“What should I do?”
I am sitting in a café with a friend, on a wet blustery Sunday morning. The café, located near a popular walking spot is obviously and intimidatingly full of mostly men. Men in tight wet cycling gear; men in dripping trail running shorts and trainers; men in expensive hiking boots and waterproofs. They are jostling arrogantly around to get to the front of the queue, supremely comfortable with themselves, their own sense of importance oozes from every sweaty pore. There is no time or space to for others around. I stand, using my crutch as a shield, feeling vulnerable as they invade the cramped space around the counter. I am acutely aware that it would take very little for one of them to turn and push me over. Finally, I make my way to the front and order a drink. I shuffle back to the seats we have managed to find – we are lucky, important men who are doing exercise do not need to sit down.
She begins to recount the sorry tale of bullying she is facing. A experienced and successful teacher, who runs an outstanding department, known for achieving the highest standards for many years, she has had to face what seems to be systematic and targeted aggression from senior leaders because, in her words, “my face doesn’t fit”. Denied promotion by the leadership, feedback from her interview was relentlessly negative. They have worked to destroy every ounce of confidence, through micromanagement and constant informal conversations in which accusations are alluded to, but never followed up. It was even felt necessary for leadership to conduct a review of her department and observations of lessons, with formal written feedback on the same day that Ofsted (the school inspectorate) were conducting a whole school inspection and could drop in to conduct lesson observations at any point. My response to her question was to suggest she found another job. But even though there is a recruitment and retention crisis in teaching, finding a new job as a Head of Department is difficult unless you have friends in the system. Is it any wonder that teaching is not a desirable profession?
Although I have loved many aspects of my rich and varied career, the sad truth is that, like my friend and many others, I have been at the sharp end of workplace bullying on many occasions. Even before I qualified as a teacher I understood what it meant to be disliked by a senior colleague. In the final placement of my PGCE, a senior teacher, in role as my mentor, was relentlessly unpleasant to me. She took every opportunity to criticize me, especially when other colleagues were around. She downgraded my final teaching practice grades and even took it upon herself to write to the school where I had secured a job to tell the deputy head that I was terrible and would be a disaster in the classroom. Of course, I once I started my first year, I wasn’t terrible – I had never been terrible and had passed all my other teaching observations and teaching practices without any trouble. Once I started as a brand new teacher, in my own classroom, where I could established the routines and practices that suited me and the children, I did fine. I adored my class, worked furiously for them, had positive relationships with the parents and carers and the children made good progress. They were a challenging bunch, who had had six different teachers the year before. The school was climbing out of special measures and I was part of the new regime of young teachers with the energy and determination to give the children the education they deserved. But my confidence as a qualified teacher had been shattered. It took a number of years before I began to believe in my ability as a teacher and to be confident that I could help children to learn, despite the obvious progress the children made.
Sadly, this was not to be the only occasion I experienced unprofessional and vindictive behaviour. Whilst working at a local authority as an advisor, a colleague began to spread unfounded rumours about me, in a targeted and vicious way. Like many who feel this is the way to behave, once I confronted her, she moved onto a different target. However, some of the most serious bullying I face began once I started to become more successful in my career and moved into more senior roles. On three separate occasions, I was targeted by my superiors and subject to petty, nasty and vindictive treatment. During the COVID pandemic, the leader of the school trust I was working for sent a letter of thanks to every single employee, except me (I know, unbelievable, but true). A senior manager at a national charity I was seconded to targeted me with an insidious campaign of belittling and discrimination. He would often tell me that “my knowledge and experience was intimidating”. He felt it would be better if I did not say anything and just did as I was told. Another senior leader consistently took credit for the work I completed, and, when he had finally driven me into the ground, openly shared my confidential health records with colleagues, inside the multi-academy trust and out. He used it to question my competence and belittle me in front of colleagues.
