lääketieteen opintoihin hakeutuvien puheessa, Master’s Thesis, University of Helsinki. Ball, S. J. (2003). Class Strategies and the Education Market:The Middle Classes and Social Advantage. London: Routledge. Bourdieu, P. (1984). Distinction: A Social Critique of the Judgement of Taste. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Bourdieu, P. (1985). The social space and the genesis of groups. Theory and Society, 14, 723–744.

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11 Higher education students as consumers? Evidence from England

Rachel Brooks and Jessie AbrahamsHigher education students as consumers?

Rachel Brooks and Jessie Abrahams

Introduction It is now widely assumed in England – by academics and social commentators alike – that, as a result of the introduction of a wide range of market reforms over the past few decades, English students have become consumers of higher education (HE). In this chapter we draw on two sources of data to interrogate critically these assumptions in relation to both students’ choicemaking processes and experiences of degree-level study. Firstly, we analyse the extent to which students are constructed as consumers in contemporary policy documents, including the white paper Success as a Knowledge Economy: Teaching Excellence, Social Mobility and Student Choice (DBIS, 2016), which provides the basis for the Higher Education Bill which has recently passed through the UK Parliament. Secondly, we consider the extent to which these constructions are shared by students themselves, using data from focus groups in a diverse sample of English higher education institutions (HEIs). We explore whether students contest these constructions and/or offer their own alternatives. The structure of our chapter is as follows: we first discuss the background to the research by outlining key facets of the higher education system in England and some of the main theoretical debates that are pertinent to our study. We then briefly describe our research methods before going on to present our findings in some detail – comparing the degree of congruence between policy constructions and student understandings. In our conclusion, we discuss some of the systemic challenges that emerge from our data.

Background The English education system

In England, there are currently approximately 1.84 million higher education students, studying in one of 131 providers (Universities UK, 2016). Over the past ten years, the application rate (among 18-year-olds) has risen considerably from 27 per cent in 2006 to 37 per cent in 2016. It is important to note, however, that there is some variation across the four nations that make up the UK:

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the application rate is lower in Wales and Scotland (32 and 33 per cent, respectively, in 2016) and higher in Northern Ireland (48 per cent) (ibid.).The majority of students studying in UK higher education are doing so on a full-time basis, although the proportion of full-time students differs quite considerably by level. In 2014–15, for example, while four-fifths of undergraduate students studied on a full-time basis, for postgraduate taught courses, only just over half of the cohort were studying full time (ibid.). Across the sector, a relatively large number of students come from outside the UK: 13 per cent of undergraduate students and 38 per cent of postgraduates in 2014–15. Students from other European Union countries comprised a third of all non-UK students in this year, while just over 20 per cent came from China (ibid.). The vertical stratification of HEIs is more marked in England (and the rest of the UK) than in many other European countries, and this often corresponds closely to the exam grades required of prospective students. Distinctions are commonly made between three main groups of HEIs: ‘Russell Group’ universities (a group of 24 large and high-status research-intensive universities); ‘pre-92’ institutions (‘older’ institutions, which are research focussed and acquired university status before 1992 but which are not members of the Russell Group); and ‘post-92’ institutions (lower-status institutions, many of which are former polytechnics and which acquired university status only after 1992). There are, however, various other types of HE provider, which cater for a minority of HE students. Around 8 per cent follow degree-level courses within further education colleges, for example, and approximately 2 per cent in ‘alternative providers’ (independent private organisations that are not in direct receipt of public funding) (HESA, 2016). Since 2012, English students have been required to pay relatively high fees: most English HEIs charged tuition fees of £9,000 per year from 2012–16, with many increasing their fees in September 2017 to the maximum allowable of £9,250. Students are entitled to a tuition fee loan and a means-tested maintenance loan, both of which are income-contingent – that is, graduates are currently required to start repaying the loans only when their income reaches £21,000 per annum. Prior to higher education, English students will have attended primary schooling (between the ages of 4 and 11), secondary schooling (from 11 to 16), and two years of further study, typically for Advanced Level qualifications (from 16 to 18) (see Figure 11.1). Since 2015, all 16- to 18-year-olds have been required to be enrolled in some form of education or on-the-job training (through an apprenticeship, for example). Around 7 per cent of students attend a private school; the rest are educated in the state system. Over recent years, the UK government has sought to introduce greater diversity into the schools system to encourage parental choice and increased competition between institutions. Thus, within the state system, pupils can attend ‘independent’ schools that are directly funded by the government but which have significantly more freedoms than other schools (e.g. they do not have to follow the national curriculum and can offer their own terms and conditions to staff) or those that remain under local authority control, which do not have such freedoms.

Key stage 3 (Years 7 - 9) Key stage 4 (Years 10 - 11)

Foundaon stage (Recepon year)

Key stage 1 (Years 1 - 2)

Figure 11.1 Schematic presentation of the English education system

Key stage 2 (Years 3 - 6)

1 or 2 YEARS (Age 16 – 18)

5 YEARS (Age 11 – 16)

7 YEARS (Age 4 – 11) Key stage 5 (Years 12 -13) Vocaonal and Academic

SIXTH FORM OR FURTHER EDUCATION

SECONDARY SCHOOL

PRIMARY SCHOOL

3 YEARS (PhD)

1 or 2 YEARS (Master’s degree)

3 YEARS (Bachelor’s degree)

3+ YEARS (Age 18+)

HIGHER EDUCATION

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While most of these schools are not allowed to select students on the basis of their ability, selection with respect to religious practice is allowed in schools which have a particular religious character. Academic selection is, however, allowed in some parts of England, which operate a grammar school system (here, students can opt to sit an exam at the age of 11, which determines whether they will be offered a place at a grammar school). For further information on grammar schools, see Ingram’s chapter in this collection. In many ways, both compulsory education and higher education in England face similar challenges. Research over many decades has shown the persistence of inequalities by both social class and ethnicity. Both grammar schools and faith schools typically over-recruit students from middle-class backgrounds (Allen & West, 2011; Coldron et al., 2010). Moreover, students from workingclass backgrounds typically attain less highly than their middle-class peers at school and are less likely than them to progress to higher education (even for those with an equivalent level of education). Working-class students are also less likely to be found in high-status universities (Boliver, 2013). Similarly, average attainment in compulsory education differs considerably by ethnicity, with students from Chinese and Indian backgrounds achieving the highest results and those from Black Caribbean and Pakistani groups the lowest (DfE, 2015).There are also differences by ethnicity in access to higher education, with Black and minority ethnic students under-represented within elite institutions, for example (Boliver, 2016). More progress has been made in relation to gender, however. Although there remain some significant differences in participation at subject level (for example, young women are much less likely to pursue post-compulsory physics than their male counterparts; Archer et al., 2016), in general, women are now no longer under-represented in higher education and typically attain as well as if not higher than men at both school and university (Skelton & Francis, 2009; Leathwood & Read, 2009). Differences do, nevertheless, persist in earnings after graduation, with women continuing to earn less than men. Similar differences in earnings are also evident in relation to ethnicity and social class (e.g. Lee, 2015). The contemporary English higher education student

While various studies have generated detailed knowledge about the ways in which students go about making decisions about higher education and, in particular, the enduring influence of social class on university choice (e.g. Abrahams & Ingram, 2013; Brooks, 2003; Reay et al., 2005), we know less about the extent to which students conceive of themselves as consumers in this process. Some scholars have asserted – on the basis of the fee reforms outlined earlier and also the increasing marketised nature of the English HE sector – that students have assumed the perspective of consumers (e.g. Naidoo & Jamieson, 2005). Indeed, Molesworth et al. (2009) contend that the inculcation of a consumer identity has brought about a more passive approach to learning, in

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which students place much more emphasis on their rights than their responsibilities and on having a degree rather than being a learner. Moreover, Williams (2013) has argued that universities have come to be perceived by students as just another service provided by the state to which all should be entitled. This sense of entitlement, she maintains, enshrines their understanding of themselves as consumers. However, in contrast to other scholars, she suggests that this shift is not a result, primarily, of the introduction of higher fees and market principles. Instead, she argues that it is the consequence of the distancing of universities from education – that is the use of higher education, by governments, to achieve various political and social objectives (such as social mobility). She writes, ‘The problem for higher education is that when widening participation, as an end in itself, becomes a key goal of universities there is little sense of what people are being recruited to participate in and, perhaps more importantly, why’ (146). Nevertheless, to date, there have been relatively few studies that have drawn on empirical evidence to ascertain whether students do, in practice, see themselves as consumers and the extent to which this frames both their choicemaking processes and the manner in which they engage with their higher education course.Two notable exceptions are the studies by Nixon et al. (2016) and Tomlinson (2016). These, however, reach rather different conclusions: Nixon et al. argue, on the basis of their data collection in one English HEI, that consumer discourses had been readily taken up by students, with many identifying strongly as ‘omniscient consumers’ (i.e. paying customers, whose views need to be taken into consideration in all situations). Tomlinson, however, points to rather more heterogeneity; he maintains that while the ‘studentconsumer’ was a position that was widely recognised by his respondents, it was not one to which they universally subscribed. Indeed, the students involved in his research adopted one of three different positions. Firstly, some rejected consumerism altogether, on the basis that it undermined their understanding of the student and was associated with values that they perceived to be in tension with the overall goals of academic development. Secondly, others had, in contrast, taken on an ‘active service-user attitude’ – believing that universities had to be held to greater account at both institutional and programme levels for the activities they offered given the considerable personal costs to students of participating in HE. Finally, the third and largest group adopted what Tomlinson calls ‘positioned consumerism’, in which they had internalised the discourse of student rights and entitlements but distanced themselves from the position of a consumer. This group believed that they had greater bargaining power in how HE was delivered but balanced this against a sense of personal responsibility for their own learning. In this chapter, we build on the studies of Tomlinson and Nixon et al. to explore, in more detail, how English students studying at three different institutions engaged with the idea of consumerism. In addition, we consider the extent to which their understandings are consonant with those advanced in contemporary English HE policy.

