That's the question Ofqual sought to address in its December 2020 report into the issue. The report separates the most significant barriers into three groups: those associated with IT provision in schools and colleges; implementation challenges; and challenges maintaining fairness.
This post is focused on a feature of the implementation challenges, and in particular, the concern in stakeholder groups essential to the success of any deployment and in broader public opinion.
As part of its attempt to answer the question at the top of this post, Ofqual convened a workshop in January 2020, bringing together a cross section of well-informed stakeholders. These stakeholders represented teachers, school and college leaders, technology providers, awarding organisations, industry bodies, government, and Ofqual. Each of these groups undeniably holds valuable perspectives on the practicalities and challenges of online assessment. All of those representatives were rightly invited, included, listened to, and valued. But there's a glaring omission. An exclusion from the list of the invited participants: parents.
Ofqual
Despite the profound impact online assessment might have on their children's educational practices and their own role in supporting learning, parents or parent group representatives were conspicuously absent from this crucial discussion. This wasn't merely an oversight; it was an exclusionary choice, symptomatic of a deeper, systemic distrust of parents within the wider educational system. Indeed, while other stakeholders were invited to a direct, interactive workshop, Ofqual's approach to understanding parental perception instead relied on a YouGov survey, the 'Perceptions Survey Wave 18'.
This represents a clear two-tier approach to information gathering: on one hand, a networked, collaborative discussion among educational professionals; on the other, a third party's arm's-length survey for parents, effectively avoiding any direct engagement with the wider public. This isn't just about the absence of any specific 'parent group'; rather, it indicates how Ofqual utilized its established network to exert power over the discussion surrounding online assessment, instead of seeking to establish its authority on the issue via genuine dialogue with all affected stakeholders. There's reassurance for the institution in being able to say that they have consulted the "experts," but this very claim undermines its own validity, as it hasn't taken the crucial parental opinion into account. Indeed, there's a profound irony here: the very act of using these selected "experts" to establish the boundaries of the problem and its solutions becomes a technique for presenting the solution as a fait accompli. Once the limits have been set by this inner circle, any further involvement—perhaps, even with parents at a later time—is reduced to merely tweaking an already decided-upon solution. In their attempt to solidify their authority through a narrow consensus, these "experts" unwittingly undermine the broader legitimacy that genuine, inclusive dialogue would have provided. This approach goes further than just an oversight; it presents an ethical concern.
As Roger Scruton articulated in a different context, there is a critical difference between using people as a 'means to an end' and genuinely valuing their expertise to serve 'civil society as the end'. By resorting to an arm's-length survey rather than direct, collaborative engagement, Ofqual risked treating parents as mere data points for a pre-determined outcome, rather than as integral partners whose unique expertise could genuinely shape the most effective and trusted path forward for online assessment. Parents are not simply bystanders of educational policy; they are integral partners, offering unique insights into student well-being, home learning environments, and the real-world impact of pedagogical shifts. To exclude them from a direct discussion on 'barriers to online assessment' suggests a fundamental undervaluation of their perspective, treating them as external actors rather than essential contributors.
To exclude parents from a direct discussion on 'barriers to online assessment' suggests a fundamental undervaluation of their perspective, treating them as external actors rather than essential contributors. There's a further irony here: the workshop appears to have sought a purely technocratic understanding of the challenges in introducing online assessment for high-stakes, sessional qualifications. Yet, in their very pursuit of removing these technocratic barriers, Ofqual inadvertently imposed a significant barrier on participation itself, overlooking the crucial human and trust dimensions of implementation. My own experience, having previously highlighted a similar snub given to parents in the Scottish educational sphere, only reinforces the pervasive nature of this institutional reticence to engage directly with parent groups.
Moreover, while the Ofqual report does acknowledge 'public concern' on page 16, it notably fails to delve into, or even acknowledge, a critical aspect of this concern: the widespread public distrust in large-scale IT implementations and solutions. This omission is particularly striking given the recent, devastating public experience with such systems, a distrust that has permeated public consciousness with profound implications for how new technologies are perceived and adopted.
Once you realize that parents had been excluded from this crucial workshop – a direct, collaborative forum – and relegated to an impersonal survey, it's hard to shake the feeling that Ofqual was, perhaps unwittingly, setting themselves up for a repeat of history. This approach carries the distinct risk of mirroring the very cycle of denials, avoidance of responsibility, and disregard for the truth that the Horizon scandal so chillingly epitomises.
Horizon
Nowhere has this erosion of trust been more acutely felt than in the ongoing Post Office Horizon IT scandal. The Post Office, as Nick Wallis notes, was historically "the first Government agency" and, until recently, "the main physical interface between the British state and its citizens". It was more than just a business; it was woven into the fabric of British life, carrying with it deeply romantic associations depicted across poetry, literature, film, and television – from the gentle world of Postman Pat to the profound works of Benjamin Britten and W.H. Auden. These powerful cultural symbols, Wallis explains, represented core "notions of efficiency, stability, security" and, crucially, "trust" [pp. 18-19].
This deep-seated public trust, cultivated over centuries, was catastrophically shattered by the Horizon IT system. Innocent postmasters, whose lives were intrinsically linked to this symbol of stability and trust, found themselves accused of theft and fraud owing to a faulty computer system.
But the breakdown of trust extended even deeper. As Wallis also reveals, the very foundation of the relationship between the Post Office and its subpostmasters was one of profound "trust" [Nick Wallis, p. 27]. Subpostmasters operated with significant autonomy, managing their branches, handling cash, and acting as pillars of their local communities. This professional relationship, built on mutual reliance and good faith, was systematically betrayed by an institution that prioritised a flawed IT system over the integrity of its own people. The enduring lack of justice for these individuals does nothing to mend this fundamental breach, preventing any true closure and hindering the possibility of rebuilding trust from the ground up.
This multi-faceted collapse of trust within the Post Office saga resonates with the earlier example of parental exclusion in educational policy. In both instances, institutions appear to operate from a position of inherent distrust towards those they are meant to serve or collaborate with – whether it's parents in the educational sphere or dedicated subpostmasters on the frontline. This pattern of systemic distrust, and the devastating consequences it brings, is the unseen thread connecting classrooms to courtrooms, underpinning a dialogic breakdown of trust. Institutions, in their perceived need to exert power or control, demonstrate a distrust of the public they serve. This, in turn, fosters public cynicism and a lack of faith, trapping both parties in mutually fulfilling negative feedback loops that undermine genuine progress and societal cohesion. This repeated failure of leadership to take seriously the concerns of ordinary people undermines trust in our institutions and has brought about a national crisis of institutional distrust.
Conclusion
Whilst the two cases are nowhere near morally equivalent in their scale of direct harm, they share a common, worrying thread. Jordan Peterson, in Beyond Order, exhorts us not to denigrate institutions. We should respect them, preserve them, work within them trusting that they will devote themselves to producing something of value beyond the insurance of their own survival. However, as the Post Office's betrayal of its subpostmasters demonstrates, institutions can all too easily undermine their own worth through insularity, an aloof disregard for ordinary people's voices, and an arrogant assumption that they know best. When institutions like Ofqual use an arm's-length survey for parents while hosting networked, collaborative workshops for others to discuss a question of a large-scale IT proposal, they fundamentally betray the moral authority of the people they serve.
Rebuilding trust, then, isn't just about transparency or process; it's about a fundamental recognition of the people's inherent moral right to be heard, respected, and served justly. Only when institutions truly embody the spirit of genuine dialogue and accountability can trust begin to be restored, moving us away from courtrooms and towards a public sphere where all voices, and not just a clique with the correct opinions, are genuinely valued.
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