Good Enough Read online

  With figures like these, why wouldn’t you send your kid to a private school? Still, not everyone’s sympathetic to my situation. ‘You know what, Dilvin? Play me a fucking violin,’ says my less-than-sympathetic brother when I moan to him later that day about my findings. ‘I hate to be the bearer of bad news (liar!) but you select a type and standard of education by the postcode you choose to live in, okay?’ A staunch public school supporter and proud westie, he’s still gutted I moved away from the rest of the family some 15 years ago and still brings it up every chance he gets. Regardless, with the mess the public schooling system is in, I’d better look at my options.

  Large information packs begin arriving a week later, around the same time as our nursery furniture, each one serving to stop my heart as soon as I open it. Glossy brochures packed with images of manicured lawns and sandstone buildings are at odds with my teenaged memories of steaming-hot demountables and muddy fields, and at times I feel like I’m flipping through a travel brochure for some quaint English village. The annual fees, as expected, vary between $25,000 and $30,000, but the fun doesn’t stop there. Oh no, on top of that grand sum, I can also look forward to shelling out a non-refundable $200–300 fee to put my child on the waiting list, then fork out another non-refundable $2000–6000 enrolment fee, plus a refundable $1000–2000 fee deposit if my child is accepted. Once they’re at school, though, that’s when the fun really begins because then I’ll find myself haemorrhaging money for additional costs such as uniform ($1600 for a set of summer and winter); sports uniform; IT charges (up to $1000); camps; optional overseas excursions ($3000–8000 on average); charges if your child sits the International Baccalaureate instead of the HSC (an additional $3000–3800); ‘voluntary’ contributions to the school fund; plus charges for extra-curricular activities such as music and drama. Grand total? Give or take a uniform or two, you’re looking at a cost of between $31,800 and $52,700 per annum. Maths is not my strong suit but if we multiply this by six years, we come to $190,800 to $316,200 just to put your little one through high school. One – as in one child. God help you if you have any more than that. If you’re questioning my mathematical talent (and you would be right to), the education fund manager Australian Scholarships Group (ASG) released an estimate of how much schools cost on average. In Sydney, the cost to attend a government (public) high school is $4360, Catholic $11,518 and independent (private) $24,376. If that’s not frightening enough, these figures are set to rise because school fees are soaring, rising an average of 6–7 per cent a year. Needless to say, by the time I finish reading each information pack, I practically have a seizure and need a good lie down.

  Okay, astronomical costs aside, I can see these private schools are infinitely superior to the one I went to but I can’t shake the feeling something is wrong with this picture. ‘What if we spend $300,000 sending her to one of these fancy schools only for her to drop out of society and become a dreadlocked Greenpeace activist?’ I ask my friend Natalie, who went to one of Sydney’s most prestigious schools. ‘Or what if she doesn’t want a career at all, and wastes her education by getting married and becoming a housewife?’ I am somewhat hysterical at this thought and Natalie is doing me no favours. She only looks at me evenly over the rim of her coffee cup and sighs. ‘Well, that’s often the idea with sending your kids to these kinds of schools, Dilvin – most parents don’t give a toss about their academic records, they just want to make sure their kids mix with the “right” people and marry well.’ I stare at her bug-eyed. I’ve read about this theory but it’s the first time I’ve ever heard it come out of someone’s mouth. ‘But I don’t want my child to grow up to be some kind of elitist wanker!’ I shout, as though volume alone will cut through the bullshit swimming around in my head. Natalie wipes her mouth with a napkin and leans in closely. ‘Look, let’s be honest: if your child is an idiot, he or she will be an idiot no matter where you send them, and if they’re an achiever, they’ll succeed regardless of the school, so I wouldn’t worry.’ And with that, my worries vanish for a moment. Oh my God, this woman is like my own personal Yoda, I could kiss her. Just as I’m about to slobber all over her cheeks, it crosses my mind that I haven’t asked what her plans are. ‘Me? Oh God, I just don’t know. We’re in the same position you’re in.’ Right, back to the drawing board then.

  In desperation, I go online to research the advantages and disadvantages of each type of education system. If we take it back to basics, we have government (public primary and high schools, including selective) and non-government (often called private or independent, including Catholic primary and high schools), both with their pros and cons. Public schools tend to have more highly qualified teachers, diversity within the student population (only 5–10 per cent of students have a language background other than English in private schools), greater concentration of core subjects and more activities, while private schools have smaller classes, less bureaucracy, strong parental involvement and better facilities. But when it comes to academic results, selective schools outperform both public and private schools. So it seems that while choosing private education may be a signal of your socio-economic status and could potentially provide important future professional connections for your child, it’s unlikely to yield any significant academic benefits, and could just be a waste of some $300,000 you could put towards travel, university, or a house for them.