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Methodology We draw on two main sources of evidence in the subsequent discussion: an analysis of English policy documents and focus groups conducted with English undergraduate students (both of which form part of a larger project, which explores the construction of higher education students across Europe – see www.eurostudents.net for further details). In relation to the former, 16 policy documents were selected, four from each of four key policy actors (speeches by government ministers responsible for higher education and key strategy documents published by the government, unions [staff and student] and graduate employer organisations).These were chosen on the basis that they were deemed to be the most significant available at the particular point in time of selection (December 2016), and many relate to the higher education legislation that was being proposed by the government at that time. A full list is provided in Table 11.1. Focus groups with undergraduate students (of British nationality) were conducted in three English higher education institutions in March 2017.The three HEIs were chosen to represent some of the diversity in the sector in terms of institutional status and geography. They comprised: a high-status ‘Russell Group’ university, a mid-ranking ‘older’ university, and a newer and lower status institution, which gained university status much more recently. (In the remainder of the paper, we refer to them as HEI 1, 2, and 3, respectively.) One was located in the north of England, another in the middle of the country, and the third in the south. In each HEI, we conducted three focus groups, each with approximately six students. Participants were recruited through a variety of routes, including visiting lectures to advertise the project, sending emails to all-student lists, and approaching students in social spaces. Overall, a total of 52 students from a wide variety of disciplines took part in one of the groups. The sample comprised 11 men and 41 women. The majority of participants were white; only eight came from Black or minority ethnic backgrounds. In terms of indicators of social class background, 29 of the participants had at least one parent with tertiary education, whilst 17 reported having no parents educated to this level. A further six students were unsure about their parents’ level of education. In the focus groups, the participants were asked a range of questions about the meanings they attached to being a higher education student. In addition, they were asked to respond to two particular constructions of HE students (one from a policy document and one from a newspaper – see Table 11.2) and make plasticine models to represent their student identity.

Policy perspectives The analysis of the 16 English policy documents identified evidence of elements of what has typically been seen as a consumer discourse. In the ministerial speeches and government documents, in particular, there is a strong focus on the investment in higher education made by students and their families and

Table 11.1 Policy documents analysed Type of document (and name given in article)

Full title

Speech 1

Johnson, J. (2015) Teaching at the Heart of the System. Speech given to Universities UK at Woburn House, Tavistock Square on 1 July 2015. Johnson, J. (2015) Higher Education: Fulfilling Our Potential. Speech on university student admissions, given at University of Surrey on 9 September 2015. Johnson, J. (2016) The Student Journey – from Teenage to Middle-Age. Speech given to annual conference of the Higher Education Policy Institute, Regents Park College, on 9 June 2016. Johnson, J. (2016) Universities UK Annual Conference 2016. Speech given to Universities UK, Nottingham Trent University on 7 September 2016. Department for Business, Innovation and Skills (2015) Fulfilling Our Potential:Teaching Excellence, Social Mobility and Student Choice London, DBIS. [Green Paper] Department for Business, Innovation and Skills (2016) Success as a Knowledge Economy:Teaching Excellence, Social Mobility and Student Choice (Cm 9258) London, DBIS. [White Paper] Department for Business, Innovation and Skills (2016) Higher Education and Research Bill: factsheet London, DBIS. Competition and Markets Authority (2015) Higher education. Undergraduate students: your rights under consumer law CMA33(a) London: CMA. CBI [Confederation of British Industry] Employment, Skills and Public Services (2016) CBI response to the 2015 higher education green paper – fulfilling our potential: teaching excellence, social mobility and student choice. Association of Graduate Recruiters (2016) Association of Graduate Recruiters (AGR) response to 2015 Higher Education Green Paper consultation. National Centre for Universities and Business (2016) A Year in Review 15–16 National Centre for Universities and Business (2016) State of the Relationship Report 2016 University and College Union (2016) Higher Education and Research Bill: Public Bill Committee.Written evidence from the University and College Union University and College Union (2011) High cost, high debt, high risk:Why for-profit universities are a poor deal for students and taxpayers National Union of Students (2013) A Manifesto for Partnership National Union of Students (2015) Quality Doesn’t Grow on Fees. Fulfilling our Potential:Teaching Excellence, Social Mobility and Student Choice – NUS Responds to the HE Green Paper

Speech 2 Speech 3

Speech 4 Government document 1 Government document 2

Government document 3 Government document 4 Employer document 1

Employer document 2 Employer document 3 Employer document 4 Union document 1 Union document 2 Union document 3 Union document 4

192  Rachel Brooks and Jessie Abrahams Table 11.2 Extracts used in the focus groups Source document

Quotation

Competition and Markets Authority (2015) Higher education. Undergraduate students: your rights under consumer law CMA33(a) London: CMA. The Guardian (2015) What’s wrong with academics making friends with students? The Guardian, 26 June 2015

‘Knowing your consumer rights should help you to get the information you need when deciding which university and course to choose, get fair treatment once there, and help you progress any complaints you may have should you be subsequently be dissatisfied with your choice or an aspect of the educational service.’ ‘The mollycoddling of students is reaching an excessive level at universities and lecturers are now increasingly expected to treat them like schoolchildren, by heavily monitoring attendance and providing more and more contact time rather than encouraging independent learning and a sense of personal responsibility.’

the importance of ensuring that higher education institutions provide ‘value for money’. The following extracts are typical: Deciding what and where to study is a major decision. Many students invest a lot of time and money into their undergraduate education. It is important that universities give you the information you need so that you can make an informed choice about which universities and courses to apply for. (Government document 4) Now that we are asking young people to meet more of the costs of their degrees once they are earning, we in turn must do more than ever to ensure they can make well-informed choices, and that the time and money they invest in higher education is well spent. (Speech 1) More competition and more informed choice will help drive up value for money for both students and taxpayers. (Speech 2) A notable feature of the government discourse – evident in both the written documents and ministerial speeches – is the way in which students’ views (rather than any independent evaluation conducted by the government itself) are used as the pretext for requiring institutional change, as the following quotation illustrates: Around now, the first cohort of students to enter under the 2012 reforms is preparing to enter the labour market. They have been working hard for their final exams and made a significant investment in higher education. They are looking critically at what they get for that investment, and so

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must we, as a government, on behalf of taxpayers. I am concerned that recent surveys . . . showed that only around half of students felt their course had provided good value for money.   All of us need to reflect on this and on what we can do to address such unease. (Speech 2) There is now a considerable body of literature that has contested the assumption that higher education should be treated as a consumer product (even if it is in practice). McGettigan (2013), for example, has argued that higher education is not comparable to a normal consumer experience in the sense that: ‘repeat testing’ is rarely possible; the benefits of the product become clear only later rather than during the process of consumption; and there is no genuine pricing signal (as a result of the loan system, the ‘headline fee’ is not necessarily what a graduate pays). Furthermore, none of the information that is currently used in England can be considered an accurate and objective measure of teaching quality (because it relies largely on measures of student satisfaction rather than learning) and a range of input measures (e.g. the money spent on library resources and the entry grades of students). Thus, McGettigan concludes, higher education remains a positional rather than consumer good ‘in so far as there is a hierarchy of institutions and the value of a university place depends on its selectivity and relative scarcity’ (ibid.: 60); not all university places are equally available to all who want to purchase them. Nevertheless, despite this critique, the language of consumerism – foregrounding notions of investment, choice, and value for money – is pervasive in the policy documents. A closer reading, however, reveals some interesting tensions and contradictions. Far from emphasising the power of students to improve higher education through exercising their consumer rights, the documents construct students as largely vulnerable individuals in need of protection. Interestingly, this construction is evident in the documents produced by both the government and staff and student unions. In the extracts that follow, drawn from the government documents, the vulnerability of students is emphasised in relation to their initial decision to enter higher education (through not having sufficient information); experiences during their degree (as a result of poor-quality teaching); and entry into the labour market (because of their degree losing value through grade inflation): Applicants are currently poorly-informed about the content and teaching structure of courses, as well as the job prospects they can expect. This can lead to regret. (Government document 1) For too long we have been overly tolerant of the fact that some providers have significantly and materially higher drop-out rates than others with very similar intakes in terms of demographics and prior attainment.

