For all the positives, social media can be a quagmire of complaint: resentment and dissatisfaction are rife, and venting in posts and tweets has become a widespread form of release.
Public-sector workers frequently bear the brunt of the displeasure and, as school staff, we understand this better than most. We’ll all recognise the complaints:
“Stuck at parents’ evening because my son’s teacher is running late AGAIN. Literally every time.”
“Refused to offer more one-to-one sessions for my son, even though I TOLD the teacher that’s the only thing that works for him. Sick of these know-it-alls with their ridiculous holidays.”
“It’s impossible to get a meeting outside my work hours. Do they not know other people have jobs?”
Parents’ accusations against teachers
Among the greatest frustrations for those reading these kinds of grievances is the inaccuracy of the accusations against staff who often have no control over events. I want to say: “Yes, I am in a rush at Year 11 parents’ evening, but the five-minute appointment time is not of my making.”
Sorry, I have no space to offer one-to-one sessions: I teach throughout the day. And, actually, more of the same sessions wouldn’t help: my qualification helps me to know that he needs a TA, a quiet place to do homework and some dyslexia support.
And truly, I am not a know-it-all: I am experienced and qualified. I earn my holidays. As for meetings outside working hours…I also have working hours.
However, we are reasonable people, and most of us can sympathise or empathise with the complainers. We understand that many are anxious about their child’s wellbeing or achievement, or their own limitations, or are simply having a bad day. We can model a kind and reasonable response of understanding and patience, can’t we? Or can we?
Different public sector, same pressures
The complaints above are, although entirely feasible, actually based on posts written by school staff themselves. Admittedly, I’ve changed a couple of details, because these particular comments weren’t about public-sector education workers: they were directed at public-sector medical workers. And they were written by teachers.
“Stuck at the doctor’s because GP running late AGAIN. Literally every time.”
“Refused antibiotics even though I TOLD the doctor that’s the only thing that works for me. Sick of these overpaid know-it-alls with their ridiculous salaries”
“It’s impossible to get an appointment outside my work hours. Do they not know other people have jobs?”
Since meeting my partner, a GP, I have become more attuned to these kinds of posts. Like the complaints about my profession, they are frequently ill-informed and levelled at those who are not responsible for the source of the problem.
Yes, he regularly runs late, but 10-minute appointment times are a government initiative: it scarcely allows the average unwell pensioner to get to his room and explain the problem. He does not offer antibiotics unless they are required: this is both for the benefit of the patient and for the rest of the world.
He is not a know-it-all, but he is qualified and experienced. The salary you imagine he earns is based on the family doctors of the 1990s: in England, fully qualified, full-time GPs earn a salary that, after paying insurance, aligns with the average salary for a deputy head.
And as for appointments outside working hours…he is the only person I know who works more hours than I do. And yes, a huge chunk of that is paperwork, completed after hours.
Doing our best for those we support
And, for NHS workers, all of this is done, not with the very real concern of Sats and GCSE results, but with the very real concern of life and death. They are inspected, not by Ofsted, but by the CQC.
For my husband, days are filled with back-to-back appointments, like parents’ evening, but longer. Like parents’ evening, he may know those involved or may be meeting them for the first time. The news may be good or bad. They may be anxious. They may have had previously positive or negative experiences and be primed for concern. They may think they know better.
The complaints that are publicised and shared about teachers are frequently unreasonable. They are often unhelpful in solving the actual problem. They regularly spark a pile-on: a series of complaints about individuals or organisations that sometimes becomes extraordinarily cruel or personal - that dark side of social media that sees reasonable people lose any sense of decency when sitting behind a computer screen.
It is the same for other public-sector workers. Let me offer a specific example. A friend of mine complained on social media that her doctor was running 20 minutes late. Frustrated that she would be late to work, she queried the kind of standards the NHS could possibly hold if they couldn’t be on time for the first appointment of the day. She questioned why another doctor couldn’t step in to do the appointment and was incensed that she had seen her doctor’s car in the car park, stating he was clearly just getting a morning coffee.
The doctor in question was indeed late. But, rather than enjoying a leisurely drink, he was doing CPR on an infant in the car park. No other doctor could take the appointment because they, like us, are working, all day.
They, like us, are usually doing their best for those they support. They, like us, work in a context that people think they understand when, actually, they see merely a tiny portion of their effort, responsibility and time.
Where we can improve this is to place ourselves in the shoes of every public-sector worker doing their best in the context of often underfunded and challenging circumstances.
Of course, there are legitimate and serious concerns, mistakes or poor practice. The place for these is not social media: for the NHS, it is through PALS, the NHS website and then your MP.
We’re all in this together - let’s not make it harder than it already is.
The author is a secondary teacher in the North of England
