Diana Beech is former policy adviser to three Conservative Universities and Science Ministers. She is now Director of the Finsbury Institute – a public policy hub at City St George’s, University of London.
One of Kemi Badenoch’s sharpest criticisms of the new Burnham Government is that it is looking backwards rather than forwards, showing an unhealthy nostalgia for pre-Thatcher Britain. The Government’s latest intervention on education suggests she may have a point.
In launching new technical education pathways a matter of weeks ago, the Prime Minister declared that Britain would “value the hard hat every bit as much as the graduation cap”. It is a catchy slogan, but it is also a revealing one.
Behind the contrast between the hard hat and the mortar board lies an old-fashioned view of education that risks undermining the very parity of esteem the Prime Minister claims to champion.
Far from challenging outdated assumptions, the metaphor reinforces stereotypes about what technical education is, who it is for, and where it belongs.
The first problem is that the symbolism is surprisingly gendered.
When politicians invoke the hard hat, most people picture a construction worker. Construction is an important part of the economy, but it remains one of the most male-dominated sectors in Britain.
The mortar board, meanwhile, symbolises higher education, where women have achieved remarkable success. Women now outnumber men in the UK’s undergraduate population, transforming universities into places where female participation is the norm rather than the exception.
But women have not simply earned the right to wear the mortar board. They are increasingly donning the hard hat too – often through careers as architects, set designers, advanced manufacturing specialists, civil engineers and countless other professions. And yet, none of that progress is captured by the Prime Minister’s slogan.
That matters because political language tells us who belongs in the future we are trying to build. If technical education is genuinely for everyone, its public image should reflect the breadth of modern technical work rather than defaulting to one of the most traditional symbols of male industrial labour.
There is a further paradox here. At a time when policymakers are rightly concerned about the rise of toxic masculinity among young men and boys, the Government should be wary of reinforcing the notion that technical and practical achievement belongs primarily to a particular type of working-class man.
The second problem is that the hard hat metaphor reveals a narrow understanding of technical education itself.
For decades, one of the weaknesses of education policy in England has been its tendency to equate technical education with vocational training, and vocational training with manual work. The Prime Minister’s slogan risks reinforcing precisely that misconception.
Today’s technical workforce extends far beyond the building site. It includes cyber-security specialists, software developers, AI engineers and healthcare professionals. Many require sophisticated analytical skills, advanced qualifications and years of formal education. Indeed, in a twenty-first-century economy driven by science, technology and innovation, technical expertise often sits at the cutting edge of intellectual endeavour.
At the same time, innovation itself depends on contributions from the arts, humanities and creative industries, making the distinction between ‘technical’ and ‘academic’ education far less clear-cut than the rhetoric suggests.
That is why Burnham’s approach risks perpetuating the very hierarchy he says he wants to dismantle. Representing technical education through the symbolism of manual trades makes it easier to see it as the practical alternative to academic learning, rather than recognising it as a demanding and valuable form of education in its own right.
The irony is striking: in trying to elevate technical education, Burnham’s Government risks reducing it to a historical caricature.
The third problem is that the hard hat and the mortar board are not nearly as distinct as the Prime Minister’s summer slogan suggests.
Many of Britain’s most important forms of technical education are delivered through universities. Engineering degrees, nursing qualifications and degree apprenticeships all combine rigorous academic study with technical and applied learning.
Students on these courses are not choosing between technical and academic education. They are experiencing both together. That reflects a broader reality about Britain’s modern labour market. Employers increasingly want people who can combine theoretical understanding with practical expertise, analytical reasoning with technical competence, and intellectual curiosity with real-world application.
The old divide between ‘knowing’ and ‘doing’ is disappearing.
Yet the hard-hat-versus-mortar-board framing depends upon precisely that distinction. It suggests that education must be divided between those who work with their hands and those who work with their heads; between practical skills and academic knowledge; and between technical education and higher education.
That may have made sense in the Britain of the 1970s. But it makes considerably less sense in a modern knowledge economy, where innovation depends upon people who can move seamlessly between theory and practice.
None of this means that it is wrong to demand greater recognition for technical education. Britain has spent far too long undervaluing technical and vocational routes, and there is a strong case for giving young people a wider range of genuinely high-status pathways into skilled employment.
But parity of esteem cannot be achieved by simply swapping one hierarchy for another.
Technical education deserves better than being reduced to a hard hat. Our universities deserve better than being reduced to an abstract mortar board. And our young people deserve better than an education system that asks them to choose between the two.
The task for any Government is not to resurrect the educational divides of yesteryear, but to make them increasingly irrelevant to the future.
If we really want to see parity of esteem in England’s education system, then we must stop presenting educational choices as a battle between the hard hat and the graduation cap, and start building a system in which both sectors are understood as vital parts of a modern economy.