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This applies equally at both the high tariff and low tariff ends of the sector. Such variability is not simply a statistic, nor even simply a squandering of taxpayers’ money. It is worse: it represents thousands of life opportunities wasted, of young dreams unfulfilled, all because of teaching that was not as good as it should have been. (Government document 1) Students also suffer from degree inflation. They want their hard work at university to be recognised and for their degree to be a currency that carries prestige and holds its value. (Government document 3) In response to these concerns, the government proposes a series of measures to ensure that students are protected – in terms of both their course of academic study and financial investment. The establishment of an ‘Office for Students’ is presented as the key mechanism for ensuring this protection. Indeed, its central purpose is stated to be ‘to empower, protect and represent the interests of students, employers and taxpayers’ (Government document 3). The relative lack of representation of students themselves in this organisation is notable. Moreover, various critical comments about existing mechanisms of student representation (through the National Union of Students) that pervade the government documents suggest that the government believes students are not able to articulate and/or defend their own interests themselves and are dependent on (typically older) others to do so. In this way, students are constructed not as empowered consumers able to exercise significant power in a responsive market but as vulnerable young people in need of protection from others.There is a clear tension between, on the one hand, the vigorous advocacy of further marketisation (for example, by making it easier for new providers to enter the system) and, on the other hand, the implicit but clear recognition that the market reforms introduced to date have signally failed to produce empowered consumers. Indeed, the construction of students as ‘infantilised’, which emerged from Williams’s (2011) analysis of UK newspaper articles, is reflected to some extent in the government documents and ministerial speeches. Perhaps surprisingly, the union documents also emphasise the vulnerability of students. However, these typically argue that the cause of this vulnerability is not the failure of HE institutions to offer sufficient information to prospective students, run high-quality courses, or ensure that degree standards are maintained. Instead, they suggest that students are vulnerable because of the market reforms that have already been introduced and that their vulnerability is likely to be heightened if further marketisation occurs. Indeed, they contend: If commercial providers are allowed a quick, low-quality, route into establishing universities and awarding degrees, those studying and working in the sector are seriously vulnerable to the threat from for-profit organisations

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looking to move into the market for financial gain rather than any desire to provide students with a high quality education and teaching experience. (Union document 1) Thus, while much academic debate has assumed that English higher education policy has been underpinned by the straightforward assumption that students are – and should be treated as – consumers in a marketised system, this analysis problematises some of these suppositions. Through paying attention to the messiness and sometimes contradictory tendencies within policy (Ball, 2007; Shore & Wright, 2011), a picture emerges not of students as empowered consumers but as vulnerable individuals, who – as far as the UK government is concerned at least – are not able to represent their own interests but require protection by the state.

Student perspectives Messy messages

In contrast to the assumption that students now see themselves as consumers, data collected in our focus groups support the analysis of the policy documents in as far as they demonstrate that the picture is far more complex than this. In line with Tomlinson’s (2016) three categories outlined earlier, we found a range of responses to this discourse – from students who felt strongly that they should be viewed as consumers to those who were vehemently opposed to the discourse (and others who were ambivalent). Interestingly, we also noted a general feeling among many students that, whether they liked it or not, it was inevitable that they would become conceptualised as consumers. As one student in a focus group at HEI 2 commented: ‘I feel like we have to be, like it’s just the situation we’re in, [. . .] it’s like a service’. This, they told us, was due to the marketisation of HE and the fact that they were paying £9,000 a year in tuition fees. Whilst Tomlinson (2016) found that the majority of students he spoke to had engaged with the consumer discourse in one form or another, we note that some of the students in our research had not actually considered that they might be thought of as consumers or customers prior to the focus group. The extract below illustrates this sentiment: I haven’t really [thought about it before], that’s why I haven’t really said much because . . . I don’t, that’s not the first thing that I really think of if you’re a student, that you are, I suppose I just think you come here to learn, I haven’t really looked at it in that way. I don’t really have . . . a wide opinion on it! (HEI 1 focus group) Many students were unhappy about the concept of consumerism and consumer rights, arguing that it was cold and impersonal. One student said, ‘I don’t

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think that they’ve like given consumer rights, I think they’ve taken the right to education and made it cost money’. Some commented that they did not wish to be viewed as a customer by their institution as they felt it undermined the personal relationships they had forged with their lecturers. For example, when we asked the students in one focus group at HEI 2 to respond to the extract from the Competition and Markets Authority (see Table 11.2), they replied: STUDENT: That’s

like so ridiculous. do you feel like that?

INTERVIEWER:  OK, why

[all laugh] STUDENT: I don’t feel like it’s very good, because we were just saying how good like our relationships are with lecturers, I feel like if lecturers viewed students as we’re customers, I feel like they wouldn’t bend over backwards for us [. . .] INTERVIEWER:  OK, why do you feel like they wouldn’t if they viewed you as customers? STUDENT:  I’m not sure, I feel like if they viewed us as cust . . . I don’t really. . . STUDENT:  It’s very impersonal. . . STUDENT: Yeah, very impersonal really. . . In a similar vein, students in one of the focus group at HEI 1, when responding to the same extract, discussed whether or not they would be happy to complain about their lecturers in the same way that they would with respect to other services: STUDENT:  I’d be happy with that if you took out the consumer. INTERVIEWER:  OK. Why is that? STUDENT: Because I think it’s just as valid to just say, knowing

your rights should help you to get the information you need when deciding the university and course. Just your rights, yeah, as you were saying, your rights to education, it doesn’t have to be your rights for buying a product. STUDENT:  But I think they’re saying that you can like officially complain [. . .] like if some, if a lecturer’s like changed your lecture time or changed something like that, you have the right to sort of sue them or complain because it’s not what you’ve paid for. So I think that’s what they’re trying to say like [. . .] it’s a legal right, because you are buying a degree, yeah. [. . .] STUDENT:  It

feels very personal, it does feel like when you think about your individual lecturers, for you to make a complaint against someone wouldn’t feel like you were making it on the grounds that they were not, that . . . it’s more because they haven’t met your expectations rather than because you feel like they’re not worth your money, because the money is so disconnected from it all. . . STUDENT:  It doesn’t feel like they’re a product. . . STUDENT: Exactly.

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In this excerpt, the students appear to be questioning the impersonal nature of ‘consumer rights’. Interestingly, they did not entirely agree with one another and, as can be seen, there is a discussion about whether this language is necessary to protect paying students through giving them a ‘legal right’. This assumption is contested by another student who maintains that rights should be disconnected from financial transactions. Another student believed that the language of ‘knowing your consumer rights’ is an individualistic discourse which works to hold them responsible for the decisions they make: I feel like they’re telling us we should like, if we don’t enjoy our university then that’s really our own fault because we should know our consumer rights, we should . . . and then we should have based our decision on that, [. . .] [so] if you make the wrong choice then yeah it’s your problem! (HEI 3) This connects to the governmental pressure upon schools to ensure that young people are receiving greater ‘information, advice and guidance’ such that they can make ‘informed choices’ in relation to HE. This discourse also renders the individual responsible for their own decisions, experiences, and outcomes – thus articulating with broader debates about the ways in which the ‘ideology of economic individualism and individualisation as a reflexive project of identityformation’ often obscure the enduring class-based nature of structural inequalities (Ball et al., 2000: 3). Overall then, data from our focus groups demonstrate that students do not engage simplistically with the conception of them as ‘consumers’ of education. Our findings in this respect connect with a recent report from Universities UK (UUK, 2017), which, drawing on data from a survey of over 1,000 undergraduates alongside smaller in-depth workshops, highlights that only 47 per cent of students consider themselves to be a customer of their university. Whilst this is no small portion, it clearly brings into question the assumption that this is the primary way in which the majority of students engage with HE. Furthermore, as the excerpts demonstrate, many of our students felt that the consumer rights discourse undermined the personal relationship they desired to build with their institution and lecturers.The importance of such relationships to students’ learning within HE has been noted in previous research (e.g. UUK, 2017) – however, metrics intended to measure ‘teaching quality’ often overlook such factors entirely (Sabri, 2013). Power

Whether students felt that they should be treated as customers or not, many of them told us that, at present, they were unable to be ‘proper’ consumers as they were lacking the power afforded to consumers of other sorts of services. This theme was strikingly similar to the narratives observed in the policy documents, which located students as not-fully-formed consumers due to insufficient

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marketisation. The students, however, believed that this was a result of what they perceived to be their position of relative weakness in comparison to the power of the university. Whilst this sentiment cut across all institutions in our sample, it emerged most strongly at HEI 3, where students felt that they were often infantilised and not listened to. For example one student commented, My own frustration in the whole thing is that they see us and view us as consumers [. . .] but being a consumer to something, [. . .] I think you should have a particular amount of rights, you should have a particular say in how you think things go. And the [. . .] fact is, and I’m sure that this isn’t just our university, that they will treat you in a particular way, however, when you go to challenge it, it’s completely lost, or you are then treated like a child, we’re not, we’re paying very differently than a child, [. . .] I think institutionally they need to change it, if they’re viewing us as consumers, we need to be, we need to have a lot, an active role. (HEI 3) This quotation illustrates an interesting disconnect between the potential demands which may be made by ‘the consumer’, a supposedly powerful and adult voice, and the relative powerlessness of the voice of  ‘the child’. It also suggests that the infantilisation of students – which Williams (2011) observed in relation to media reports – may also inform interactions between HE staff and students, in some institutions at least (see also Furedi, 2017). As well as feeling like their voices were generally silenced, others said that the discourse of consumer rights offered a ‘false hope’, discussing how they would never be able to enforce the rights they are supposedly given. I feel like as long as we are paying tuition fees, it’s good for us to have those rights as consumers but I think they completely pass us by because you know like in any sort of consumer rights situation, if a student does, imagine if a student contests a university on something that’s say in the handbook, and it doesn’t happen and they contest it and the university will contest it back and give a reason that’s reasonable. And then if they wanted to take it to court, no student has the money to take anything to court in terms of the consumer rights battles. So it’s sort of there but it’s sort of like a false hope for us because we, we’ll never actually use the consumer rights we get given. (HEI 1) Here, the students illustrate clearly, and in line with McGettigan’s (2013) argument discussed earlier, the ways in which HE differs significantly from common understandings of a ‘consumer product’ and the difficulties, for many students, of operationalising ‘consumer rights’. Similarly, others discussed the problem of knowing how to protest effectively if they were unhappy with a service. They described feeling that they were stuck

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between a rock and a hard place, in that ‘taking their custom elsewhere’ could strongly impact them as well as the university: STUDENT:  But

I do think the money gives you more power in saying, I don’t want to do this, or I think it should be changed because I think they have to listen to you, because you could take your business elsewhere, you could drop out, then they wouldn’t get the money. STUDENT: Yeah, yeah, true, yeah. INTERVIEWER:  And do you feel like students are doing that nowadays? [. . .] STUDENT:  I think

sometimes you are stuck between a rock and a hard place, you know between, you are paying for it, fair enough and you are paying towards their wages, but at the same time, if you drop out, as a sort of form of protest, then you don’t get the degree! [. . .] So sometimes it is being stuck between a rock and a hard place, knowing how you protest effectively [. . .]

