Sexual Harassment and Violence in Schools

Laura Pidcock Excerpts

Thursday 2nd November 2017 Commons Chamber

[Laura Pidcock (North West Durham) (Lab)]

The scale and frequency of the sexual harassment of girls in schools is a disgrace, but, to be honest, I am not that surprised. That so many girls who are trying to learn, think and thrive do so in an environment of fear and intimidation is a symbol of the endemic sexism that exists in our society. Amidst accounts of sexual harassment emanating from our own workplace this week, the Select Committee report on schools is not surprising, because the culture that allows abuse and violence to thrive exists everywhere.

Why is it that cases of sexual harassment can exist in an institution such as this or in schools? The answer is that sexual harassment and violence against women and girls do not happen in a vacuum. When women and their male allies call out sexist language or jokes, when they challenge age-old stereotypical notions of what it is to be a man or a woman, when they challenge tired and rigid gender norms and expectations—because we know they are social constructs rather than a fabric of our DNA—it is not because they want deliberately to destabilise society but because everything counts. Sexual violence is not where it starts but a product of everything that has gone before. Every single thing counts: our thoughts, our words, our behaviours.

If we are to challenge sexual harassment in schools—or in this place—we must start by acknowledging that continuum and make it clear that this behaviour happens and matters. Liz Kelly and Jill Radford, in their excellent paper “Nothing really happened”, paint in stark detail how women’s experiences of sexual violence are invalidated and how as women and girls we are systematically encouraged to minimise the violence we experience at the hands of men. The Select Committee report lays down a marker for schools. It says to girls in schools who have been called a slag or a slut, had their bra straps undone, been punched, tripped up, groped, had their bodies shared via text messages and worse that something did happen to them and that their experiences are not invalidated but count.

The pressure on young people today is immense—the pressure to consume, look good, be perfect. The Instagram and YouTube generations have a lens on an alternative reality that presents as unaltered women who often have been airbrushed to present a synthetic version of beauty. The pressure—to have big lips, big boobs, be thin, be perfect—is pressing but has not always been there. I know that young people can see through much of this YouTube culture, but nevertheless it seeps into a young person’s consciousness and alters expectations among both boys and girls of what it is to be beautiful in this world.

I want to focus on one aspect of the recommendations: recording and reporting. I agree with many, if not all, of the findings. Those on compulsory relationships and sex education, which talk about understanding pornography and consent, and those on separating targets from perpetrators have been mentioned, but the issue of recognising and reporting sexual harassment, as well as sexists incidents, is also key. In my previous job, I worked extensively with schools to encourage them to record and report racist incidents. Acknowledging and writing something down helps schools to establish the patterns, the prevalence and the actions that need to be taken and inform a whole-school analysis of the problem.

It is equally vital that schools report sexual harassment and sexist incidents. There was, however, strong reluctance to report racism because incidents at the start of the continuum were seen as not valid enough. Racist terminology and name calling were minimised, not least because teachers did not understand why they should be counteracting such language, why it was inappropriate or how to explain it to young people. They were also heavily burdened with other tasks—lesson plans, data proving pupil progress, exam preparation, behaviour management and, of course, teaching. It was seen as another daunting task—it should not have been, but it was. There was often a fear, too, that high reporting levels would make it appear that the school had a problem.

If we are to have an education system able to act on all the forms of oppression that young people face, we must give teachers the time and space to be trained to recognise and challenge sexist behaviours. Equally, however, we and Ofsted must make it clear that we value what they are doing. We cannot just keep piling work on teachers and expect them to do it, because they cannot.

One thing gives me hope: there is a generation of young people questioning and resisting the sexist template that society currently subscribes to. Young women are fighting back; they are not accepting being silenced or being called derogatory names. Teachers, too, really care and want to challenge these behaviours, but they feel unequipped and unsupported. There are very many young people defying society’s expectations of them and questioning the current order. I imagine that all they want is for us to catch up.