In the interest of the child: Assessing the arguments for gifted education: Response to Miraca Gross.

The case for special programs for children with exceptional abilities can only benefit from separating good arguments from bad ones. I attempt here to distinguish what is valuable in Miraca Gross's case for gifted education from what fails to stand up to closer examination. In particular, I argue that talent is not a `national resource', and that educational programs for children should aim at their interest, not other people's. The best argument here is the simplest and most straightforward one: children should be given what they need, and they need opportunities to develop whatever talents they have.

Miraca Gross has mounted a spirited defence of educational programs for gifted and talented children. She presents many and varied arguments which differ considerably from one another in kind and, it must be said, in quality. Yet I think we can see why that might be the case. This is a political issue as well as an educational one, and so the audience to whom the case is to be made is broad and varied. Different kinds of argument appeal to different people. Some object to what they see as an intrusion of political ideology into purely educational issues, whereas others welcome the application of concepts of equity and social justice to these issues. Some are readily won over by entertaining anecdotes, whereas others demand argumentation about general concepts such as equity and equality. Gross adopts each of these strategies at different points. She seems therefore to be addressing several audiences, which vary not only in interests but in levels of sophistication. It would be a remarkable thing if al to different sets of beliefs and values, were equally sound. When assembled here, the weaknesses of some become evident and, as I believe, detract from the appeal of the stronger arguments. Far from supporting one another, they get in each other's way and damage the overall case.

I want to emphasise that, on the essential points, I endorse what I take Gross to be saying. As her title indicates, her main argument is about fairness. Her central thesis is an ethical one: it is right to provide opportunities for exceptional abilities to develop. The same endorsement applies to the assumptions behind this thesis. I do not question the proposition that different people have different abilities: there is no point in being coy about that fact of life. Accordingly, I agree with her rejection of the claim that everyone is gifted in his or her own way. This is a pious fiction, not a helpful insight. The derogatory use of words like `elitism' by critics of gifted education is facile at best, and usually foolish as well. Yet I think a better case for helping children with special abilities to achieve their potential would be made with a higher degree of quality control over the arguments employed.

One argument geared to a receptive audience is the sporting analogy, introduced through an anecdote related by Gallagher (1985). Defending a special program for the gifted, Mr Palcuzzi (an American principal) trounced his critics by revealing that he had been describing a program for basketball talent which they already accepted, and which had been gaining prestige for their school. But Mr Palcuzzi's `ploy' (as Gallagher candidly calls it) raises more questions than it answers. Is it good for a school or college to be known for its sporting teams? What sort of `prestige' is involved here? Is the American system of athletic selection a good model for Australian education?

The appeal to the model of sport which Gross makes here and later is, in fact, quite ambiguous. She notes that Australia will soon host the Olympic Games, and says that this is `the world's most prestigious celebration of physical giftedness and talent.' Again an undifferentiated category of `prestige' is invoked. The reality of today's Olympic movement makes that assumption very questionable. Quite apart from scandals over bribery and drug use, the jingoistic atmosphere of recent games, where media reports have been dominated by the national tallies of medals from the first event, is a travesty of this ideal. That the Australian Government's renewed support for sport should have been a reaction to perceived lack of national success at the Seoul Games (where Australia won fewer gold medals than New Zealand) is discouraging. The title of the resulting report, Going for gold, says it all. The dangers of using sport to gain `prestige' on the inter-national stage are illustrated by the achievements of athletes from socialist countries such as the former German Democratic Republic. We now know that those successes were achieved through dubious methods, including a widespread use of performance-enhancing drugs. For 50 years, the socialist countries practised systematic educational selection for academic, artistic and sporting talent. The outcomes were not very inspiring: their records in these areas turned out to be, in the end, no more credible than their claims to economic performance.

So, what are the values of sport, and how do they support the legitimacy of so-called `elitism'? There is professional sport, where the excellence of a small number of outstanding performers is enjoyed by a large audience of spectators and television viewers. There are also sporting activities in which many people engage for recreation or exercise, competing against one another in a friendly fashion without aspiring to the prestige of public recognition as champions. Now it might be argued that these forms of sport necessarily go together, and that mass participation is encouraged by the example of the sporting stars. But when we see a disturbingly high proportion of school children engaging in no physical exercise, and developing unhealthy habits which will harm them in later years, we have to wonder how strong this example is. Sporting celebrities provide entertainment for the public and advertising for commercial sponsors, but other benefits to society are harder to establish.

My conclusion is that a sports ideology oriented towards a few high achievers and a large passive audience makes a bad model for educational policies. For one thing, the analogy is not close enough: the public appeal of sport does not carry over to other exercises of talent. I will gladly withdraw this assertion if and when `Wide world of scholarship' appears on commercial television, but I do not expect that in the near future. Secondly, the values which this model promotes are questionable ones. A sporting ethos stressing other values might be a different matter. What would these be -- a fair chance for everyone to participate, a level playing field, impartiality in applying the rules, even an acknowledgment that winning is not everything? Which of these models is Professor Gross invoking when she appeals to the Australian love of sport, and argues that gifted education is analogous to support for sporting talent? We are left wondering and seeking further clarification.