Diana Beech is former policy adviser to three Conservative Universities and Science Ministers. She is now Director of the Finsbury Institute – a public policy hub at City St George’s, University of London.
One of Kemi Badenoch’s sharpest criticisms of the new Burnham Government is that it is looking backwards rather than forwards, showing an unhealthy nostalgia for pre-Thatcher Britain. The Government’s latest intervention on education suggests she may have a point.
In launching new technical education pathways a matter of weeks ago, the Prime Minister declared that Britain would “value the hard hat every bit as much as the graduation cap”. It is a catchy slogan, but it is also a revealing one.
Behind the contrast between the hard hat and the mortar board lies an old-fashioned view of education that risks undermining the very parity of esteem the Prime Minister claims to champion.
Far from challenging outdated assumptions, the metaphor reinforces stereotypes about what technical education is, who it is for, and where it belongs.
The first problem is that the symbolism is surprisingly gendered.
When politicians invoke the hard hat, most people picture a construction worker. Construction is an important part of the economy, but it remains one of the most male-dominated sectors in Britain.
The mortar board, meanwhile, symbolises higher education, where women have achieved remarkable success. Women now outnumber men in the UK’s undergraduate population, transforming universities into places where female participation is the norm rather than the exception.
But women have not simply earned the right to wear the mortar board. They are increasingly donning the hard hat too – often through careers as architects, set designers, advanced manufacturing specialists, civil engineers and countless other professions. And yet, none of that progress is captured by the Prime Minister’s slogan.
That matters because political language tells us who belongs in the future we are trying to build. If technical education is genuinely for everyone, its public image should reflect the breadth of modern technical work rather than defaulting to one of the most traditional symbols of male industrial labour.
There is a further paradox here. At a time when policymakers are rightly concerned about the rise of toxic masculinity among young men and boys, the Government should be wary of reinforcing the notion that technical and practical achievement belongs primarily to a particular type of working-class man.
The second problem is that the hard hat metaphor reveals a narrow understanding of technical education itself.
For decades, one of the weaknesses of education policy in England has been its tendency to equate technical education with vocational training, and vocational training with manual work. The Prime Minister’s slogan risks reinforcing precisely that misconception.
Today’s technical workforce extends far beyond the building site. It includes cyber-security specialists, software developers, AI engineers and healthcare professionals. Many require sophisticated analytical skills, advanced qualifications and years of formal education. Indeed, in a twenty-first-century economy driven by science, technology and innovation, technical expertise often sits at the cutting edge of intellectual endeavour.
At the same time, innovation itself depends on contributions from the arts, humanities and creative industries, making the distinction between ‘technical’ and ‘academic’ education far less clear-cut than the rhetoric suggests.
That is why Burnham’s approach risks perpetuating the very hierarchy he says he wants to dismantle. Representing technical education through the symbolism of manual trades makes it easier to see it as the practical alternative to academic learning, rather than recognising it as a demanding and valuable form of education in its own right.
The irony is striking: in trying to elevate technical education, Burnham’s Government risks reducing it to a historical caricature.
The third problem is that the hard hat and the mortar board are not nearly as distinct as the Prime Minister’s summer slogan suggests.
Many of Britain’s most important forms of technical education are delivered through universities. Engineering degrees, nursing qualifications and degree apprenticeships all combine rigorous academic study with technical and applied learning.
Students on these courses are not choosing between technical and academic education. They are experiencing both together. That reflects a broader reality about Britain’s modern labour market. Employers increasingly want people who can combine theoretical understanding with practical expertise, analytical reasoning with technical competence, and intellectual curiosity with real-world application.
The old divide between ‘knowing’ and ‘doing’ is disappearing.
Yet the hard-hat-versus-mortar-board framing depends upon precisely that distinction. It suggests that education must be divided between those who work with their hands and those who work with their heads; between practical skills and academic knowledge; and between technical education and higher education.
That may have made sense in the Britain of the 1970s. But it makes considerably less sense in a modern knowledge economy, where innovation depends upon people who can move seamlessly between theory and practice.
None of this means that it is wrong to demand greater recognition for technical education. Britain has spent far too long undervaluing technical and vocational routes, and there is a strong case for giving young people a wider range of genuinely high-status pathways into skilled employment.
But parity of esteem cannot be achieved by simply swapping one hierarchy for another.
Technical education deserves better than being reduced to a hard hat. Our universities deserve better than being reduced to an abstract mortar board. And our young people deserve better than an education system that asks them to choose between the two.
The task for any Government is not to resurrect the educational divides of yesteryear, but to make them increasingly irrelevant to the future.
If we really want to see parity of esteem in England’s education system, then we must stop presenting educational choices as a battle between the hard hat and the graduation cap, and start building a system in which both sectors are understood as vital parts of a modern economy.