EARLIER this year, I was asked during an interview who the smartest person I know is. Because school and university are as distant a memory to me as the nightclubs all the cool kids flocked to in the wee hours of Monday morning, I didn’t start scrolling through an internal rolodex of pals – the way I might have done when I was younger – for someone who had aced their high school exams or graduated with a first-class degree.

I immediately thought of a friend whose boundless creativity is matched only by her deep emotional intelligence. Someone who has overcome steep adversity in her life, the kind that no amount of education can prepare you for, and envelops everyone she meets in a blanket of compassion and warmth despite having experienced the very worst of humanity. She taught herself all the skills she needed to rise to the top of her industry in a language that isn’t her mother tongue. Did she get an A in Maths? I honestly have no idea. Who cares?

Exams are, of course, the topic du jour (mais oui, I do have Higher French). Scottish results were released yesterday and there was a reduction in pass rates this year compared to 2020, which isn’t saying much considering last year’s situation was a bit of a – well, I’m not supposed to swear here, but I might get away with merde-show.

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Tory education secretary Oliver Mundell is naturally using the results to stick the boot into the SNP and call for a return of “traditional Scottish exams”, as though the main challenge faced by pupils and teachers this year was the Alternative Certification Model and not, I don’t know, a global pandemic.

His comments come as the Scottish Government prepares to announce whether end-of-term exams will make a return in 2022, and what educational reforms it intends to implement following the publication of an Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD) report into the current curriculum system.

I have never considered exams an adequate measure of a person’s capabilities, and I remember precisely when I began to question their merit. At school, I was friends with an incredibly bright guy who was a gifted debater with a quick wit.

We were in all the same classes and received similar grades for essays, but while I had an aptitude for sitting exams – and by that I mean an ability to stay calm under pressure and recall reams of information on demand – he did not. His grades weren’t high enough to secure a university place, and after school our paths splintered. His confidence dented, it was several years before he felt able to pursue his career aspirations. Meanwhile, I slid into the further education slipstream with ease. It wasn’t fair.

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Had our school taken a more holistic overview of our work, it may not have turned out this way. If everything had been taken into account, from our coursework to our participation to our extra-curricular achievements, my friend’s grades would have more accurately reflected the rich breadth of his skills and knowledge than a series of reductive exams designed to test his memory and mettle beneath the hot breath of a ticking clock.

Yes, there’s an argument that the discipline demanded by the examination process is a useful life habit for pupils to learn. But the results of those examinations have historically carried disproportionate weight which has in turn promoted dry, rote “teaching to the test”. That benefits nobody, especially not the working class kids who studies have repeatedly shown to be disadvantaged by the current set-up.

If the emphasis shifted so that exams were a small part of a more well-rounded picture, teachers would have greater freedom to encourage meaningful learning. Without the myopic prioritisation of academic success, perhaps our education system could become one that values the positive contribution everyone can make to society post-school – not just the doctors, teachers and scientists but the artists, tradespeople and social workers. Maybe skills such as working collaboratively, thinking critically and listening to others would be regarded with the same reverence as quadratic equations.

School exams might have made sense 100-odd years ago, but the world has changed beyond recognition since then. In a digitally led and increasingly automated age, fact regurgitation is not as important as it once was. Those who support exams will point to surgeons and ask “Do you really want someone operating on you who hasn’t been rigorously tested?” and my answer to that is no, but that’s what university is for. I don’t think de-emphasising exams at school would result in a skills deficit among would-be surgeons, or any other vocation for that matter, and we need only look to Finland (where else?) for evidence.

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Finland’s education system is regarded world-leading, but it has no school league tables, streaming or standardised tests, save for a National Matriculation Exam undertaken by those who wish to progress to university. In early years there’s an emphasis on play rather than competition. Arts subjects receive a parity of esteem with more academic classes.

The curriculum, which is based around the “joy of learning”, covers seven core competences including digital skills, entrepreneurship, “learning to learn” and managing daily life. Yet Finnish students routinely perform highly in the OECD Programme for International Student Assessment tests that measure science, reading and mathematics literacy across 80 countries.

Even those in the UK responsible for the introduction of certain exams say they don’t have a place in modern education. Lord Kenneth Baker, the father of the national curriculum and GCSEs in the 1980s, said he thinks “they’ve run their course now”.

He’s advocated instead for a baccalaureate that recognises academic and technical skills combined with the personal development of each pupil. “It would enable every young person to develop the rounded skills they need for work and life,” he said.

If even a Thatcherite recognises the need for a more balanced approach in education, perhaps there's a different type of exam revision required; and this time not by the pupils. Perhaps there can be a little less cliche and a lot more joie de vivre in the way we teach. God knows we need it.

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