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Why Sweden’s free schools are failing

Perhaps most galling for Swedes is how schools appear to be increasing inequality, rather than eroding it.

We have seen the future in Sweden and it works,” Michael Gove told the Daily Mail in 2008. A few months earlier, Gove and other leading Conservatives had visited schools in Sweden for the first time, a journey that they would repeat in the following years.

“They’ve done something amazing,” he said in a video made for that year’s Tory party conference. “They challenged the conventional wisdom [and] decided that it was parents, not bureaucrats, who should be in charge.”

Sweden’s 800 friskolor make up about a sixth of the country’s state-funded schools. Introduced in 1992, they gave parents the ability to use state spending on education to set up new schools and decide where to send their children. In that decade, friskolor were made easier to set up, with companies given the right to make a profit from running them; other schools were decentralised and a voucher system, allowing parents to choose their children’s school and then awarding funds based on parental demand, was introduced. Tony Blair praised the Swedish model in a 2005 government white paper. For Tories, Sweden’s schools held out a simple message: that competition could transform state education in England.

That message was appealing because it came from “a social-democratic country, far to the left of Britain”, as Gove put it. This was true but only up to a point. The reforms that he enacted after 2010 – notably the introduction of free schools, the speeding up of academisation and changes to the curriculum – owed as much to US “charter schools” as to educational reforms in Sweden.

Even as Gove cited Sweden’s successes in education, its international standing was in decline. Since 2000, standards there have fallen more than in any other country ranked by the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD) using tests known as the Programme for International Student Assessment, or Pisa. Results released in 2013 rated Sweden below Denmark, Finland and Norway by all three measures – reading, maths and science – and worse than the UK. In 2014, 14 per cent of students performed too poorly to qualify for secondary school at 16, a deterioration of 10 per cent on the 2006 level.

Last year, the OECD published a report in which it warned: “Sweden’s school system is in need of urgent change.” Underinvestment is not the problem. The Swedes spend more on education as a percentage of GDP (6.8 per cent) than the OECD average (5.6 per cent). The report describes an education system in chaos, hopelessly fragmented, failing those who need it most. It criticises its “unclear education priorities”, “lack in coherence” and “unreliable data”.

Swedish schools lack “discipline” and “a calm work environment”, which makes it hard to attract good teachers, says Barbara Bergström, the founder of the Internationella Engelska Skolan, one of Sweden’s most successful free-school chains. The country is expected to face a deficit of 60,000 teachers by 2019.

While first- and second-generation immigrants in England and many other countries perform above the national average, in Sweden they have been blamed for dragging standards down. In March this year, Anna Ekström, the director of the government-run Swedish National Agency for Education, claimed that immigration was “not an insignificant” factor in declining attainment. The proportion of students from immigrant families rose from 11 to 15 per cent between 2000 and 2012 and has increased sharply since the beginning of the migration crisis.

Perhaps most galling for Swedes is how schools appear to be increasing inequality, rather than eroding it. “We need to put our focus on building equality into the system,” Gustav Fridolin, Sweden’s education minister, said recently. The voucher system has created more opportunities for middle-class parents to ensure that their children attend the best institutions. The OECD report called on Sweden to “revise school-choice arrangements to ensure quality with equity” and “improve the access of disadvantaged families to information about schools”.

Bergström notes that only 14 per cent of students assessed using Pisa tests attended free schools. Moreover, even before the reforms of the early 1990s came in, the country suffered because it lacked a culture of rigorous testing.

Schools were merely “telling themselves and their parents that things were getting better” when there was no evidence that they were, says Andreas Schleicher, the OECD’s director for education and skills. He views free schools as “more symptom than cause”.

Above all, Sweden’s decline is “the story of a weak education system that has devolved more and more responsibility to local and school level without doing much to raise aspirations, monitor progress and deal with underperformance”, Schleicher says. “The difference is that England has an established exam system and, more importantly, Ofsted. At least you’ll know when things start to go wrong.” 

Tim Wigmore is a contributing writer to the New Statesman and the author of Second XI: Cricket In Its Outposts.

