During my 41.333333 years of teaching, "targets" became a fact of life, whether we liked it or not.
I did not.
Consider this. A keen employee will work enthusiastically and will want to make improvements, so will try to give that little bit extra in order to achieve this. This is the way it worked before the era of targeting. It worked.
There were skivers, of course, but there were ways of dealing with people who didn't pull their weight, but such avenues were often overlooked. An underperforming worker could be given targets to aid performance, but for those already working to capacity, targets were counterproductive.
As a music teacher in a secondary school, I remember the hours of preparation, and the non-existent lunch breaks - they did exist, of course, but music teachers were rehearsing on a daily basis.
But somehow we made it work.
Then along came the new whizz-kid, taking over from the retiring head teacher.
"I'm not going to make any immediate changes, but we'll need to have a few targets to see us through until the summer." It all sounded harmless enough, until we learnt the magnitude of the targets.
One brace soul did ask: "What would you like us to stop doing in order to achieve these targets?" The whizz-kid didn't seem to understand why anyone should ask such a question. As the burden of targets continued, the school fell apart in every way. My music department was very badly hit, and in the end (1996) I resigned publicly at the end of school concert, thanking nearly everyone: colleagues, pupils, and the Chairman of Governors (who was attending the concert), but accidentally forgetting to thank the whizz-kid.
The school continued to collapse, and the whizz-kid was replaced. The damage seemed irreversible, as by then, targets were part of performance management. A new kind of teacher emerged, largely pre-programmed for the brave new world. Some were/are very good, but music has suffered as a part of this process.
Recently, the school effectively ceased to exist, being swallowed up by a neighbouring school.
And it all began with targets.
I did not.
Consider this. A keen employee will work enthusiastically and will want to make improvements, so will try to give that little bit extra in order to achieve this. This is the way it worked before the era of targeting. It worked.
There were skivers, of course, but there were ways of dealing with people who didn't pull their weight, but such avenues were often overlooked. An underperforming worker could be given targets to aid performance, but for those already working to capacity, targets were counterproductive.
As a music teacher in a secondary school, I remember the hours of preparation, and the non-existent lunch breaks - they did exist, of course, but music teachers were rehearsing on a daily basis.
But somehow we made it work.
Then along came the new whizz-kid, taking over from the retiring head teacher.
"I'm not going to make any immediate changes, but we'll need to have a few targets to see us through until the summer." It all sounded harmless enough, until we learnt the magnitude of the targets.
One brace soul did ask: "What would you like us to stop doing in order to achieve these targets?" The whizz-kid didn't seem to understand why anyone should ask such a question. As the burden of targets continued, the school fell apart in every way. My music department was very badly hit, and in the end (1996) I resigned publicly at the end of school concert, thanking nearly everyone: colleagues, pupils, and the Chairman of Governors (who was attending the concert), but accidentally forgetting to thank the whizz-kid.
The school continued to collapse, and the whizz-kid was replaced. The damage seemed irreversible, as by then, targets were part of performance management. A new kind of teacher emerged, largely pre-programmed for the brave new world. Some were/are very good, but music has suffered as a part of this process.
Recently, the school effectively ceased to exist, being swallowed up by a neighbouring school.
And it all began with targets.
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