These excerpts demonstrate that, in line with the constructions found in the policy documents, the students in the focus groups expressed a belief that they were not fully fledged consumers.They argued that consumer rights were a ‘false hope’, merely a form of lip service to placate them. These sentiments accord with findings from the UUK report, which indicate that students did not feel that they had the same degree of agency to bargain with their university as they would with other consumer services. The report’s authors note that the participants in their research ‘did not feel they could “negotiate” with their university, nor “switch” their custom away’ (UUK, 2017: 6). In this way they argue that students felt as though some of the key elements of being a ‘consumer’ were not available to them in relation to their university. Our research and the UUK report thus both give strong empirical support to McGettigan’s contention that the nature of HE does not make it amenable to treatment as a consumer product.

Conclusion Our analysis of policy documents and data from the student focus groups underlines some of the complexity in the way in which the concept of studentas-consumer is discussed by both those formulating policy and the intended recipients. In relation to policies, this is evident in some of the apparent contradictions within government documents which, on one hand, emphasise strongly many aspects of a consumer discourse (foregrounding ideas around investment, choice and ensuring value for money) but, on the other hand, also discuss in some detail the vulnerability of students and their need of protection – which is clearly at odds with the notion of an ‘empowered consumer’. With respect to students, a similar degree of complexity can be seen in their differential awareness of the student-as-consumer discourse and their varied responses to it. Indeed, our work builds on that of Tomlinson (2016) by showing that alongside

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the three groups he identifies (with different perspectives on consumerism) is a fourth group, which has never before engaged with the idea of consumerism in higher education. It also suggests that government campaigns to encourage students to ‘know their consumer rights’ – through the activities of the Competition and Markets Authority, for example – have had limited effect. Of those who expressed opposition to the construction of students as consumers, many focussed on the interpersonal relationships between HE staff and students, believing that such relationships were both central to effective learning and antithetical to a consumerist approach. This reflects other critiques of marketisation which have pointed to the ways in which the importance of relationships to the process of learning have increasingly become erased from policy and institutional discourse. Sabri (2013), for example, notes that although the students in her own research believed that relationships with others in the classroom had a significant impact on their own learning, the major evaluation of teaching quality used in the UK, the National Student Survey, contains no questions about such relationships. By focussing, instead, on questions such as whether courses are intellectually stimulating, students are positioned as passive receivers of education, and narrow views of learning are promulgated. As we have outlined, both the policy documents and focus group responses constructed students as lacking in power. For the staff and student unions, this was understood as a consequence of marketisation, while for the government it stemmed from insufficient marketisation. Some students explained their lack of power in terms of the intrinsic nature of higher education – and the imbalance in knowledge, resources, and authority between them and HE staff. Many of these believed that this imbalance could not be redressed even with thorough-going marketisation, because, ultimately, higher education was not a consumer product. Reflecting McGettigan’s (2013) critique, they noted that, in most cases, it was extremely difficult for them to take their ‘custom’ elsewhere once they had embarked upon a particular course.Themes of infantilisation also emerged in both analyses. Just as we have highlighted a certain tension within the government documents between the idea of an empowered consumer and a student in need of protection (by older adults through the Office for Students), some of the students in our study pointed to the apparent contradiction between staff in their institution using the language of consumerism and yet treating them as children. This analysis raises important issues for contemporary higher education policy in England. Perhaps most significantly, it suggests that processes of marketisation – which have been rolled out across the sector for the last few decades – have failed to construct the ideal ‘empowered consumer’ invoked by neo-liberalism. Although policy actors and students tend to have different understandings of consumerism and its desirability, they share the view that students have not been empowered and, in some cases, are vulnerable and relatively powerless. While this represents an indictment of government policy, it should also be of concern to HE staff who wish to inculcate more democratic relationships in

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the classroom and elsewhere on university campuses and encourage students to take more responsibility for their own learning.

Acknowledgements We would like to thank all the students who gave up their time to take part in a focus group; the staff at the three institutions who helped to facilitate the research; and the European Research Council for funding the wider project. (This project has received funding from the European Research Council [ERC] under the European Union’s Horizon 2020 research and innovation programme under grant agreement No. 681018 – EUROSTUDENTS.)

References Abrahams, J., and Ingram, N. (2013).The chameleon habitus: Exploring local students’ negotiations of multiple fields. Sociological Research Online (18)4. Allen, R., and West, A. (2011). Why do faith secondary schools have advantaged intakes? The relative importance of neighbourhood characteristics, social background and religious identification amongst parents. British Educational Research Journal, 37(4), 691–712. Archer, L., Moote, J., Francis, B., De Witt, J., and Yeomans, L. (2016).The ‘exceptional’ physics girl: A sociological analysis of multimethod data from young women to explore gendered patterns of post-16 participation. American Educational Research Journal, (Advance online access). Ball, S. (2007). Big policies/small world: An introduction to international perspectives in education policy, in: B. Lingard and J. Ozga (eds.) The RoutledgeFalmer Reader in Education Policy and Politics (pp. 36–47). London: Routledge. Ball, S., Maguire, M., and Macrae, S. (2000). Choice, Pathways and Transitions Post-16: New Youth, New Economies in the Global City. London: RoutledgeFalmer. Boliver, V. (2013). How fair is access to more prestigious UK Universities? British Journal of Sociology, 64(2), 344–364. Boliver, V. (2016). Exploring ethnic inequalities in admission to Russell Group universities. Sociology, 50(2), 247–266. Brooks, R. (2003).Young people’s higher education choices: The role of family and friends. British Journal of Sociology of Education, 24(3), 283–297. Coldron, J., Cripps, C., and Shipton, L. (2010). Why are English secondary schools socially segregated? Journal of Education Policy, 25(1), 19–35. DBIS (Department for Business, Innovation and Skills) (2016) Success as a Knowledge Economy:Teaching Excellence, Social Mobility and Student Choice (Cm 9258), London, DBIS. [White Paper] DfE (Department for Education). (2015). Statistical First Release: GCSE and Equivalent Attainment by Pupil Characteristics, 2013 to 2014 (Revised). London: DfE. Retrieved from www.gov.uk/government/uploads/system/uploads/attachment_data/file/399005/ SFR06_2015_Text.pdf (accessed 23 December 16). Furedi, F. (2017). What’s Happened to the University? A Sociological Exploration of Its Infantilisation. London: Routledge. HESA (Higher Education Statistical Agency). (2016). Higher Education Statistics 2014/15. Retrieved from www.hesa.ac.uk/data-and-analysis/publications/higher-education-201415/introduction (accessed 27 April 2017).

202  Rachel Brooks and Jessie Abrahams Leathwood, C., and Read, B. (2009). Gender and the Changing Face of Higher Education: A Feminized Future? Maidenhead: Open University Press. Lee, Y. (2015). Ethnic education and labour market position in Britain (1972–2013), in: C. Alexander, D. Weekes-Bernard and J. Arday (eds.) Race, Education and Inequality in Contemporary Britain. London: The Runnymede Trust. McGettigan, A. (2013). The Great University Gamble. London: Pluto Press. Molesworth, M., Nixon, E., and Scullion, E. (2009). The marketization of the university and the transformation of the student into consumer. Teaching in Higher Education, 14(3), 277–287. Naidoo, R., and Jamieson, I. (2005). Empowering participants or corroding learning? Towards a research agenda on the impact of student consumerism in HE. Journal of Education Policy, 20(3), 267–281. Nixon, E., Scullion, R., and Hearn, R. (2016). Her majesty the student: Marketised higher education and the narcissistic (dis)satisfactions of the student-consumer. Studies in Higher Education, (Advance online access). Reay, D., David, M., and Ball, S. (2005). Degrees of Choice: Social Class, Race and Gender in Higher Education. Stoke-on-Trent: Trentham Books. Sabri, D. (2013). Student evaluations of teaching as ‘Fact-Totems’: The case of the UK national student survey. Sociological Research Online (18)4. Shore, C., and Wright, S. (2011). Conceptualising policy:Technologies of governance and the politics of visibility, in: C. Shore, S.Wright and D. Però (eds.) Policy Worlds: Anthropology and the Analysis of Contemporary Power. New York: Berghahn Books. Skelton, C., and Francis, B. (2009). Feminism and ‘the Schooling Scandal’. London: Routledge. Tomlinson, M. (2016). Students’ perceptions of themselves as ‘consumers’ of higher education. British Journal of Sociology of Education (Advance online access). Universities UK. (2016). Higher Education in Facts and Figures 2016. London: Universities UK. Universities UK. (2017). Education, Consumer Rights and Maintaining Trust:What Students Want from Their University. London: Universities UK. Williams, J. (2011). Constructing consumption, in: M. Molesworth, R. Scullion and E. Nixon (eds.) The Marketisation of Higher Education and the Student as Consumer. London: Routledge. Williams, J. (2013). Consuming Higher Education. Why Learning Can’t Be Bought. London: Bloomsbury.