In each case, my response to this behaviour was to attempt to open it up to the cold hard glare of daylight. I carefully composed emails challenging this behaviour, asking why it had happened and requesting that systems and processes in the organisations were thoroughly overhauled to ensure it never happened to anyone else. Of course, I was probably supposed to quietly address my concerns through the appropriate channels, behind the scenes, and slip away with my tail between my legs. I am aware that the networks of power that protect these men, to this day, would simply brush aside my complaints, with some patronising comments about being over sensitive and needing a thicker skin (I am not sure how thick a skin you need to be brush off this extraordinary level of bullying). Equally, I am not sure why I was targeted like this, other than to be good at my job, being prepared to speak out when things were not right and being female. I cannot imagine a man, in a similar position, would ever be told not to share opinions because it was intimidating.
So, why does this matter? Well, the more I have shared my stories of bullying with colleagues across the sector, the more I realise this is very common. One colleague, now a senior MAT executive, was told by her line manager that he did not know what the point of her job was (she was Director of Inclusion, no less). He did not feel she was adding any value to the MAT and he would help her find a new job somewhere else.
Another colleague was asked to step into the role of Acting CEO whilst the substantive CEO was ill. She covered the six month sick leave very successfully, navigating the MAT through a number of challenging situations. Once the substantive CEO returned, she quickly found herself excluded. She was not invited to meetings, important information was not shared and eventually, when she met with HR to find out why, she was told that she was not wanted and should find another position.
In fact, throughout my career, as I worked in schools in spots of difficulty I have heard horror stories that reveal the dark heart of education. Once relationships were build and trust established, the hideous stories came flooding out. The stories of belittlement and humiliation, the ways senior leadership have “managed” teachers out of school, using unachievable targets, overwork and crushing micromanagement. I have heard stories of how staff within the senior leadership team were bought new laptops, with the exception of one person who was the target of the headteacher’s wrath; of unpleasant and criticizing emails being circulated widely. The time when the line manager threatened to destroy an employee’s career unless they did what they were told to do, without question; where promotion was denied on the basis of a personal grudge.
But this is not just confined to school. Everyone has heard the endless stories of poor behaviour by Ofsted Inspectors. Inspectors who put their hands up in the faces of staff who are talking; inspectors who refuse to listen or understand; inspectors, out of their depth and lacking the necessary knowledge and experience resorting to insulting and discriminatory recommendations. Much of this became open, public knowledge following the tragic death of the headteacher, Ruth Perry. The damning report produced by the Coroner, vividly described the part Ofsted and the inspection played in her death. Eventually, after a change of leadership, Ofsted seem to have accepted the findings of the report and have, on the surface, attempted to make changes. But, how much they have done remains to be seen, because this behaviour comes from a deeply embedded toxic culture.
Right at the top, the bullying continues. The approach taken by Michael Gove, Nick Gibb and other ministers towards schools and their staff has legitimised bullying across the system, in my opinion. Social media launched the careers of many edu-celebrities; those who were in the right place, at the right time, with the willingness to do pretty much anything in order to become important (and rich). Online, these bloggers attacked anyone they felt got in their way. They targeted those who did not agree with their views and practices, hunting in packs to do what they could to discredit anyone in their way. They were, and continue to be, petty, thin-skinned, vicious and small-minded. They were, and continue to be, supported (and in some cases, handsomely paid) by the Department of Education.
So there it is. There is strong evidence that education is a sector that hides a dirty secret. It is a community that celebrates leaders who are perceived as decisive and tough – but who are, in reality, not able to do anything of value without excluding, belittling and bullying. Is it any wonder that we have a recruitment and retention crisis?
In Part 2ii, I am going to try and get to the heart of this issue by exploring what the research and my experience suggest we might be able to do to alter this hideous situation. I want to think bout how we might be able to become an education community that internationally respected for the care and consideration that all members of the community are afforded and teaching becomes a profession we can be proud of.
Megan Jane Dixon: teacher, Researcher, Leader 