Should standardised exams be exchanged for another form of assessment?

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Jasmine (Year 11) explores the merits and weaknesses of exams as the formal assessment of intelligence, discussing whether an alternative should be introduced that suits all students.

Exams – the bane of existence for some but an excellent opportunity to excel for others. Thought to have been founded in China, with the use of the standardised “imperial exam” in 605 AD, they are the education system’s way of assessing the mental ability and knowledge of students whilst also creating a practical method of comparison to others in the country. They are therefore an important factor and indicator for employers. But does this strict, tight method really work for assessing intelligence or is it just a memory game that is only achievable for a select few?

I asked 80 students in a survey if they think that exams should be exchanged for another form of assessment and the results concluded that 78% agree that they should. However, when asked about their reasoning, it was mostly due to stereotypical dislike for the stressful period. Some who agreed with the statement also mentioned the unrealistic exam conditions that would not occur in daily life. An example was set forth that during a language oral exam a great amount of pressure is put on the students causing them to become nervous and not perform to their best ability. However, in a real-life conversational situation they would not have to recite pre-prepared answers and the pressure would be taken off so the conversation would flow more naturally. This shows that although someone may have real fluency and talent for the language, their expertise will not be notified and rewarded accordingly

Among many students, examinations are accused of being memory tests that only suit a certain learning style; and the slow abolishment of coursework at GCSE level is contributing to this. This could be shown by the fact that many people in the country have learning difficulties such as dyslexia. These students may be particularly bright and diligent workers however, their brains do not function in the way exams rely on them to. Nonetheless, if they are put in front of a practical task that they have learned to do through experience, they are deemed to be far more knowledgeable and perceptive. Studies show that by learning something consistently for a long period of time it stays in our memory but though it is important to ingrain essential facts into our brains, especially at GCSE level, GCSEs are mostly comprised of learning facts over a period of around 2-3 years and then a final exam at the end; which does not particularly show consistent learning and is more just an overflow of information.

Stress levels caused by the lead-up, doing, and waiting period for results that subsequently follows are also a major factor in the argument that traditional standardised tests should be augmented. According to the NSPCC, from 2015-2016 there was a 21% increase in the likelihood of counselling sessions being for 15-18 year olds affected by exam stress many of whom would be doing GCSEs and A Levels. Some say that the stress these tests cause is necessary for success and mimics the stresses of the real world; but how essential are some of these exams like non-calculator Maths papers when nowadays most people of have calculators on their phones? Exams are also said to create healthy competition that prepares people for the struggles and competitive nature of the modern working world and also motivates students, but can’t this be done with another form of assessment that is more suited to the individual student?

However, the use of different approaches to examination may, in fact, lead to the risk of the test being corrupted. This would mean that grading would be mainly subjective and there would be more scope for unfair advantage for some rather than others. The restrictive nature of our exams today with a set time, set paper and set rules does ensure that fairness is a priority but is the actual exam really the most equal way to test so many different students?

Standardised exams are not the best way of determining the knowledge and intelligence of students around the world. This is due to the stress and pressure they cause, the fact that they are only appropriate for certain learning styles and their ill comparison to real life events in the working world. Changing the form of these assessments may, however, cause grades to be unreliable. My suggestion would be smaller and more practical examinations throughout the course that all contribute to the final grade as this puts less pressure on the students and helps those who rely on different learning strategies to excel and demonstrate their full potential.

Mountains and Metaphor

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Dr John Parsons, Director of Sixth, shares a recent assembly to the Senior School with us.

‘Then forward to th’unconquered peaks above’

The School Song – Kitty Ramsay (The Duchess of Athol)

A freezing cold 4am start in the Atlas Mountains sees our tired little group tackle the last 1000 meters or so of Africa’s second highest peak, Mount Toubkal. As pitch black gives way to pink dawn we climb on, and rubble and dust soon become ice and rock. At the 4167-metre-high summit the air is thin, but the view and sense of achievement is as extraordinary as the sky is now rich blue. Looking south standing on a flat rock I am confronted with Africa sprawling hazy to the horizon, so I hold aloft an imaginary Simba and sing ‘The Circle of Life’, loudly. I blame the altitude.