  Most of us have a strong opinion on which is better. I hit the online forums only to discover it’s a topic with the capacity to get people seriously fired up. ‘Let’s be honest: private education is for rich dumb kids whose parents believe their “school tie” will get them the right kind of life,’ says one charming commenter. ‘Put it this way, you don’t go to a specialist who went to a public school,’ snarks another. ‘I was expelled from a government school in Year 11 and I’m now a barrister pulling in over $500,000 a year.’ And this gem from a clearly deluded soul: ‘Hey, everyone can afford to send their kids to private schools – it’s entirely up to you.’ And in case anyone’s in any doubt over what we’re dealing with, there’s this: ‘Life is a competition – it’s called the human race, fuckers.’ Wow, this shit is serious, I think as I shovel handfuls of chocolate-chip cookies down my gob. Why have I been stuffing around with childcare this whole time when I should have been concentrating on high school? ‘I’ve known a lot of private school girls and let me just say they are a little more “out there” than public school girls.’ (Right, that settles it, my daughter is definitely going to a public school.) ‘Kids from elitist schools are dropping out in massive numbers from university courses in first and second semester because they’re having to work for the first time ever.’ And finally, some sense: ‘Why don’t you ask your kid what they want to do with their life? If they want to be a doctor, then yes, by all means send them to private school. If they’re keen on acting, it’s a waste of money.’ ‘Damn straight, lady!’ I squeal at the computer. That is the perfect solution, but only if you have a porthole into the future. I shut up shop and go to bed tense, picking at my fingernails as I try to fall asleep. One person’s post has really gotten to me. ‘My parents sent us to private school so we could have a better education but it came at a cost. Mum and Dad worked full time to pay our fees and borrowed a lot of money, so they were absent a lot of the time – so much so that when I was sick, another mother had to tell my mum because she hadn’t noticed it. Private schools are great – if you can afford it comfortably.’ Jesus! And that’s another consideration. Would that be us? We’re not poor, but we’re hardly rich. If we send our baby to a private school, would she be classed as one of the povvos and treated accordingly?

  In case things aren’t complicated enough, my girlfriend Felicity calls a week or so later to ask if I want to attend the open day for our local Catholic girls’ high school. Comparatively cheaper than independent private schools by a good $10–15,000, Catholic schools often do well academically, and our local school is one of the best around. It may sound like the perfe
ct solution on paper but there are two very big problems with the idea. 1) I detest organised religion, and 2) I am opposed to single-sex education. Just how I find myself going along with Felicity to this outing is anyone’s guess. ‘It can’t hurt to look,’ Lee says as we hurry out the door. I get the feeling he secretly loves the idea of locking our daughter up in a single-sex environment where no boy can get near her.

  Smiling students in messy topknots are assigned to take us through the school one by one. We meet Michelle, our guide, at the gates and I’m immediately impressed by the city skyline looming over the large swimming pool. ‘Look! They have a swimming pool!’ I whisper excitedly as I elbow Felicity. Felicity, who went to a prestigious girls’ boarding school in England, looks at me quizzically and it dawns on me she may think every school has a swimming pool. Everywhere I look, students are smiling, students are happy. No one’s punching on behind the school shed (namely because there is no school shed) and I can almost guarantee no one is getting fingered in the darkroom either. (Do they even have darkrooms anymore?) Michelle takes us from room to room, floor to floor, pointing things out, and as impressive as everything is, I’m determined not to like it out of principle. ‘And this is the library,’ Michelle says as we enter a room with harbour views, comfy seats and little else. I take a look at the shelves, expecting them to be heaving with first editions and leatherbound books of importance, but they are mostly empty. ‘What’s wrong, kitten?’ I want to sneer patronisingly, ‘government funding didn’t stretch to a few extra books?’ I may be a bitch on paper, but I can never follow through in real life, you see. ‘And where are all your books?’ I enquire, pleased that I’ve caught her out in front of Lee and Felicity. ‘Umm . . . things are, like, digital now,’ she mutters, looking at me like I have two heads. Lee and Felicity giggle and move on and I am crestfallen. That’s sad, I think, pining for my misspent youth poring over well-thumbed copies of Sylvia Plath and Dylan Thomas in our library. As we come to the end of the tour, something else comes to my attention. ‘Don’t you have a computer studies room?’ Yes, I actually say this. Out loud and everything. Michelle, bless her, rather than burst out laughing at me like she rightfully should, just looks at me with raised eyebrows. ‘Ah!’ I laugh, catching myself out. ‘Of course, you all have laptops now, don’t you? Well, we had to use pens, you know,’ I say, a little too shrilly. I can feel Lee’s fingers tightening around my waist. He probably wants a hole to crawl into but I am not finished. I want to know the real deal. ‘So Michelle, what do you think of this school?’ I ask outright. ‘I really love it, actually,’ she says simply, and my machine-gun questioning begins.

  ‘Where were you before you came here?’

  ‘I was at a public school.’

  ‘Why did you move?’

  ‘For the education.’

  ‘Were you or are you bullied?’

  ‘What?? No!’

  ‘And do you ever cry in the shower?’

  ‘No!’ (nervous giggle.)

