that time someone said teaching well was coercion

On the strange logic that effective teaching narrows choice, creates competition, and somehow undermines equity.

For someone who doesn’t particularly care for conflict, I have a real soft spot for dismantling arguments that entrench inequity, including, but not limited to, those that misrepresent evidence-informed practice. That’s not unique to me in any way. Ask almost¹ any advocate for evidence-informed instruction why they do it and, more often than not, the answer can be reduced to this: working towards students having access to the best possible education. You can’t say we’re not ambitious.

Forget the narrative that the goal of evidence-informed instruction is to improve scores or school rankings on league tables. Surely if that were the case, it would be far more advantageous to gatekeep these ideas. No, seriously, it would. If I really wanted so badly to get an academic edge on other schools, I wouldn’t openly promote the ways I’m doing that in spaces where anyone can access it - mostly for free too, being that I post the bulk of it right here. Again, that’s not unique to me. I think you’ll find those vocally advocating for evidence-informed instruction have also figured this out and would just keep the secrets of effective practice to themselves if their efforts were centred on improving their school’s results. In that respect, that narrative seems like a silly one for anyone to even attempt to argue.

Typically, criticisms of evidence-informed instruction skirt around the equity question, likely because it is difficult to argue against the proposition that all students deserve access to effective teaching. This week, though, I read a critique that took a different approach: arguing that equitable access to effective teaching smuggles in a competitive model of education. This wasn’t so much done in the sense that evidence-informed practice is all about league tables and school rankings, but rather that widespread adoption of effective instruction assumes that schooling is fundamentally about competing for future pathways, such as tertiary entrance.

I have chosen not to link to this particular Substack at this stage, being that it is being run by an individual, and I’m conscious to not spur on an online witch hunt. But I consider this argument one worth engaging with because it reflects a line of critique that positions evidence-informed practice as being results-driven, and that warrants a conversation.

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the weird and whack logic of equity as competition

At the heart of this bizarre critique is the claim that hidden beneath the push for evidence-informed practice, such as explicit instruction, is a model of education founded on academic competition.

Please buckle up for a moment while I break down the flawed logic used to support this position for you.

As context, proponents for evidence-informed practice and explicit instruction, such as myself, would argue that by choosing not to use explicit instruction, some students are given an advantage over others. Basically, if we leave students to inquire or develop knowledge themselves, an inherent advantage is awarded to students who already have higher relevant background knowledge - often those from higher socioeconomic backgrounds. In fact, I make this very argument in a previous post:

“The decision to not use instructional techniques that evidence suggests are most likely to support learning is choosing to limit students’ opportunities. It can shape what knowledge they encounter, how securely they learn it and what pathways post-school remain open to them. And the consequences of that choice aren’t shared evenly.

Students with access to tutors, resources and support outside of school might find ways to compensate. Students without those supports don’t get that option. For them, the classroom is the opportunity.” - Caiti Wade, “this isn’t an academic school”

I stand by the above. Obviously. But apparently, some read an argument like this as a kind of Trojan horse: not a case for equity, but a covert attempt to transform schooling into academic combat, or education into a ruthless sorting mechanism for university pathways and social status.

I’m sure when you hear people point out that less effective teaching does not affect all students equally, your first thought is probably also: ah yes, neoliberal ranking systems and credential combat. Right?

That’s a slight exaggeration of their position, of course. To be fair, their argument isn’t quite so academic ‘Hunger Games’.

Put plainly, the weird claim is that by suggesting that limiting access to evidence-informed instruction gives some students an unfair advantage over others, we are implicitly framing education as a competitive enterprise, where the prizes are university entry and the likes. From there, the argument extends further: if schooling is treated as a multi-year training program for competitive academic outcomes, then the push for explicit instruction must also be implicitly devaluing non-university pathways. Basically, those in favour of evidence-informed practice see university as the only valuable outcome of schooling and any other pathway is a second-tier alternative.

Bet you didn’t know when you came to my post today that you were going to be accused of undermining every post-schooling pathway that doesn’t involve a university campus. Because I certainly didn’t see that one coming when I was sent the argument in question.