Part VI

Conclusions

12 Conclusion

Nicola Ingram and Aina TarabiniConclusion

Social inequalities in educational choices, transitions and aspirations in Europe Nicola Ingram and Aina Tarabini This book has been concerned with social inequalities in education systems across a range of European countries, representing four different welfare and transition regimes (see Table 1.1): the conservative/employment-centred regime (Belgium and France); the liberal regime (UK: Northern Ireland and England); the sub-protective (Italy, Spain and Turkish); and the social-democratic/universalistic regime (Finland). Despite systemic variation from one regime to the next and variation across individual countries, there remains, in all contexts discussed, a persistence of inequality in the form of socially divided educational routes and outcomes. These inequalities are reproduced and cemented at the points of transition that separate young people by social background, whilst hiding behind discourses of ‘meritocracy’ and ‘choice’. This book provides an opportunity to compare differences and similarities in points of educational divergence, as well as different selection and transition policies and processes. From the outset, the book has framed educational social inequalities as symptomatic of the systemic oppression of the working class, an oppression that generates negative relationships with education and educational institutions, even if not in linear or uncontested ways. The first section established theoretical approaches to unpicking the complexities of the processes of choice, aspiration and transition. Using Bourdieu’s theory of practice, foregrounded in Reay’s chapter (2), and/or a Bourdieusian perspective on ‘choice’ (discussed by Gale and Parker in Chapter 3), each subsequent empirical chapter has illuminated the multi-layered mechanisms of education and social reproduction (Bourdieu & Passeron, 1990). What is clearly shown is that systemic, institutional and subjective layers are tightly enmeshed in a weave of unequal patterns. To understand the fabric of inequality, we need to holistically look at the woven texture rather than individual threads. While the preceding chapters have successfully explored issues in this holistic way for a given country context, this chapter aims to consider the importance of each of the factors by making comparisons across the European countries. The systemic, institutional and subjective challenges will be considered in turn before offering a final concluding statement that provides recommendations based on a synthesis of all factors.

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Systemic factors Before we can begin to understand processes that contribute to underachievement, educational failure and/or early school leaving and dropping out at the institutional and subjective levels, we first of all need to consider systemic factors and challenges. Europe, as a whole, has been challenged by, among other things, the aftermath of the 2008 financial crisis, which for many countries has seen a significant reduction in levels of GDP growth. For all of the countries in this book the 2016 level of growth was less than that of 2007. The continued economic crisis and resulting austerity measures across Europe have seen a widening of inequalities, as well as challenges to provision of welfare, health services and education. In a quantitative study of the relationship between the fiscal position and levels of inequality in European countries, Schneider et al. (2017) found that the more austere the financial adjustments made by a country in response to the economic crisis the more unequal the distribution of income. The evidence shows that reduced investment in public services enhances inequalities. The impact of austerity has been felt in education systems across Europe, but the policy context is quite different in each country, so it is worth considering differences in educational outcomes across a range of key measures for each of the seven countries in this volume, using the data source Eurostat. Table 12.1 shows that in terms of underachievement in reading, maths or science Finland has the best performance across the countries, while Turkey has the most challenges, with 51.4% of 15-year-olds failing to meet targets.The rest of the countries have more similar scores that range between 20.1% and 23.5%. The pattern of low performance for Turkey and high performance for Finland is repeated across all measures, with available statistics showing poor overall education and employment outcomes for Turkey’s youth. Italy falls just below Turkey when it comes to the percentage of 30- to 34-year-olds who have a tertiary-level qualification, an issue that is considered in more detail in Chapter 7. Leaving aside Turkey’s performance, Spain notably scores poorly in comparison with its European neighbours on NEET and Early School Leaver indicators, issues fleshed out in Tarabini et al’s discussion. Italy,Turkey and Spain have the poorest employment rates for secondary school graduates, with Italy at 52.9% scoring significantly lower than the highest-scoring country, the UK, whose employment rate was 84.4%. These macro-level features have been shaped by the knotty amalgam of historical, political and economic structures that have governed each context, and it is beyond the scope of this book to present the complex details of these for each country. However, the chapters within have provided insight into the socio-economic and policy contexts within which the respective education systems operate. For example, Boone et al. (Chapter 4) and Ingram (Chapter 5) show how the structural conditions of the Flemish and Northern Irish education systems, in both cases a rigidly tracked system from secondary level, while generating an overall high average performance create a wide gap between the top and the bottom students. Both studies show that this gap maps onto the

Conclusion 207 Table 12.1 Key educational measures of the seven countries included in the book Eurostat data Country Underachievement in reading, maths or science at 15 (2015) %

At least upper secondary school attainment (age 25–64) (2016) %

Educated to tertiary level (population aged 30–34) (2016) %

Not in Employment Education or Training (NEET) (age 18–24) (2016) %

Early School Leavers* (age 18–24) (2016) %

Employment rates of recent ‘graduates’** (2016) %

Belgium Finland France Italy Spain Turkey UK

75.1 88.1 78.1 60.1 58.3 35.6 79.5

45.6 46.1 43.6 26.2 40.1 26.5 48.2 (N.I.*** 35.5)

9.9 9.9 11.9 19.9 14.6 No Data 10.9

8.8 7.9 8.8 13.8 19.0 34.3 11.2

81.2 77.4 73.0 52.9 68 61.1 84.4

20.1 13.6 23.5 23.3 22.2 51.4 21.9

* Early School Leavers. This indicator presents the percentage of young people aged 18 to 24 who have not been involved in education or training in the four weeks before taking the survey, and who have at most a lower secondary education. ** Employment Rates of Recent ‘Graduates’. This indicator presents the employment rates of 20- to 34-year-olds who: (a) are employed; b) have attained upper secondary education as their highest level of education; (c) have not been involved in any education or training in the four weeks before the survey; and (d) completed their highest qualification between 1 and 3 years prior to the survey. *** N.I. refers to Northern Ireland, whose data is available for this measure. The difference in the N.I. figure and the overall UK figure may be accounted for by the fact that many young people leave the country to study at universities in other parts of the UK, and some do not return.

different educational tracks, which in turn correlate with social background in terms of class, and in the case of Flanders, migration. In Spain, different structural factors militate against the chances of success for working-class young people, in the form of divergent tracks at the end of lower secondary school and the availability of vocational schools. Tarabini et al. (Chapter 6) show the impact of the uneven availability of vocational schooling across Catalonia on young people’s choices and opportunities for success. In their respective chapters on the Italian and Turkish education systems, both Romito (Chapter 7) and Çelik (Chapter 8) provide evidence that, in seemingly ‘free-choice’ models of track selection in secondary schools, social class impacts on decision making, even when controlling for prior attainment. The explanations for this phenomenon draw on understandings of both institutional and subjective factors, and these will be discussed in the following sections, but their studies indicate that education systems cannot resolve issues of inequality through choice mechanisms alone.This argument is further demonstrated powerfully by Van Zanten et al. (Chapter 9) in their discussion of the fragmented and hierarchical higher education (HE) tracks in France. Here, universities are forbidden by law to select students. However, because the system also provides

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another form of tertiary education that has higher status than universities (the Grandes Écoles, which are academically selective), the transition to HE favours the class privileged. Despite attempts at the systemic policy level to provide opportunity and freedom to choose university, the hierarchical structures of the HE system impose impossible limits on equality. In Finland, the system of tuition-free HE, coupled with high levels of successful completion of upper secondary education (88.1% of the 25- to 64-year-old population had reached this level in 2016) should in theory open up the HE system in a way that the structural conditions of the HE system in France (and also the UK) does not afford. However, Kosunen et al. (Chapter 10) show how economic capital still comes into play when accessing the competitive status disciplines of law and medicine. Their work highlights that wider structural conditions of income inequality cannot be ignored when considering issues of equality in education. In the case of Finland, the process of succeeding in entrance exams is misrecognised as meritocratic, when positive outcomes often rely on economic capital in the form of expensive private tuition.The economically disadvantaged are left with a diminished opportunity to compete despite educational policy which provides open access. This provides an example of where policy and the market are in tension as contributory forces in generating the structural conditions of an education system. The case of the English HE system, discussed in Brooks and Abrahams’ study (Chapter 11) provides an interesting comparison with Finland at the systemic level, as marketisation is actually promoted by the state. The English HE system is the most stratified and most expensive in Europe, where access, experience and outcomes are all impacted by social class (Bathmaker et al., 2016;Waller et al., 2018). Brooks and Abrahams show that while government policy constructs students as consumers, it paradoxically disempowers them by simultaneously constructing them as vulnerable. The construction of students in policy documents and wider discourses is important to consider, as the discourse helps to create and embed shared assumptions about the way in which institutions and individuals should behave and the way that young people understand their student identities. All in all, the empirical analyses contribute to identify crucial systemic factors shaping young people’s educational transitions, opportunities and ‘choices’ in Europe. The mechanisms explaining the production and reproduction of educational inequalities in different European countries are crucially connected to the structure of different education systems that, in turn, are related to specific social, economic, cultural and political factors at national and regional levels. In this sense, the book demonstrates that the ‘capacity’ to choose, to imagine, to navigate from one educational level to another is fundamentally anchored in the opportunities provided by the system. Young people do not develop their educational paths in the middle of an empty space but within a complex amalgam of diverse forms of educational provision, tracking mechanisms and explicit and subtle criteria to access different educational modalities that not only frame their transition processes but also attribute different meaning, value and legitimacy to their choices (see Table 12.2 for a summary of the systemic factors addressed in this book).