After reviewing the situation of gifted education in Australia, she discusses two `primary rationales' for gifted education which, following Borland (1989), she labels the `national resources' and the `special education' rationales. She states that these arguments `support each other', but she does not justify that assertion. They do lead to the same conclusion -- that gifted education is a good thing -- but from different directions; and Borland himself rejects one while endorsing the other. So let us look at each one in turn.

The national resources argument overlaps with the sporting analogy, as the Olympic example shows. The idea is that talented children are an asset which our nation can use for various purposes, both external and internal. Without developing such a resource, Gross says, `We would be less able to compete internationally'. Moreover a fuller investment of this human capital will help the rest of us in our daily lives. How much our standard of living depends on a creative minority is an open question. In her best-selling novel Atlas shrugged, Ayn Rand envisaged a general strike by talented individuals, driven to extreme measures by their unfair treatment in an increasingly egalitarian society. The outcome, as she described it, was a swift and total collapse of western civilisation. Gross is not so sweeping, but she does make broad claims for the disproportionate contribution made to the general welfare by a small minority. She even finds it proper to suggest that without gifted people, we would be less able `to provide for physically and intellectually disadvantaged students'.

Her conclusion is that the national resource argument is `potent and valid'. I cannot agree. Parents are hardly likely to see their own children as a national resource, so the suggestion must be that we regard other people's children in that light. This is described as `enlightened self-interest', a polite expression for a rather cynical attitude. Gross is not doing justice to herself here. Elsewhere she emphasises the benefits of gifted education programs for the students themselves and, in doing so, appeals to values which are accepted and respected by most people. It is a pity to see this approach undermined by an argument which, in effect, promotes using some people as means for the ends of others.

I believe that her best argument is her simplest and most Straight-forward one. Children should be given what they need, and they need opportunities to develop whatever talents they have. The lack of educational opportunity experienced by so many previous generations is something that should never be repeated. In what sense can gifted children be described as badly off if they do not receive special attention? This is answered by the `special education' argument, which relies on the model of children with disabilities. Many people feel uneasy with such a comparison. Even though it is clear that children may face difficulties because they have abilities which their schooling fails to recognise, an ability and a disability remain very different things. Even this case, from fairness, needs to be handled carefully. It has been persuasively argued that our highest priority in achieving social justice should be to help those who are the worst off as things stand (Rawls, 1971). This emerges from the notion of fairness which people tend to agree on if they are able to abstract themselves from their own positions and interests. The proposal that those who have fallen behind should be helped first does not, however, rule out programs for those who are able to go beyond the average. A society as rich in resources as ours can afford to provide both kinds of program, and should be willing to do so.

Not everyone is convinced by the argument from fairness, and the word `elitism' is brought out as a weapon. It is not clear what Gross wants to do with this expression. She notes that it is acceptable in sport, and seems to infer that elitism is not in itself a bad thing, there or elsewhere. Yet she also cites with apparent approval a definition of `elitism' which is restricted to arbitrary privilege and excludes the recognition of special abilities. On that usage, it would simply be a mistake to speak of a sporting elite. Here again the problem arises from reaching for whatever arguments come to hand. We can argue that the concept of elitism does not provide grounds for condemnation, or else we can agree that it does, but claim that it does not apply to the case of gifted education. To do both is to be inconsistent in a way that leaves one open to charges of special pleading.

Gross argues that gifted education faces a peculiar difficulty in Australia, owing to a prevailing egalitarianism. The picture of Australian culture that she draws is quite startling. She believes that it was dominated from the start by `an intense class hatred' between an aristocratic landed gentry and a convict underclass, and that this produced a prevalence of envy, resentment and `revenge egalitarianism'. This historical picture is not very plausible. Most immigrants to Australia belonged to neither of these groups. They were free settlers and, if pioneer literature is anything to go by, their struggles were against a harsh physical environment rather than an oppressive ruling class. Social egalitarianism, as shown notably in female suffrage, was most marked in South Australia and New Zealand, which had no convicts. But the argument is too tenuous to deserve much consideration. It rests not on real evidence, nor any comparison with other countries, only on a few stereotypes. In any case, it is hard to reconcile with the Australian admiration for sporting achievement which is relied on elsewhere to encourage an audience's sympathy for giftedness programs. If Australians were really like this, their attitudes would be very different.

I have suggested that several of the arguments mounted in the case for gifted education should be refined or perhaps dropped altogether. This would require some discipline, and even a foregoing of some short-term advantages to be gained in debate. But we have seen that the sporting analogy is at best ambiguous, while the `national resource' argument is an open appeal to self-interest. Any programs for able children should be designed in their interest, not other people's. They can then be defended because they are fair to these children, or because they make them happier -- the simplest argument of all, and not a bad one at that. These are the arguments which, if properly used, might make educational support for specialised talent an idea that more of us could endorse.

References

Borland, J.H. (1989). Planning and implementing programs for the gifted. New York: Teachers College Press.

Gallagher, J.J. 0985). Teaching the gifted child (3rd ed.). Boston: Allyn & Bacon.

Rand, A. (1957). Atlas shrugged. New York: Random House.

Rawls, J. 0971). A theory of justice. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

Dr Robin Small is a Senior Lecturer in the Faculty of Education, Monash University, Wellington Road, Clayton, Victoria 3168.