Now if you’re like me, you’re probably experiencing some warranted confusion at exactly what logic underpins the above argument. After all, it seems to concede two fairly important things: first, that explicit instruction does produce stronger academic outcomes than many alternative approaches; and second, that not using it can reduce equity by disproportionately advantaging students who are better equipped to compensate for weaker instruction. Surely, we want to do what’s most effective and equitable for our students, right?

Well, this author’s broader philosophical claim is this: education is primarily about individual choice, and by prioritising effective instruction, we risk positioning educational success as being solely about academic outcomes. Their argument, in part, is that while some students may want this, not every student desires a university pathway. Now that part is absolutely fair and, frankly, obvious.

But they proceed to take this argument further by comparing schooling to elite sport. In high-performance sporting environments, a narrow definition of success makes sense because these athletes have chosen to be there. School students, by contrast, do not opt into education in the same way. They suggest that by embracing evidence-informed instruction, schools are accepting a narrow definition of success founded only on academic outcomes and tertiary entry, and therefore, are risking becoming coercive.

There’s a lot there, so to try simplify this, this weird and whack logic goes something like this:

evidence-informed instruction improves academic outcomes → prioritising it makes academic success the goal of schooling → schooling is then just training for university → non-university pathways are devalued → and because students didn’t choose that goal, the whole thing risks becoming coercive.

It is at least an interesting² argument. It is also very wrong. Figures.

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how we teach is not why we educate

The first and most obvious problem with this argument is that it confuses instructional method with educational purpose. Choosing to teach explicitly is not the same as choosing what students should value, pursue, or become. It is simply a decision about how best to support them to learn. It’s not that deep - explicit instruction is a method, not a mission.

I probably don’t need to say too much more here, but I will.

So, the argument is that by teaching effectively, which will improve overall academic outcomes if done correctly, this positions academic outcomes as being the primary goal of schooling. But what if it’s not about that? What if it’s just about doing something as best we can?

For instance, I’ve taken to learning to cook well. I have zero intention of ever being a chef. It’s just a skill I want to have. It’s a flawed position to assume that by supporting students to do the best they can academically, schools are forcing them down a particular pathway. You can be good at something and choose not to pursue it. Choice does not disappear because competence increases. If anything, competence expands the choices available.

That, to me, is the strange inversion at the heart of this argument: the suggestion that helping students become more capable somehow narrows their future, when in reality it does the opposite. It opens doors. Which ones they choose to walk through is still entirely their choice.

Perhaps the author’s deeper concern is not really about explicit instruction itself, but about what schools might neglect in the pursuit of it. That if we become too focused on effective teaching, we risk narrowing the broader educational experience. Fine. That at least would be a coherent concern. However, that’s not an argument against effective instruction; it’s an argument against imbalance, which I could (and intend to) flip the switch on as well. Let’s play that game.

Firstly, there seems to be a far-too-common false dichotomy at play here: the idea that if a school prioritises effective instruction, it must necessarily neglect everything else. Forget wellbeing or sports or arts or vocational pathways. Don’t even mention pastoral care. If you choose to pursue effective instruction, you might as well not even bother with anything outside of that. Because we all know you cannot possibly do more than one thing well simultaneously, right?

Make sure you’re sitting down when I say this next part because it may come as a shock. I use explicit instruction in my maths classes. I also choose to coach a sport at the school I work at. Turns out you can do both.

I know, I know, it’s hard to hear. Imagine a school being capable of teaching well and caring deeply about wellbeing, sport, the arts, and alternative pathways. Wild.

In fact, there are countless schools that excel in numerous domains. As it turns out, schools are capable of holding multiple priorities at once. They only become competing priorities if we design them that way, so maybe choose not to? That feels like the obvious choice.

Secondly, let’s flip the switch the other way. If a mainstream school chooses to neglect its academic instruction and instead only prioritise other areas, doesn’t that also create a problem? The part that struck me most about the argument at hand was that of student choice. Not all students will choose a university pathway, but some will. And they don’t deserve to have their choice neglected either.