Conclusion 209 Table 12.2 Summary of systemic, institutional and subjective factors channelling educational transitions in Europe Systemic factors: education system, policies and politics

Institutional factors: schools

Subjective factors: students

Structure of the educational supply (ownership, provision, funding, connections) Degree of comprehensiveness or hierarchy of the system Criteria to access different educational phases (specific exams, standardised tests, previous achievement, etc.) Status hierarchy between the academic/general and professional/ vocational tracks Policy frames, discourses and texts Educational policies to channel students’ trajectories Teachers’ expectations Teachers’ guidance discourses and practices Teachers’ conceptions of their role Grouping practices within schools Curricular practices within schools Institutional devices to mentor and guide students and families Class, gender and ethnic identities Emotions, anxieties, contradictions Expectations and aspirations Self-perception, self-esteem Habitus formation, transformation and operation

Source: authors

Institutional factors The importance of institutions as crucial mechanisms in explaining the production and reproduction of social inequalities are undeniable, and the chapters of this book have given great consideration to these factors. In doing so, several chapters have, either explicitly or implicitly, drawn upon the concept of institutional habitus as a means of uncovering the processes involved in creating divergent educational experiences for young people from different social backgrounds. In her theoretical chapter Reay provided an outline of the concept of institutional habitus drawing upon her own work, which saw the introduction of this concept to a European academic audience, and on McDonough’s (1996) conceptualisation of ‘organisational habitus’ in the North American context. The concept is useful for considering the way in which the structures of an institution are incorporated into the bodies of the actors within, and then converted to shared ways of being and acting. Chapters 5, 6, 7 and 8 all implicitly examine the operations of different institutional habitus in the development of individual dispositions in terms of choice, aspiration and orientation toward education. The power of the concept is in its explanatory value for considering the way that institutions can work upon and reshape the habitus that individuals have generated through previous social experiences. As Burke et al. argue: While Bourdieu himself does not use the term institutional habitus, the phrase is useful when considering the incorporation of the institution into the habitus. An institution can bring about an adjustment in the habitus of

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individuals within it through its collective actions (or the actions of those within it). This tends to bring agents into a state of habitus homology. It is these homologies, these shared habitus engendered by the institution, that underpins the notion of institutional habitus (Burke et al., 2013: 173) Both Ingram and Celik (Chapters 5 and 8) explore the impact institutions can have on working-class individuals. They both consider the interaction between individual and institutional habitus when they are not in alignment. Ingram examines the way that an institutional habitus develops through the long history and embedded practices of institutions, which are passed on through ‘tradition’ by successive actors that make their way through their doors. She also considers how the very physical space contributes to the performances of those who inhabit it. Her work powerfully shows how institutions frame and constrain behaviours and dispositions in spite of individuals, yet provides examples of the alienation and potential resistance this produces for the working-class. Celik, drawing on Ingram and Abraham’s (2016) theoretical framework, highlights working-class resistance to the forces of an institutional habitus, which in educational establishments, is mostly anathema to working-class cultural ways of being. He utilises the concept of ‘reconfirmed habitus’, to show that often the result of a habitus interaction or tug (Ingram, 2011), when a working-class habitus is confronted with the structures of an institution, is a retreat back into the familiar and safe original habitus. Both studies highlight the importance of teachers’ interactions on students’ educational dispositions. Tarabini et al. (Chapter 6) also provide a strong case for the importance of the institutional factor of teacher interactions in shaping students’ identities, choices and motivations. They present a compelling argument for the power of the institution by demonstrating the way in which teachers steer young people’s educational trajectories through their every-day practices. Even when choices of track are apparently open to all, teachers’ directives, attitudes and levels of support communicate to young people what is expected of them and what they can aspire to, hope for and ‘realistically’ apply for. Despite levels of educational attainment, institutions can play a significant role in ‘cooling down’ the aspirations of the working-class (See Abrahams, 2016, and Romito in this volume). In choice driven track systems, teachers steer students based on judgements of their cultural capital, which they justify through discourses of merit. The connection between academic performance and judgements of cultural capital is rarely acknowledged by institutions, and a conflation of capital into potential affords more advantageous and respectful educational interactions to the middle-classes. Chapter 9 is also very powerful in demonstrating the institutional framing of students’ choices. As Van Zanten et al. evidence, schools with different status and prestige channel educational transitions in quite divergent ways, in terms of their temporal framing, in the focus and logics of guidance practices and in the degree of personalisation of information and counselling. And of

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course, these institutional differences are translated into different advantages for students. However, advantages are not conferred by the institutions of schools alone. The institutional habitus of the family is another major factor in the way that transitions, choices and aspirations play out. Boone et al. clearly demonstrate the power of parental knowledge and strategising to ensure their children are guided to ‘choose’ options that allow them to remain open to future possibilities. Parents’ knowledge levels of how to play the game to maximise effect are based on their own social location, experiences, networks and access to information. Through their own forms of social and cultural capital, middle-class parents help to prevent the limiting of their children’s aspirations. Overall, the empirical studies of this book provide crucial evidence to point out the paramount role of the educational institutions and their professionals in providing opportunities for educational success. Schools and teachers are not neutral in terms of their practices, their values and their relations. It is precisely through the normalisation and legitimation of the arbitrariness of their cultural norms (Bourdieu & Passeron, 1990), and through the taken for granted ‘grammar of schooling’ (Tyack & Tobin, 1994), that schools act as sites of educational exclusion (Tarabini et al., 2017; Tarabini, 2018 in press). The lack of representation, recognition and care of the working classes within the daily organisation of the schools is, then, one of the main elements to explain their possibilities for success (see Table 12.2 for a summary of the institutional factors addressed in this book).

Subjective factors Finally, we consider the subjective factors in the process of generating educational inequalities. Choice and aspiration are key components of the subjective as they are generally considered to be freedoms enjoyed and directed by individuals. The language of choice and aspiration can, however, be seen as part of the apparatus of neoliberal policy. The words are seductive, as they conjure up the image of freedom, but the provision of freedom to choose and the encouragement to freely aspire, shifts responsibility for outcomes from the state to the individual. Moreover, choices and aspiration are never free from the social structures in which they are provided. What may be perceived as an individual choice or aspiration carries with it a whole history of experiences, internalised through the habitus to generate certain dispositions. Different class dispositions towards certain choices emerge because different class groups have the genesis of their habitus in very different socially bound histories. Therefore, the capacity to choose and aspire to a rewarding educational outcome is more of a freedom for the privileged. These theoretical issues are explored in detail in Part I of this book. Gale and Parker argue in their chapter that for elite groups, possibility is informed by desire, but for marginalised groups, possibility informs desire. This is an eloquent argument that fits with the issues of ‘choice’ explored in the empirical chapters

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of the following parts of the book. What needs to be qualified in relationship to this argument is that ‘possibilities’ are not a rational calculation but rather a tacit understanding of what can be expected and thinkable as an outcome. Working-class young people don’t rationally calculate their chances of success in education and make according decisions; instead the possibilities are very much generated within the parameters of what is ‘felt’ to be possible. As Bourdieu argues, If a very close correlation is regularly observed between the scientifically constructed objective probabilities (for example, the chances of access to a particular good) and agents’ objective aspirations (‘motivations’ and ‘needs’), this is not because agents consciously adjust their aspirations to an exact evaluation of the chances of success, like a gambler, organizing his stakes on the basis of perfect information about his chances of winning. In reality, the dispositions durably inculcated by the possibilities and impossibilities, freedoms and necessities, opportunities and prohibitions inscribed in the objective conditions . . . generate dispositions objectively compatible with these conditions and in a sense pre-adapted to their demands. (Bourdieu, 1990: 54) The chapters in this book animate these theoretical arguments through empirical analyses of decision-making processes. Romito’s chapter, for example, vividly articulates the problem of the concept of choice. He demonstrates that ‘choices’ emerge from a subjective ‘practical sense’ (Bourdieu, 1977) of what is desirable and achievable, a logic that connects to a history of inclusion/exclusion but is felt at the individual level. In different ways Boone et al. (Chapter 4) and Tarabini et al. (Chapter 6) illustrate the freedoms and constraints of socialclass on young people’s choices and subjectivities. The privileged background of the middle-class students in Flanders creates a situation in which the constraints on their choices by parents actually ensure greater freedom and possibility for future aspirations, as they are directed to tracks that leave all options open. By contrast, in Catalonia working-class young people, through processes of symbolic violence in the form of teachers’ interactions, come to understand themselves as not fit to choose the higher status academic tracks. These forms of what appear to be self-exclusion are in reality embedded in very unequal structures. Young people can come to understand themselves and their educational fit through micro-level social interactions, which can, as shown by Çelik (Chapter 8), lead them to anticipate their belonging or non-belonging in academic-focussed settings. This can have a negative impact on working-class young people, particularly at breaking points in educational provision, whether this is in secondary school or indeed later on in tertiary education (as demonstrated by Kosunen et al. in Chapter 10). All in all, the different chapters of the book demonstrate that young people’s relations to schooling are not independent of the processes of identity formation, especially in the transition points. Y   outh social and cultural identities are of

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paramount importance to understand their dispositions and relations towards education. In this sense, what is desired and chosen is fundamentally ascribed to young people’s multiple identities and positionalities. Learner identities are not independent from gender, class and ethnic identities, as they are neither independent from their contexts of production, namely educational institutions. It is, thus, time for a subjective and emotional turn in the analysis of educational choices, aspirations and transitions in which young people’s well-being, multiple selves, voices and identities are located in the forefront (see Table 12.2 for a summary of the subjective factors addressed in this book). Fundamentally, what is highlighted by this work is the importance of connecting systemic, institutional and subjective factors when trying to understand the processes of inequality.What is valued and what is ‘chosen’ is strongly influenced by what is possible within structural conditions. Too much emphasis on an agent’s freedom to choose can skirt the structural constraints that largely determine that freedom. The emphasis needs to be placed on structural rather than individual changes. Bourdieu helps us to think deeply about subjective constraints, but his theory directs us to only make sense of these within an overall conception of institutional and systemic factors. As Tarabini et al. argue in Chapter 6, subjectivities do not form in a vacuum but are in fact directly connected to wider macro- and meso-level structural factors.