  ‘Okay Dilvin, time to go now!’ announces Felicity as she pulls me away from Michelle, who looks as though she wants to cry. Yep, she definitely cries in the shower. ‘She wasn’t bullied until you came along, Dilvin,’ whispers Lee under his breath as we walk out through the gates. To Michelle’s eternal credit, she still waves goodbye with a smile. ‘So what do you think?’ asks Felicity, slipping her sunglasses back on. ‘They seem like a happy, well-adjusted bunch of girls?’ Hmm, I am not convinced. ‘Well yes, but we all know factory workers in China are contained in miserable conditions but the minute a Western camera crew front up, they all claim it’s a wonderful place to work, so how do we know they haven’t been trained to behave a certain way for Open Day?’ A little far-fetched, yes, but surely possible. ‘And furthermore – did you notice Michelle said “youse”? I’m not paying $16,000 a year for my daughter to be walking around saying youse!’ I slip my own sunglasses on and adjust my handbag. ‘Oh for God’s sake, Dilvin!’ Felicity throws her hands up in the air with exasperation. ‘You clearly have your heart set on public education, so why are you even bothering going through with these shenanigans?’ But do I really? I don’t know.

  The problem solves itself a few weeks later when I am invited to a friend’s house, where I overhear an argument between two flaxen-haired munchkins who couldn’t be more than four years old. ‘Guess what? I’m going to Kambala,’ (a prestigious private school) one sing-songs in that God-awful na-na-na, na-na tune. ‘Well I’m going to Kincoppal – ’ (another prestigious private school) ‘ – so there!’ shoots back the other one. ‘Kambala is more expensive than Kincoppal so my family is richer than yours!’ retorts the first munchkin rather shockingly. ‘It is not! MUUUUM!’ There are tears from both parties, and their mothers stop talking about renovating their holiday houses and tend to this whole ‘which-school-is-more-expensive’ fiasco. I mean, really, these kids are seriously fucked in the head. I take one look at them and a smile spreads across my face. Suddenly, I know. This is not what I want for my child. She’s going to be a public school girl just like me and looking at these two girls, I know it’s the best gift that I can give her. But I put her on a couple of lists anyway – just in case.

  How do we find the right school for our kids?

  Q&A with Jane Caro, university lecturer, media commentator, novelist, co-author of What Makes a Good School? and passionate public education campaigner

  Why are Australians so obsessed with the idea of sending our kids to private schools and what does this way of thinking say about us?

  I don’t know that it’s an intrinsically Australian notion to want this, but it’s certainly become more normal here than any other Western country. As humans we’re attracted to the things that are hard to get – for example, most of us have a desire to travel first class but because we know most people cannot afford to do so there’s an allure to that. Obviously now there’s a sense of, ‘Well, why would you want to send your child to a school that everyone in the community, rich or poor, would have access to when you can pay top dollar for the other one up the road that’s elitist?’ It’s a consumer’s market and we’re all trying to buy the best lifestyle that we can. The problem is, of course, as soon as you open a market for a private system, you damage the public because it is instantly passed off as a generic brand. That doesn’t mean it’s not worthwhile, but it will never seem as exciting and alluring to the average punter. What does our vested interest in the private education system say about us? That we’re nowhere near as egalitarian as we like to believe we are.

  Do you think having a private education has any advantages over having a public one?

  Not in the long run, no. There’s a common belief if you go to the ‘right’ schools, you’ll gain a networking advantage, but as private education becomes more mainstream, that is diluted. There’s also the belief that because you’re paying exorbitant fees, you’re buying a better education, but there’s no proof of this. On the contrary, we know that students who attend comprehensive public schools do better than those who attend selective and private by an average of five marks, but we also know fewer public school students get into university. If your child is disciplined and is keen for further education, they cannot be stopped. In the end your money is just buying you better facilities, nothing else.

  Who does better at university?

  In the first year of uni, the private school kids outnumber the public school kids but they don’t have the same staying power and experience a larger drop-out rate. In the private education system, students are often hot-housed by staff and by parents to choose this particular path rather than wanting it for themselves, while kids who come from a lower socio-economic group often see university as a great privilege and work harder. I also often half-joke that it’s probably far easier to go from one underfunded institution to another anyway.

  What are the main differences between students who attend public and private schools?

  I’m generalising here, but often public
school kids tend to be more worldly and robust. These are kids who’ve been chucked into a school with whoever lives nearby – the middle class and the poor. If your child attends a school that doesn’t charge fees, they are always going to be surrounded by a more diverse range of kids, which is a great thing.

  What are your top tips for finding the right school for your child?

  * The very first thing you should do is look at your local school – it’s probably better than you realise.

  * Never listen to another person’s opinion if they are not directly tied to the school you’re looking at. If they’re a staff member or have a child who goes there, great! If not, just let the words fly over your head and do your own research.

  * It’s not enough to read glossy promotional material on a school, you need to visit the institution yourself. Find out when their open day is and commit yourself to attending.