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‘My friend, face your books, not this Facebook.’
Unknown African parent
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It’s not hard to see why an extremely high value was placed on education in my childhood home and in the homes of my friends, as well as in those of many of the women we interviewed for this book. We are a generation of people who grew up with parents – or grandparents – who had gained professional qualifications in the countries they had migrated from, but who often found it difficult to get jobs in the UK that reflected their skill sets because those qualifications weren’t always recognised when they went to job interviews. Educated though they were, they often faced discrimination as they entered the labour market, and many had to take jobs for which they were overqualified.
Our parents appreciated the value of education and the opportunities it could bring. As mine would often remind me: ‘Back home we do not have the same opportunity that you children have here. Education makes a way for you.’ Despite this, they also weren’t in the dark about how difficult it was going to be for us to navigate our future in Britain, and so they would also make us aware that ‘this isn’t our country; we have to work harder’. My parents had extremely high ambitions for me and my siblings. In their eyes, ‘the sky’s the limit’– if you worked hard, you would go far. I would hear them talk to their friends in true Nigerian style about how I would be doing a masters, when I hadn’t even got into university yet. They believed that education led to job opportunities, and, perhaps unsurprisingly, as Karen Blackett’s father did, they often steered us towards careers such as law and medicine – professions in which no one can deny your qualifications, regardless of the colour of your skin and the prejudice you might come across. From our parents’ perspectives these traditional professions would give you job security.
Bola Agbaje, Olivier Award-winning playwright and writer, had a similar experience growing up: ‘For African parents, I think it was just that thing that they wanted stability. A lot of parents who are first generation, they want their kids to be lawyers and doctors and things like that because those are the jobs that create stability, and also you can be wealthier with those type of jobs. So for them, they want their kids to have better lives than they had, so that’s why they push their children into those types of careers.’
Educational researchers acknowledge that, of all factors within the home, parental values and aspirations have the largest positive effect on children in school. However, the high aspirations and motivations of ethnic minority parents do not always translate into the greatest achievement in the classroom, and there has been little research into why this might be the case. When black children enter the school system at five they perform as well as white and Asian children in literacy and numeracy tests. Their results are largely in line with the UK average, with literacy at 67 per cent and numeracy at 75 per cent, compared to the national averages of 69 per cent and 76 per cent respectively. However, by the end of primary school as they enter secondary school, aged 11, black pupils’ attainment falls behind.1
When we look a little deeper, it’s noticeable that there are differences in achievement levels between the different black groups. In the 2013–14 academic year, 56.8 per cent of British African students achieved A*–C grades – slightly above the national average of 56.6 per cent. This attainment level places them alongside Indian and Chinese pupils as the country’s highest ethnic achievers. However, in sharp contrast, Black Caribbean pupils have a 47 per cent pass rate, trailing by nearly ten percentage points. On the whole, black pupils achieved the least in the five top GCSE grades out of all ethnic groups, but it is the performance of Caribbean pupils that averages out at 53.1 per cent.2 There has been a corresponding lack of research into the differences in attainment levels between Black African and Black Caribbean pupils.
Not enough has been done to try to understand why a disparity exists between different black groups. Instead, the two groups are often amalgamated into one, which means we are unable to see emerging patterns and there’s a tendency for many children to be left sidelined unless they are doing really badly. This lack of substantial research is especially apparent when it comes to the attainment levels of black girls. Althea Efunshile CBE, former deputy chief executive of Arts Council England, explains: ‘I have sometimes wondered if black girls who don’t do as badly as black boys are invisible in the education system. Because if you compare them to black boys, they’re doing better, and so people say, “Right, okay, we don’t need to worry about them so much.” But if you compare them to white girls, they’re not doing as well.’
Young black girls appear to value education highly: they want to succeed and try their best to navigate the school system. But as they progress through secondary school it seems that factors come into play that often lead to them not fulfilling their potential. Heidi Mirza is Professor of Race, Faith and Culture at Goldsmiths College, University of London, and has written extensively on ethnicity, gender and identity in education, most notably in her book Young, Female and Black (1992). As she pointed out when we spoke to her, ‘Everyone says black girls do well, there’s no problem for them. They do better than the boys, they do better than black boys, they do better than white working-class boys, and they’re doing better than white working-class girls, what’s the deal? We don’t even need to look at them; in education they’re kind of sorted. But actually, when you look down and you drill down, as I did for Young, Female and Black, what I found was that there are so many mythologies around black womanhood, and the fact that there’s always the “strong black woman that survives narrative”. All the theories and studies were saying was that, because they’ve got that inner strength, they do well, and what I found was, yes, they have that inner strength, yes, their parents really valued education enormously, and pushed them to do well – some did, some didn’t, but at the same time there were structural things like racism, schools with not very good teachers, issues around poverty, resourcing, government policies, that they had to contend with, and the fact that they do well is because they overcame that, they learnt to navigate the system.
‘They had very high aspirations, but as they got a bit older and they realised that they weren’t getting the support at school to get through, they would make very strategic choices, so they would say, “I’m not going to get my GCSE, but I will go to college and I will get it in another institution, and I will go for nursery nursing because I can get on that course, but I don’t necessarily want to be a nursery nurse. I want to go to university and study sociology, that might be a stepping stone for me.”
‘They knew the system didn’t work for them and so they made many choices to accommodate – I call it the “long, backdoor route into success” – so they have to make many, many more different steps to sidestep the racism and the lack of support in the system by making strategic choices. So it takes some much longer to get into higher education, into university. They’re usually older; nearly all my students when I was teaching at places like Southbank and Middlesex, all the black women were, you know, already in their mid-twenties, where the white young people would be 17, 18, 19. They were much younger because they didn’t have to navigate the system as much.’
If black parents do notice that their kids are struggling in school, they often look for alternative methods to compensate for the failure of mainstream schools, rather than trying to effect change in the schools themselves. Some black parents choose to send their children overseas during their secondary school years as soon as they start to see a pattern of bad grades or disruptive behaviour. When I was in Year 9 in secondary school, I was constantly warned that I would be sent to Nigeria if my grades didn’t pick up in maths and science, and my brother and sister were sent to boarding school there for a few years. This was in contrast with the faith they placed in the education system in the UK. I had friends who were in class on a Monday morning but by Friday they would have been taken out of school.
Private school is another option for parents who can afford it. Dr Nicola Rollock, Reader in Equity and Education at Goldsmiths College, University of London, started off in state education but her parents