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I’m a mountain fan – wild, uncompromising, inaccessible, difficult (that’s mountains, not me). Mountains are part of our collective experience and our consciousness, both geographically and metaphorically. They represent the impossible made possible and the unconquerable conquered.  Our mythology is peppered with cameos from mountains; the ancient Greek gods live on Mount Olympus; the same gods punish Sisyphus by forcing him to push a boulder to the top of a mountain for eternity; and the gods gather on Mount Ida to watch the Trojan War. In the Hindu faith, Shiva lives at the top of a mountain, and in Islam Mohamed receives his first revelation on Mount Hira (not to mention examples from Buddhism and Jainism). In the Judeo-Christian tradition mountains again loom large; Noah’s ark comes to rest on the top of a mountain; Moses receives the Ten Commandments on Mount Sinai; we see Christ giving his sermon at higher climbs, and we first see him revealed as the son of God on the top of Mount Tabor before his final hours play out on the Mount of Olives. In Inca mythology, mountain tops are portals to the gods, and the ancient Taranaki people native to New Zealand anthropomorphised their mountains. There is a sense in all of this that the remoteness of mountain tops brought ancient peoples as close to their god(s) as was possible. Mountains have long been places of revelation and transformation.

For the Romantics, mountains were endlessly fascinating. Byron, Shelley, Wordsworth and Ruskin et al developed language and ideas which soon became identified as seeking ‘the sublime.’ Perhaps this was by way of a reaction against the nuts and bolts, dirt, detail, grime and grease of the Industrial Revolution. Shelly’s beautiful line ‘far far above piercing the infinite sky’ certainly gives us a context of vast topographical scale, with the peaks (high above us mere humans beings) themselves dwarfed by the expanse of the heavens. For Shelly, as for the other Romantics, thinking about and visiting mountains allowed for ideas and encounters on an epic scale. Mary Shelley offers us perhaps the most vivid mountains in all romantic literature in her novel Frankenstein. Given the nineteenth-century’s literary love affair with mountain imagery, it is perhaps no surprise that our very own Kitty Ramsey (author of our school song) saw Wimbledon High girls throwing off corsets and crinolines and hiking up those ‘unconquered peaks’ of their own futures. Tolkien’s Middle Earth is full of peaks to climb over, go around or even go through, and, to my mind, even Jay Gatsby climbing the stairs to survey the extravagance of his party below in ‘The Great Gatsby’ or King Kong scaling the needle-like radio mast of the Empire State ‘far far above piercing the infinite sky’ (Hollywood starlet in hand) shows a (largely male-centric) mountain mythology looming large comfortably into the twentieth century.

 

Mountains as Metaphor

We talk of having a mountain of work to do and are idiomatically warned not to make mountains out of mole hills. One of the first ever self-help books by one aptly named Samuel Smiles (1859) feeds off the mountain frenzy appearing in the poems and writings of the time. Smiles writes, ‘it is not ease but effort – not facility but difficulty that makes men… sweet indeed are the uses of adversity… they reveal to us our powers… without difficulty we would be worth less… the road to success is steep to climb.’ According to Smiles, those who took on and surmounted difficulties ended up bettering themselves. This was not advice for lazy people. It speaks of its time; that by sheer effort men (and he was clearly talking in terms of gender here, not species) could rise above social class and make something of themselves. By hard work anything was possible – a sort of Victorian version of Marvin Gaye’s Ain’t No Mountain High Enough. Inadvertently, of course, Smiles and others like him put ideas in women’s heads in the decades that followed; that with perseverance and hard graft women, too, could climb or even move mountains. In Rogers and Hammerstein’s 1959 musical The Sound of Music, the Mother Superior exhorts Maria to ‘Climb every mountain.’ That Maria and her new family physically do just that at the end of the show is beside the point. She is talking in far deeper terms; you will meet difficulties, so scale them and do not give in. There is clearly a parallel in all of this with, for example, the recent work of Angela Duckworth on ‘Grit’ and Carol Dweck’s research into ‘Growth Mindset’; success is borne of effort.

