The Myth of Effort-ocracy
And the problems of scoring what shouldn't be scored
When I was a third year undergraduate student, there was a policy that meant college accommodation was allocated according to academic performance; those who got Firsts in their exams were given first choice. This was unfortunate for me; despite my best efforts I got a 2:1 in my second year, landing me in a draughty room over the college bar with a sink in the corner. Two of my best friends excelled in their exams and snagged themselves what was then considered the absolute height of luxury - en suite rooms.
At the time, this difference had some practical implications - sharing a shower between 4 or 5 rooms makes your morning routine that bit more awkward - there is more wasted time, more faff and on busy nights the noise of the bar was annoying. But the experience wasn't just about minor discomfort; it was a daily reminder of my perceived inadequacies, fuelled by an academic system that equated worth with grades.
I believed I’d worked just as hard as my friends and I knew it was statistically harder to get a First in my subject than theirs. Instead of directing my frustration at what I now recognise as an inherently unjust system (never mind subject differences, what about awarding gaps?), I turned it inwards. I got over the mediocre room, but the feeling of inadequacy became part of a narrative I had throughout my undergraduate degree of being “not good enough”. This has taken me years to shake off, and if I’m honest, it’s still a work in progress. When you’re in a system that’s established, it can be difficult to see that it’s the system at fault, and much easier to blame yourself.
My reflections on this experience were reignited by a recent article about a school in Brighton and Hove implementing a system where students' "Attitude to Learning" scores determine their place in the break queue. Critics like Dr. Naomi Fisher argue that these scores are fundamentally flawed; they often reflect executive functioning skills rather than genuine attitude, they conflate “positive attitude” with compliance and they risk damaging students' self-perception by making these scores visible.
I agree wholeheartedly with Naomi’s points, and it also makes me think about my concerns with the concept of “meritocracy” in education. I think we increasingly recognise that meritocracy, with its promise that hard work guarantees success, ignores the societal structures that disproportionately benefit certain groups over others. Yet, I believe we're still feeling the effects of the meritocracy myth, manifesting as an "effort-ocracy" belief. This is the notion that it's fair to reward some and treat others less favourably based on the amount of effort we perceive they are making.
Making the effort
As a teacher, I worked under a policy of awarding effort grades as well as achievement grades to students. This was well-intentioned - it aimed to recognise the effort that students were putting in, regardless of their current level of academic success. However, rather than providing motivation or encouragement, it may well have had the opposite effect. As Alfie Kohn points out,
“A low grade for effort is more likely to be read as “You’re a failure even at trying.” On the other hand, a high grade for effort combined with a low grade for achievement says, “You’re just too dumb to succeed.”
Using effort grades also presupposes that:
It’s possible to accurately determine the amount of effort someone else is making, and
Our capacity to “make an effort” is something we have complete control over.
I’d argue that the amount of effort we are able to give fluctuates over the course of our lives and even our days. There are seen and unseen dimensions to the effort we give and the effort we have available to give. The student who has been kept awake all night by a baby crying won’t be able to focus as hard in their maths test. The one grieving an absent parent might not be putting their hand up in class. The student with caring responsibilities may not have done as much revision. And there are students for whom just getting to school on time, with an approximation of the right kit has already taken a lot out of them, effort-wise.
Learning and identity
Similarly, “attitude to learning” is a complex concept. In my research with undergraduate students, I ask them about their experiences of learning at school and university and how they see themselves as learners. Their responses are multidimensional, nuanced, and, in my longitudinal work with these students, continually evolving. They talk about confidence, successes and failure. They talk about relationships to their peers, to the teacher, to the subject. They talk about curiosity and passion and engagement. They talk about distraction and juggling priorities. How they feel about their learning is relational and feeds into their identity. I don’t know how you could even begin to collapse this rich, qualitative data into a score or a grade, and if you did, I’m sure it wouldn’t tell you anything meaningful. But what we measure, we change. By giving students a score for their “Attitude to learning”, you will change how they reflect on their learning and potentially how they feel about themselves.
Instead of grading the ungrade-able
Attempts to quantify abstract concepts like attitude and effort are deeply flawed, and tend to create a false sense of order and understanding - they try to simplify and tame the complexity of human experience. Instead, I suggest we need to emphasise getting curious, asking questions and engaging in a dialogue with students. I’ve seen many teachers who are absolutely brilliant at this - “I noticed you seemed distracted today, is everything ok?” or “You’ve arrive late a couple of times now; is something making it difficult for you to get here on time?” or “You stopped writing with 10 minutes left - why was that?” It’s time-consuming, messier, and the answers don’t fit neatly into a mark book or spreadsheet, but it’s a lot more revealing and constructive in the long run. To make this approach viable, however, we must afford teachers the time, freedom and support they need to engage in these deeper, reflective conversations.
Coming back to my college’s policy of room allocation on academic achievement, I can only assume that the intention was to motivate us students to work harder. I think the same is true of the break-time queue policy in the Brighton and Hove school. Both appear to assume that the “problem” is a lack of effort, and believe it can be fixed by raising the stakes and making them public. I very much doubt that’s true.
In my experience, students already know when they’re not meeting a prescribed definition of success. Sending them to the back of a queue won’t help.