I once went for lunch at an especially high-end private school; invited by a colleague who happened to be a legacy member.
For someone who came through the British state school system and completed my GCSEs at a school under special measures, it was akin to a scene at Hogwarts.
It was, in its ethos and educational worldview, the antithesis of traditional schooling and the historical practice of private education.
Furthermore, despite my personal experience of education, and a vow to never teach, I was at this stage on the senior leadership team at an independent school.
So, as I sat drinking my wine in the grandeur of the main hall, I wondered if this sense of traditionalism could ever be a part of my own experience as an educator.
Lost in Latin
My musings were met head on when the headmaster of the school stood, in traditional robes to deliver his welcome speech. He opened with a joke, in Latin. I was lost.
Most were - only about 10 per cent of the audience chuckled, while the rest of us investigated our soup, immediately aware of being in the presence of an unobtainable elite.
I thought... if I were to look at this headteacher’s profile on the school’s website, and consider the accents of those teachers sat around me, my own experience and schooling would never be a fit for a school such as this, and my university and background would never read well as a leader in one of these schools.
I would never climb so high.
A sense of shame
I am now the headteacher at an international school in South East Asia, and I look back at this moment, this sense of defeat, with shame.
Not the shame one feels because they didn’t believe in themselves, but the shame of not realising my own privilege.
I am a white, middle-class male. I have experienced little but privilege, a privilege that almost all my non-white counterparts in education will likely never experience owing to only the colour of their skin.
My hard work and innovation, I have always believed, allowed me to climb through the ranks and into senior leadership.
However, now I have a few more years’ experience in the international school sector, I’m afraid this narrative is something of a fiction.
A deep-rooted issue
International schools, unlike even the UK education system with its inequity, are deeply rooted with white traditionalism, a less overt but highly effective form of racial inequality.
Despite increasing representation of BAME teachers in international schools, there are very few areas in which these teachers are able to progress professionally.
One only needs to look at the leadership pages of international schools all over the world to note this simple fact. The white traditionalism I am referring to is the expectation of what elite education looks like, and as we privileged all know, this elite is white - and often male, too.
In my first year of teaching in an international school, I spoke with a colleague who happened to be of mixed ethnicity.
She spoke of her teaching qualifications and her desire to migrate out of English support and into a class teacher role, but how this would never happen.
My surprise, and questioning of “why not?” demonstrated my ignorance and my privilege. “Because the parents wouldn’t be happy,” she explained. “Nonsense,” I protested, “The school would surely support you.”
“Well, that’s not my lived experience,” my colleague said. These words have been what has shaped my ongoing personal education, and my reflection on my privileged experience in international schooling.
Holding back talent
My professional success in the international field means the un-success of every non-white teacher.
Counterparts with my experience, my knowledge, my innovation, but darker skin, would not have to work three times as hard to get to my position, because they simply wouldn’t be considered.
Make no mistake, if I felt the grandeur of the main hall at the school I had lunch at was an unobtainable elite, you can be sure that the halls of many schools feel just as daunting to non-whites - and remain off-limits.
The writer is a head at an international school