 

Rising to the Challenge

Climbing mountains is hard work, requiring focus and engagement. Mountaineers often talk in terms of being unaware that time has passed as they climb. Arguably, it is in this state when we move closest to achieving our goals and when we are at our maximum effectiveness. For Soviet psychologist Lev Vygotsky (1896-1934) this was the ‘zone of proximal development’, and for Hungarian psychologist Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi (born in the year of Vygotsky’s death), this was defined as ‘flow’. ‘Flow’ (see right) as described by Csikszentmihalyi is certainly an attractive and accessible theory, seeking to identify the ‘sweet spot’ (my words, not Csikszentmihalyi’s) when the task at hand is just challenging enough (y) to be achievable given the skill level of a person (x). If a task is too challenging for our level of skill, we become anxious; if it is not challenging enough we are most likely to become bored or disengaged.

It is, writes Csikszentmihalyi, at this intersection of challenge and skill where our most active and deep learning experiences occur, but also where the activity is most enjoyable. Indeed, his studies detail consistent occurrences of participants being unaware of time passing when they are ‘in flow,’ perhaps proving the old saying ‘time flies when you’re having fun.’ Recent research from Philip Gable and Brian Pool at the University of Alabama sets out to explore this idea further, and their conclusion offers a twist; according to Gable and Pool, time flies when we have goal-oriented fun. Gable concludes that ‘although we tend to believe that time flies when we’re having a good time, these studies indicate what it is about the enjoyable time that causes it to go by more quickly. It seems to be the goal pursuit or achievement-directed action we’re engaged in that matters. Just being content or satisfied may not make time fly but being excited or actively pursuing a desired object can’ (Psychological Science, August 2012).

As I climbed a seemingly endless 47-degree gradient of the final ascent of Italy’s majestic Gran Paradiso mountain last summer (I know it was 47 degrees because I got my iPhone out to measure it – shortly before it shut down from the cold), I was utterly unaware of how long I had been walking. Twenty minutes, two hours – longer? Genuinely, I had lost all concept of time. I was neither anxious nor bored, and the task at hand (or rather under foot) was on the edge of being just a little too challenging for my skill set. And I was having the time of my life. Of course, we can experience the same at work, in the classroom and in the exam hall.

 

Falling and Failing

Doing anything hard requires a conscious effort to move out of a comfort zone and risk failing. American psychologist Angela Duckworth terms the specific quality at play in such situations ‘grit,’ and defines this as ‘passion and perseverance for long-term goals’ (2016).

The idea of getting better at something by simply plodding along relentlessly until it is mastered takes in Csikszentmihalyi’s idea of ‘flow’, but, crucially, Duckworth’s thinking seems to chime with Gable & Pool in her assertion that we need a goal in the first place – a summit. To find Csikszentmihalyi’s flow we must inevitably make mistakes and reflect on them. In his seminal book The Reflective Practitioner (1983), Donald Schon (1930-1997) breaks down what might in fact happen in that reflective moment – the failure occurring in the ‘experience’ part of his diagram, below.

To summarise Schon’s argument; the reflective practitioner in any given task can recognise confusing or unique (positive or negative) events that happen during practice. The ineffective practitioner, says Schon, is confined to repetitive and routine practice, neglecting opportunities to think about what she/he is doing. However, Duckworth’s important point about remaining optimistic and cheerful when we need to be reflective is also worth remembering here. Schon would no doubt have championed Captain Jack Sparrow’s mantra; the problem is not the problem. The problem is your attitude about the problem.

Our young people – as all emerging adult generations have done – must forget all about things being ‘insurmountable’, and respond to difficulty and failure with resilience, cheerfulness and a real quality of toughness. Failure is, after all, inherent in doing difficult things, from Maths tests to mountains.