Final thoughts and recommendations While each chapter of this book can be read individually to provide an overview of the education system and inequalities in transition, choice and aspiration in a particular European country, the collection as a whole does much more. It provides an insightful comparison of breaking points in educational pathways and, through analyses of rich empirical data, provides strong evidence on the social justice challenges of education in Europe. These challenges are found at systemic, institutional and subjective levels, and solutions therefore should consider holistic approaches. Policies that target individual choice and aspiration lack substance when an overall system is selective or hierarchical at any level. What is clear from the evidence presented in these chapters is that choice is never free when hierarchy exists, and regardless of the point at which young people’s educational tracks are divided, and regardless of whether the mechanism of division is academic selection or apparent ‘free choice’, the working classes lose out to their middle-class counterparts. True equality in education would require a reduction in advantage for the middle classes at the systemic level – the removal of academic selection, the flattening of track hierarchies, the flattening of university stratification. Diane Reay argues in her book Miseducation (2017: 193) that academic segregation has a powerful hold in education as it is seen as “endorsing ‘natural’ hierarchies that appeal to contemporary middle-class desire and aspirations”. This points to the need for change not only at the systemic, but also the institutional and subjective level. Instead of focussing on the changes that the working classes need to make to improve

214  Nicola Ingram and Aina Tarabini

their outcomes in education perhaps it is time that the spotlight is turned onto the middle classes. It is middle-class power, policy, practices and attitudes that ensure the reproduction of educational inequalities, and these should be the locus for change.

References Abrahams, J. (2016). Schooling Inequality: Aspirations, Institutional Practices, and Social Class Reproduction, PhD thesis, Cardiff University. Bathmaker, A.-M., Ingram, N., Abrahams, J., Hoare, A., Waller, R., and Bradley, H. (2016). Higher Education, Social Class and Social Mobility: The Degree Generation. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Bathmaker, A.-M., Ingram, N., and Waller, R. (2013). Higher education, social class and the mobilisation of capitals: Knowing and playing the game. British Journal of Sociology of Education, special issue on education and social mobility, 34(5–6), 723–743. Bourdieu, P. (1977). Outline of a Theory of Practice. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bourdieu, P. (1990). The Logic of Practice. Cambridge: Polity Press. Bourdieu, P., and Passeron, J. (1990). Reproduction in Education, Society and Culture. (2nd ed.). London: Sage. Burke, C., Emmerich, N., and Ingram, N. (2013). Well-founded social fictions: A defence of the concepts of institutional and familial habitus. British Journal of Sociology of Education, 34(2), 165–182. Ingram, N. (2011).Within school and beyond the gate:The difficulties of being educationally successful and working-class. Sociology, 45(7), 287–302. Ingram, N., and Abrahams, J. (2016) Stepping outside of oneself: how a cleft-habitus can lead to greater reflexivity through occupying ‘the third space’, in: J. Thatcher, N. Ingram, C. Burke and J. Abraham (eds.) Bourdieu: The Next Generation. The Development of Bourdieu’s Intellectual Heritage in Contemporary UK Sociology, BSA Sociological Futures series. Abingdon: Routledge. McDonough, P. (1996). Choosing Colleges: How Social Class and School Structure Opportunity. New York: State University of New York Press. Schneider, M. P. A., Kinsella, S., and Godin, A. (2017). Redistribution in the age of austerity: Evidence from Europe, 2006–13 Applied Economics Letters, 24:10; Levy Economics Institute, Working Papers Series No. 856. Retrieved SSRN from https://ssrn.com/ abstract=2705026 or http://dx.doi.org/10.2139/ssrn.2705026. Reay, D. (2017). Miseducation: Inequality, Education and the Working Classes. Bristol: Policy Press. Tarabini, A. (in press). Schooling and the Multiple Sites of Exclusion: A Social Justice Perspective. London: Palgrave McMillan. Tarabini, A., Jacovkis, J., and Montes, A. (2017). Factors in educational exclusion: Including the voice of the youth. Journal of Youth Studies, 1–16. Tyack, D., and Tobin, W. (1994). The ‘grammar’ of schooling: Why has it been so hard to change? American Educational Research Journal, 31(3), 453–479. Waller, R., Ingram, N., and Ward, M. (2018). Higher Education and Social Inequalities: University Admissions, Experiences and Outcomes. Abingdon: Routledge.

Index

Note: Page numbers in italic indicate figures and those in bold indicate tables. ability grouping 98 ABJOVES project 95 – 96; see also Catalonia (Spain) study Abrahams, J. 134, 142, 210 academic/vocational training in CataloniaSpain 100 – 103 adaptation, emergent discourse of 43 adapted groups 98 adaption of preferences 35 Admission Post-Bac (APB) web platform 156 agency freedom 44 Aimhigher programme 34 à la carte integration model, described 6 Allen, R. 22 ambitions, cooling-out 117 – 119 anatolian 129 Appadurai, A. 38 – 39 Archer, L. 133 aspirations; analysis of, described 3 – 6; assertions of 34 – 35; as capability for imagining futures 34 – 39; desire and 36 – 38; higher education and 32 – 33; introduction to 32 – 34; navigational capacity of 32, 38 – 39; possibility and 37 – 38; social imaginary and 35 – 36; taste and 36; see also transitions Atkinson, A. 75 attainment targets 54 austerity education 17 – 18 Australia HE reforms 34 Ball, S. 134 Bateson, G. 149 becoming, transitions as state of 40 – 43 Belfast see Northern Ireland (UK) study Belgium see Flanders (Belgium) study

Bernstein, B. 18, 85 Boudon, R. 57, 113 Bourdieu, P. 18 – 21, 23, 25, 27 – 28, 205; on desire 38; habitus concept 58, 113 – 114, 133 – 134; on taste 36; theory of transformation and transmission of capital 168 – 169, 173 Bowden, M. P. 34 Breen, R. 58 Burgess, S. 75 Burke, C. 209 – 210 capability: aspirations as 34 – 39, 45; transitions as 39 – 43, 45 Cartmel, F. 4 – 5 Catalonia (Spain) study 95 – 108; academic and vocational training in 100 – 103; education system, schematic presentation of 99; features of 7; introduction to 95 – 96; lower secondary education, structure of 96 – 98, 99; opportunities, impact of schools on 102 – 104; as sub-protective model 5; teachers’ beliefs/expectations, role of 104 – 106; underachievement in 206, 207; as uniform integration model 6, 96 chameleon habitus 142 choice in Flemish education, sociological perspective on 57 – 58 class constraints, choices and 134 – 141 Classes Préparatoires aux Grandes Ecoles (CPGEs) 155, 159 cleft habitus 142 ‘Climbing for success’ (Cordées de la réussite) 158 cognitive frames 149

216 Index Commission on Widening Access (CoWA) 34 Competition and Markets Authority 196, 200 concentration schools 69 conservative model, described 5 CSASE (Consell Superior d’Avaluació del Sistema Educatiu) 98 David, M. 134 decision-making process: agency role in 5; teachers’ views in 119 – 122 demonized schools 21 Department For Work and Pensions 15 – 16 Department of Education 55 Dershanes 138 – 139 desire, aspirations and 36 – 38 Distinction (Bourdieu) 36 divided habitus 142 Doughney, J. 34 Dumas, A. 96 – 97 early school leaving: economic, social, and political aspects of 15 – 18; institutional habitus and 21 – 22; systemic factors leading to 206 – 208, 209; working-class educational failure and 15 economic capital, HE in Finland and 179 – 182 Education, Opportunity, and Social Inequality (Boudon) 57 educational choices, analysis of, described 3 – 6 educational failure, systemic factors leading to 206 – 208, 209 educational inequalities, subjective factors in 211 – 213 educational system, global structure of 5 Education and Training Monitor of the European Commission 53 education system schematic presentations: Catalonia (Spain) 99; England (UK) 187; Finland 170; Flemish 56; France 152; Italy 112; Northern Ireland (UK) 77; Turkey 130 elite, upper-middle-class schools 69 Elster, J. 35 employment-centred model, described 5 England (UK) education system study 185 – 201; as à la carte integration model 6; aspiration and 26, 34; austerity and 16 – 17; background to 185 – 188; English higher education student 188 – 189;

features of 8; introduction to 185; as liberal model 5; Local Education Authorities (LEAs) in 75; methodology used 190; NEETS in 17 – 18; policy documents analysed 190, 191 – 192, 192 – 195; schematic presentation of 187; state-funded secondary school education in 74; student perspectives 195 – 199; students as consumers of HE 185, 188 – 189; symbolic violence and 23 – 24; underachievement in 207 Erikson, R. 61 Esping-Andersen, G. 5 Eurostat 110 Eurydice 97 Exam for Transition to High School (LGS) 129 Fine, M. 27 Finland higher education study 167 – 183; economic capital role in admission process 179 – 182; features of 8; as individualized integration model 6; introduction to 167 – 169; overview of 172 – 173, 173; preparatory course markets and 169 – 171; schematic presentation of 170; social construction of interviewees 173 – 179; as socialdemocratic/universalistic model 5 – 6; status disciplines 171; underachievement in 206, 207 Flanders (Belgium) study 53 – 70; choice in education, sociological perspective on 57 – 58; as conservative/employmentcentred model 5; data collected for 59 – 60; design method used in 58 – 59; features of 7; Flemish education system, features and background of 54, 56; introduction to 53 – 54; school choice 68 – 69; as separation model 6; track choice descriptive statistics 60, 61 – 66, 62, 63, 64 – 65; track choices explained 66 – 68; transition from primary to secondary education 54 – 57, 56; underachievement in 207; variables in 60, 60 – 61 Flemish Agency for Innovation 59 Flemish education system: as being decentralized 54; choice in, sociological perspective on 57 – 58; features and background of 54, 56; schematic presentation of 56; tracks in 54 – 57 Flemish Ministry of Education 59