It’s interesting because providing effective instruction doesn’t limit student choices. A student can still finish school and choose a non-university pathway. However, not teaching effectively can close doors for students. Not because students chose that either. Because that option was taken away from them.

The argument presented was that school should be about choice, so surely our responsibility should be to maximise it? And given we can easily acknowledge that schools can teach effectively and still excel at other ‘non-academic’ (for want of a better phrase) priorities, why not do all the things?

I often say that teaching effectively is one easy thing we can control that takes pressure off in other areas. When we teach well, students don’t go home and struggle through their homework. They don’t need to rely on external tutors that they may not have the means to access or help from family. Nor do their academic results get driven purely by the hands they were dealt in life. To teach well is to maximise the effectiveness of the instructional time given. What happens outside of that isn’t always evenly distributed and often isn’t in our control. The classroom is the one place where schools can intervene in that inequality.

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educational hunger games

If we suggest advantage, we are declaring competition!

No, seriously, that was an argument made. I don’t really get it either.

At this stage, I will preface this by saying that depending on your schooling system, there probably is some kind of competition built in. In Australia, students receive an ATAR³ at the end of high school, which is a ranking used for university admission. That is a competition. Although what you might note is that it’s a score and not a method of instruction.

That’s the part of the game we don’t get to decide as educators. It’s built into the system. But the argument wasn’t about that part of the system alone - it spoke to the idea that by stating that poor instruction disadvantages some students, we’re establishing education as being a competition of outcomes. This should be easy to address:

Recognising that some students are better positioned to survive weaker instruction is not creating competition. It is recognising inequality.

Whoa, that was easy.

I can go further though. Recognising inequality and choosing to take steps to reduce it through better instruction is not an endorsement of competition. It is an attempt to make the system less dependent on luck, background knowledge, and support outside the classroom.

If anything, refusing to address those inequalities does far more to preserve competition than an instructional technique ever could.

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there is no neutral teaching

I want to hold the magnifying glass up to that idea of choice some more. The argument is made that students aren’t choosing to be at school, like athletes might choose to compete at a high level, and therefore shouldn’t endure an academic coaching of sorts. One of the stranger assumptions sitting beneath this argument is that by stepping back from explicit instruction, schools somehow become more neutral - less coercive and more open to student choice.

But here's some hard truth: there is no neutral teaching.

Every instructional decision reflects a choice: what knowledge matters, what gets prioritised and how effectively - or not - that content is taught. More to the point, those choices carry consequences, and it’s rarely the educator who carries the cost of that choice. It’s the students in our care, who might not even know what choice they want to make in that respect yet. And, as we already know, that cost is rarely distributed equally.

Students with stronger background knowledge, more support at home and greater access to external help can often manage weaker instruction. Students without those supports aren’t always afforded that luxury. That’s where classroom instruction fits in.

So if the concern is around coercion, maybe we should be asking the following:

What is more coercive? Teaching students well or quietly limiting what they can access later by failing to teach them well now?

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ethics and equity, oh my

If I’m honest, I wanted to speak to this piece because of what sits under it. Like many posts that are fighting against evidence-informed instruction, they position the alternative as somehow being more ethical or respectful of student choice. I struggle with that position.

The students who are most likely to become instructional casualties are those with the least support outside of school. In the one place where we have the ability to make a difference in this piece about equity, there are educators who choose not to. Teaching well doesn’t force a pathway or certain results. It provides students access to the best possible education in the one way we can have control to reduce inequity.

Recall that the author of this argument acknowledged the effectiveness of explicit instruction at producing academic outcomes, so this isn’t an argument about whether it is effective or not. This is an argument about whether we are willing to deliberately withhold the very instructional approaches most likely to help students learn, all in the name of preserving a version of education that feels philosophically cleaner.

Because I’m not.

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1. I don’t know of any where this wouldn’t be the case, but there’s always someone.

2. “Interesting” doing some very heavy lifting here.

3. ‘Investigating ATAR’ by the incredible Alex Blanksby explains this phenomenally well and with a bit of red string theory.