 

Concluding Thoughts

As educators we seek to give young people opportunities for ‘flow’ moments in their academic learning, recognising the importance of that state in cementing deep learning. But this will inevitably be risky from time to time. Mountains expect us to take risks if we are to conquer them, but also to take care. They ask us slowly but consistently to put one foot in front of the other as we gain height. Despite meticulous planning, there will always unexpected obstacles on the way up, and we must acknowledge (and expect) these and respond calmly and decisively, and ask someone who knows more about climbing mountains we do to help. We must all pause from time to time to look back and see just how far we’ve come. We can’t and mustn’t spend the whole time looking at our feet – eyes on the detail – just as we can’t always be focused on the summit. Rather, we should always remember to take a moment to look back and take in the view.

 

Dr John Parsons, March 2018 (based on a 2016 assembly).

 

Photo sources:

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Where academic and pastoral meet: why we should value what we remember and will remember what we value.

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Fionnuala Kennedy, Deputy Head (Pastoral), looks at research in to memory and how this can be used to aid revision for examinations.

As with most of my thoughts about education, this one was provoked by a conversation over supper and a glass of wine with someone not involved in the educational field. Unlike most of my thoughts about education, it is based on the work of a Dutch psychologist and Chess Master born in 1914, whose initial thesis, “Het denken van den schaker”, was published in 1946 (the English translation, “Thought and Choice in Chess”, appeared in 1965).
During the 40s, 50s and 60s, Adriaan de Groot conducted a series of cognitive chess experiments which ultimately formed the basis for ‘chunking’ theory and allowed for the development of chess computers. Testing all levels of chess player, from rank beginners through to Grand Masters, de Groot’s goal was to explain how the very best chess players could visually absorb a full chess board, assess the positions of pieces, process the different numbers of moves they could make next and rank them in order of preference, and all within seconds. This process was divided into four key phases, occurring rapidly in sequence:

  1. The orientation phase – assessing the position and coming up with general ideas of what to do
  2. The exploration phase – analysing concrete variations
  3. The investigation phase – deciding on the best move
  4. The proof phase –confirming the validity of the choice reached in phase three.

This in itself is an incredibly useful model of thought and study, particularly for the examination student under pressure of time. It is, however, not this which really piqued my interest in de Groot’s study, but rather the next phases of his thinking which have since been built upon by psychologists in the US.

Having determined the role of visual perception and thought processes of Grand Masters that lead to their success, de Groot went on to consider how they would memorise and what it was about that method of memory which made them so particularly successful. And the findings were – and are – fascinating.

In de Groot’s most famous demonstration, he showed several players images of chess positions for a few seconds and asked the players to reconstruct the positions from memory.  The experts – as we might predict – made relatively few mistakes even though they had seen the position only briefly.  So far, so impressive. But, years later, Chase and Simon replicated de Groot’s finding with another expert (a master-level player) as well as an amateur and a novice.  They also added a critical control: the players viewed both real chess positions and scrambled chess positions (that included pieces not only in random positions, but also in implausible and even impossible locations). The expert excelled with the real positions – again, as might have been predicted – but performed no better than the amateur and even the novice for the scrambled positions. In essence, then, the expert advantage seems only to come from familiarity with actual chess positions, something that allows more efficient encoding or retrieval of the positions. The grand master’s memory, the test suggests, will only have absorbed the positions on the board which matter to them, which have meaning and purpose; it is not that their memories are simply ‘better’, or better-trained, but that they have become more efficient in storing meaningful patterns. Without that meaning, the expert and the novice will both struggle equally.

And this amazed me, and got me thinking. As educators, we know that theories about the ways in which we think and remember come and go, that pupils may learn in different ways, at different ages, in varying degrees of success and failure, and thus we shouldn’t jump on too many bandwagons pedagogically. I know for example that I am almost certainly more reliant on audio and visual modes of learning than kinesthetic, but then I suspect that’s because the latter didn’t really exist when I was at school; and I also tend to believe that I remember letters and words better than numbers, but this I now recognise to be because I grew up with parents who listened to music and read literature. It is not that our brains can or cannot remember aspects of learning; it is not necessarily that we have different ways of thinking and remembering and learning, or indeed brains which ‘absorb’ certain information better or worse than others. Rather:

We will remember that to which we ascribe value; we will memorise where there is pattern and meaning.