Index  217 flexible grouping 98 Foucault, M. 43 Frame Analysis (Goffman) 149 frame concept 149 – 150 France study 149 – 163; as conservative/ employment-centred model 5; features of 8; framework for 149 – 151; HE access through ideas, instruments, and institutional arrangements 154 – 158; HE policies, reframing of through enactment and reception 158 – 162; HE provision and demand, targets of 155 – 156; methodology for 151 – 154; professional involvement in students’ transition to HE 156 – 158; schematic presentation of French education system 152; targets and algorithms, limits of steering by 160 – 162; underachievement in 207; as uniform integration model 6 free choice, Flemish education and 54 functioning 32 Furlong, A. 4 – 5 Gallagher, T. 76, 78 Gamson, W. A. 149 Goffman, E. 149 Goffman, S. 24 Goldthorpe, J. 58 Gove, M. 75 Green, A. 96 habitus clivé 133 – 134 habitus concept 58, 113 – 114, 116, 118 – 119; chameleon 142; cleft 142; decision-making process and 132 – 134; divided 142; institutional 21 – 22, 134, 209 – 211 habitus tug 142 Hall, P. 150 HE see higher education (HE) head teacher 157 Heinz, W. R. 5 higher education (HE) 32 – 33; access through ideas, instruments, and institutional arrangements 154 – 158; access to, in Finland 167 – 183 (see also Finland higher education study); aspirations and 32 – 33; desire for 37; English students as consumers of 185, 188 – 189; policies, reframing of through enactment and reception 158 – 162; professional involvement in students’ transition to 156 – 157; provision and

demand, targets of 155 – 156; social imaginary and 35; students as consumers in England 185 – 201 (see also England (UK) education system study); transitions and 32 – 33, 39 – 40; transition to, in France 149 – 163 (see also France study) Hoskins, B. 23 – 24 impossible learners concept 24, 25 individualized integration model, described 6 Ingram, N. 19 – 20, 134, 142, 210 institutional arrangements 150 institutional habitus 21 – 22, 134, 209 – 211 Instituts universitaires de technologie (IUT) 156 instruments, policy reframing and 150 Italian educational system study 110 – 123; ambitions, cooling-out 117 – 119; decision-making process, teachers’ views in 119 – 122; features of 7; Formazione Professionale track 111; introduction to 110 – 113, 112; Istituti Professionali track 111; Istituto Tecnico track 110; liceo track 110; lower to upper secondary school navigation 115 – 117; research design for 114 – 115; schematic presentation of 112; on secondary effects 113 – 114; as subprotective model 5; underachievement in 206, 207; as uniform integration model 6 Italian Headline Target Europe 2020 110 Jackson, B. 89 Joseph Rowntree Foundation (JRF) 16 Käyhkö, M. 167 Lascoumes, P. 150 Leach, L. 43 Le Galès, P. 150 Leonard, M. 79 – 80 liberal model, described 5 lifestyle choices 4 LOGSE (Ley Orgánica de Ordenación General del Sistema Educativo) Education Act 100 lower secondary education, structure of, in Spain 96 – 98, 99 Lucey, H. 21 Marsden, D. 89 May, T. 74 – 75 McDonough, P. 209 McGettigan, A. 193, 198 – 199, 200

218 Index meritocracy 178 middle-class schooling 176 Miseducation (Reay) 213 Molesworth, M. 188 – 189 Mons, N. 6, 96, 97 Morgan, K. 17 multiplicities 42 National Student Survey 200 navigational capacity 38 – 39 NEETS 17 – 18 Nixon, E. 189 Northern Ireland (UK) study 73 – 91; community studied in 79 – 80; education system, schematic presentation of 77; features of 7; grammar school studied in 80 – 81; grammar school practices, relationships, and subjectivities 81 – 84; introduction to 73; as liberal model 5; Local Education Authorities (LEAs) in 75; Northern Ireland described 74 – 78; overview of 78 – 79; secondary school practices, relationships, and subjectivities 86 – 89; secondary school studied in 84 – 85; as separation model 6; statefunded secondary school education in 74 Nussbaum, M. 44 OECD (Organisation for Economic Cooperation and Development) 53, 97, 155; Survey for Adult Skills (PIAAC) 110 ONISEP 159 opportunities, impact of schools on providing 102 – 104 organisational habitus 209 Passeron, J.-C. 18 Path to the future (Parcours avenir) 157 personalised accompanying 157 PISA (Programme for International Student Assessment) 53, 98 Placement Test (SBS) 129 policy paradigms 150 positioned consumerism 189 possibility, aspirations and 37 – 38 preparatory course markets 168, 169 – 171; social construction of the need for 173 – 179 pupil heterogeneity, mechanisms for managing 5, 6 Quinn, J. 42 – 43

Reay, D. 3, 105, 133, 134, 136, 141, 205 reconfirmed habitus 210 reflexive life planning 4 Rein, M. 150 resilience concept, working-class educational failure and 25 – 26 Riforma Gentile 115 Ruane, C. 76 Sabri, D. 200 Saltman, K. J. 17, 26 Schneider, M. P. A. 206 Schön, D. A. 150 schools: as places of educational reproduction 18; as spaces of othering 18 Schroeder, T. 37 secondary effects, case study on 113 – 114 Secondary School Exam (OKS) 129 Sections de techniciens supérieurs (STS) 156 Sen, A. 32, 43 – 44 separation model, described 6 Sketch for a Self-Analysis,The (Bourdieu) 133 skivers, defined 16 Smith, A. 76, 78 Snow, D. A. 150 social-democratic model, described 5 – 6 social imaginary, aspirations and 35 – 36 Spain see Catalonia (Spain) study spoilt identity concept 24 Stahl, G. 26 strivers, defined 16 Student plan 156 – 157 students as consumers of HE concept 185, 188 – 189, 200 subjugated knowledges 43 sub-protective model, described 5 Success as a Knowledge Economy:Teaching Excellence, Social Mobility and Student Choice (DBIS) 185 Swartz, D. L. 22 – 23 symbolic violence 22 – 24 systemic factors/challenges, underachievement 206 – 208, 207, 209 Tarabini, A. 16 targets and algorithms, limits of steering by 160 – 162 taste, aspirations and 36 Taylor, C. 35 teachers’ beliefs/expectations, role of 104 – 106 Tomlinson, M. 189, 195 – 196, 199

Index  219 track choices: analyses of, data 66 – 68; within Catalan education system 100 – 101; descriptive statistics 60, 60 – 61; in Flemish education system 54 – 57; in Italian educational system 110 – 111; logistic regression analysis for 64, 64 – 65, 65 – 66; parental social class and 62, 62 – 63; of pupils 61 – 66; pupils’ ethnic background and 63, 63; scholastic achievement and 63, 63 – 64; school choice and 68 – 69 Transition from the Basic Education to the Secondary Education (TEOG) 129 transitions; analysis of, described 3 – 6; as becoming 40 – 43; as capability for navigating change 39 – 43; higher education and 32 – 33, 39 – 40; introduction to 32 – 34; navigational capacity of 32; from primary to secondary education in Flemish schools 54 – 57, 56; representations of, as crisis 40 – 41; as success or failure 41 – 42; in tracked systems, from primary to secondary education 53 – 70 (see also Flanders (Belgium) study); see also aspirations Turkey study 128 – 143; background to 131 – 132; class constraints, choices and 134 – 141; decision-making process, habitus and 132 – 134; educational performance/socioeconomic background relationship 128; features of 8; introduction to 128 – 130; Neets in 17; regulation of secondary to high school transition 129; schematic presentation of Turkish education system 130; as subprotective model 5; underachievement in 206, 207; as uniform integration model 6

underachievement, systemic factors leading to 206 – 208, 207, 209 uniform integration model, described 6 United Kingdom see England (UK) education system study; Northern Ireland (UK) study universalistic model, described 5 – 6 Universities UK (UUK) 197, 199 Van Damme, J. 62 Walsh, F. 25 Walther, A. 5 welfare/transition regimes 5 – 6 well-being freedom 44 Williams, J. 189, 194, 198 Willis, P. 21 working-class educational failure 15 – 29; aspiration and 26 – 27; austerity education and 17 – 18; Bourdieu’s theory and 18 – 21; challenges in interviewing young people as 27 – 29; institutional habitus and 21 – 22; introduction to 15; resilience concept and 25 – 26; Shaun case study 18 – 22; symbolic violence/dominance and 22 – 24; wider economic/social conditions and 15 – 18 Yamashita, H. 133 Youdell, D. 24, 25 young people, challenges in interviewing working-class 27 – 29 Zepke, N. 43