High Anxiety

I had an enjoyable time at the finals for the Plain English Speaking Awards yesterday, even though our girl, Rekha, didn't come away with anything. Standards were high and she acquitted herself admirably, especially in an excellent main speech. I was pleased that all the contestants performed on the day and could feel good about themselves after. (At least, I hope they did since they certainly should have done.)

Rekha's father, who came to watch, commented on just how nerve-wracking it felt in the audience and how much the speakers were to be admired for having the courage to be up there. Absolutely correct! It's a lot more pressurising than being on stage in a play where at least you've had lots of rehearsal and time to learn definite lines. This kind of anxiety seems to me essentially positive. It reflects the demands that life sometimes makes on one and genuinely feels like an experience from which it is possible to learn.

I've been thinking lately about another kind of anxiety though. This is more insidious, less useful. And schools breed it, I think. Oddly it's rare to find in any kind of writing on matters of education an acknowledgement of the part anxiety plays in the classroom (and elsewhere in schools.) But it's part of the air breathed there, and sometimes exudes a peculiarly heavy scent.

This is the anxiety that is wrapped up in failure, or, to be more precise, fear of failure. There is an extraordinary modern myth that classrooms either are, or should be, places of enjoyment. Enjoyment is occasional, and welcome when it arrives, but anxiety is perpetual and accepted.