Which only goes to add more grist to the mill to Mrs Lunnon’s message delivered in our opening assembly this term: ‘What I do is me: for that I came’ (Manley-Hopkins). If we approach learning as a task which must be achieved simply to obtain an end-goal, we simply will not learn as well. Rather, if each task is ascribed a meaning and value for and within itself, it will become much easier to remember and store away. Thinking ‘I want to get 10/10 in my Spanish vocab test because I want to be top of the class’ will only make your task more difficult. Looking at each word you are learning and putting it into a context where you might use it one day, or including it in a joke in Spanish, or making a connection between the words, will save you time and maximise the chances of your brain storing that information away for you for longer.

What’s more – and this is where the pastoral side really kicks in – such an approach takes away the slog and grind of learning. Instead, meaning will surround us and be ascribed in all we do. And, of course, more excitingly than that: if we are on the look-out for meaning, it will help us to find the area which feels the most meaningful for us, in which we can readily spot and identify patterns of meaning and which fills us with joy and satisfaction. And it is this, and not simply a desire to do well or know more, which will lead to true mastery as we negotiate the chess board of our own learning and lives.

Follow @DHPastoralWHS and @Head_WHS on Twitter.

Mindful revision: how to make the best of the revision period

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As mock exams start, Suzanne East, our Mindfulness Lead, looks at how we can manage the pressures of examination revision to achieve our best and stay healthy.

As the Christmas holidays approached and the festivities were beginning to get into full swing, I wished my Y11 tutor group Merry Christmas and asked how they were planning on spending the holiday period; “revision”, they groaned in reply. In their eyes was written the despair at the prospect of sitting alone in garret-like bedrooms struggling with never-ending lists of dates whilst the sounds of forbidden parties drifted up to torment them.

Faced with this, I sought ways to encourage them, and found that mindful practise offered some practical suggestions. So here are my top five tips on how to survive revision, especially revision during the holiday period, in a most mindful way!

  1. Acceptance

At the end of the day, it is what it is and you will not feel any happier by constantly thinking of other things you could be doing. Being constantly updated on the fun that others are having will not help, so put the device away and get on with it!

  1. Focus

Mindful practice encourages you to bring the focus of your attention back to a chosen point, perhaps the breath. We all get distracted but we can improve our attention with regular practice – a vital skill in completing any task! Remember to be kind (you will not be able to focus all the time) but notice the drifting away of attention and gently bring it back to the job in hand.

  1. Self-awareness

Away from the routines of school this is a time when students may be alone for long periods and need to take responsibility for their own care. Mindful practice encourages paying attention to yourself, how are you feeling physically, mentally and emotionally. By getting to know yourself you can make sure you stop and eat when hungry, get some exercise when sluggish and meet up with friends when feeling lonely.

  1. Savouring the good

It is easy to let revision seep into all aspects of the day. Even when not actually doing revision it can hijack your thoughts; regretting not doing more or dreading going back.  Mindfulness practice teaches how to be fully in the moment, so if you are doing some revision, pay attention and do it, but equally when you are having a break really have a break. Immerse yourself in a long soak in the bath, enjoy chatting with your friends when you meet up for coffee, savour that chocolate and get out and be in the world that is buzzing away with life all around you.

  1. Kindness

Remember mocks are a practice run. Things will not always go to plan, and this is almost certainly true of revision plans. Mindful practice encourages students to explore areas of difficulty and to accept that life can make you feel sad, angry and frustrated. No one likes to feel like this, but these are feelings we cannot escape from. Get to know them and learn how you can move forward, being as kind and supportive to yourself as you would to a good friend.

Of course, none of the above come easily.  Regular practice is essential in building mindful habits, but the rewards can be quite life changing, especially when the going gets tough.

Follow @DHPastoralWHS for regular Pastoral updates at Wimbledon High.