This article first appeared in the 16 June 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Britain on the brink

Photo: Getty
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Mattel’s first hijabi Barbie comes with way too much baggage to challenge stereotypes

The doll based on Olympic fencer Ibtihaj Muhammad perpetuates the same problematic and unattainable ideals of the Barbie brand.

Mattel has unveiled its latest Barbie, a hijab-wearing fencer modelled on the American Olympic medallist, Ibtihaj Muhammad. The doll is the latest in the toy manufacturer’s “Sheroes” collection, which celebrates women with inspiring stories and creates Barbies in their likeness.

Muhammad was thrust into the limelight last year as the first hijabi American Olympian, who brought home a bronze medal in the team sabre. But while the recognition is well-deserved, the platform is completely inappropriate. 

Mattel has long been criticised for its dolls with impossible proportions, and the unachievable expectations to which they expose girls from a young age. In recent years they have bent over backwards (which might explain why Barbie is so flexible) to rejuvenate the doll's reputation, with the release of a muscular Wonder Woman figurine and a likeness of plus-size model Ashley Graham .Yet there is no escaping Mattel’s conflicting messages: astronaut-themed Mars Explorer Barbie would be better off in space – her bodily proportions mean she would be physically unable to stand up on Earth.

The company also came under fire in 2014 for attempting to buy its way into female empowerment spaces in a $2m deal with the US Girl Scouts. In 1992, a Barbie was recalled for repeating the phrase “math class is hard” at the pull of a string, and in 2014 the I Can Be a Computer Engineer Barbie book featured an incompetent woman who had to rely on male classmates for help.

These are just a few of the many examples of the portrayal of Barbie as air-headed, superficial and not as competent as a boy, which is completely at odds with Muhammad’s achievements, power and status as a role model.

The unhealthy image persists. If traditional Barbie were a real woman, she would have a 16in waist and room for only half a liver and a few inches of intestine, according to a 2013 body analysis by Rehabs.com. Mattel has not ceased production of these impossible ideals, so the introduction of alternatives – Olympic fencer or not – is, at best, tokenism, and at worst, the hypocritical exploitation of a body-friendly market trend.

In some ways the fencing hijabi Barbie – which will go on sale in 2018 – itself perpetuates the same problematic and unattainable ideals of the Barbie brand by reducing the hijab to a piece of plastic. After all, if this Barbie were truly representative of the Muslim woman, she would come with an irritating Ken doll who interrupts her mid-sentence to ask, “Do you shower in that?” and “Aren’t you hot in it?” He might then follow her in his SUV just to inform her that she’s in America now.

There’s a toy that would make me hold my head up high – which, incidentally, a human-sized Barbie would be unable to do.

The doll was unveiled at Glamour’s Women of the Year summit, where the magazine's outgoing editor-in-chief Cindi Leive said that Muhammad “has challenged every stereotype – which to me is the definition of a modern American woman”.

And yet this Muslim-woman-breaks-stereotype is a tired and patronising narrative. I’ve yet to meet a British or American Muslim of my generation that fulfills this stereotype, one that appears to assume we are weak, defenceless and in need of a white man to free us from the prisons on our heads. If that’s the extent of your understanding of Muslim women then you’re going to need more than a fencing doll to fix your perception.

Leive also described Muhammad as "an inspiration to countless girls who never saw themselves represented, and by honoring her story, we hope this doll reminds them that they can be and do anything”.

Yes, Barbie dolls tell girls that they can be and do anything, so long as they are tall and thin and have child-sized feet for the rest of their lives. Because although this Barbie will offer Muslim girls the chance to play with a doll with a hijab, with darker features and muscular calves, its proportions remain unrealistic, with miniscule ankles, wrists and feet. How would Barbie Ibtihaj Muhammad have won a bronze medal at the Olympic Games with miniature hands and feet?

Muhammad announced the release of the figurine on her Facebook page, saying she was “proud to know that little girls everywhere can now play with a Barbie who chooses to wear hijab! This is a childhood dream come true."

The Olympian’s blazed trail deserves to be recognised. But Mattel's figurine comes with so much manipulative and exploitative baggage that this supposedly empowering Barbie is struggling to live up to the hype.