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Guest Author: Shaf Rahman.

Shaf is PD Lead at an Ark School. https://www.linkedin.com/in/shf-rahman’-18b425119/

When it comes to behaviour and culture in schools, we often judge success by what we can immediately see, hear—or sometimes don’t hear. Having come across Rob Coe’s famous  “poor proxies of learning,” in What Makes Great Teaching again recently, it gave me some food for thought that the signals we often rely on can be comforting illusions. They look like progress, but they don’t tell us what we really need to know.

This piece outlines six common poor proxies of behaviour, culture, and character education—and suggests what we should be looking for instead.

1. The corridor is quiet, so behaviour must be good.

Silence is not the same as safety, nor is compliance the same as character. A silent corridor might mask a culture of fear, not one of respect or responsibility. This may pass the eye test of a good culture—but is it really?

I’m not advocating for the opposite—I quite like quiet, calm corridors—but I’d much prefer a corridor where the footfall is self-regulated through well-designed systems and embedded expectations. Where students aren’t deprived of social interaction from point A to B, yet still travel purposefully and punctually. Where they hold the door ajar for the person behind them; smile and warmly greet students and staff as they move, ready to tackle their next lesson with a burst of vigour and energy.

As with much in education, some schools mandate silent corridors not necessarily to promote purposeful movement, but to simulate a conveyor belt of time-lapsed compliance. I say some schools cautiously—many are genuinely trying to reduce chaos in their contexts, and that’s admirable. But schools which over-enforce absolute silence to the point where, for example, teachers are told not to interact with students at all. That, to me, is less about culture and more about optics: silence as a badge of honour rather than a by-product of trust and clarity.

Look for instead: Pupils choosing respectful conduct even when unsupervised. Positive autonomy. Warm greetings. Micro-interactions that show pupils feel seen and belong.

Ask: “Would they act the same if I weren’t watching?” or “How would a visitor, new student, or fly on the wall feel walking through this school?”

This is easier said than done, but truly exceptional schools ‘sweat the small stuff’ to enable conditions where their school communities thrive even in such minute areas of school life.

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2. Pupils follow the rules, so they must have good character.

Following rules can simply mean avoiding punishment. It’s not evidence that students have internalised values like honesty, courage, or compassion.

With my pastoral cap on, this aligns with Doug Lemov’s three archetypes of misbehaviour:

• • Misbehaviour due to Incompetence (lack of skill)
• • Misbehaviour due to Opportunism (testing boundaries)
• • Misbehaviour due to Defiance (deliberate challenge)

The inverse can be true: behaviour because of competence, a lack of opportunism (to do so) and due to normative conduct. I think it’s safe to assume that many schools aspire to the latter. However, it is disingenuous to take mere rule-following as a marker of good character. We see students leaving even the most high-performing schools with strong academic outcomes, yet still ill-equipped for workplace readiness or post-16 life—lacking the social capital, currency or emotional intelligence needed to thrive. It’s clear that temperament and behavioural compliance alone does not necessarily equate to good character.

The Jubilee Centre emphasises phronesis, or practical wisdom—how one acts when contrasting virtues collide—as central to human flourishing. And phronesis cannot be achieved without cultivating a tapestry of component virtues over time. Compliance is useful; it lays groundwork. But do we, hand on heart, prioritise building character over just showcasing compliance?

Look for instead: Students doing the right thing when it’s inconvenient, unpopular, or unobserved. Evidence of moral reasoning (students and staff)—not just firefighting misbehaviour.

Ask: “Can they explain why the rule matters?”

This is big work. We know that some students (and adults) can struggle to recall what they ate yesterday—let alone articulate why a rule matters in the heat of the moment. But failing to plan for the deliberate cultivation of this understanding—from the ground up as well as the top down—is an abdication of our responsibility as educators.

Character, like muscle, is developed through repetition. Go to the gym intermittently and complain about no visible change? Your input will match your output. Go consistently, build habits, reflect and adjust? Eventually, the once invisible gains will start to manifest. The same applies to virtue as building blocks.

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3. We run assemblies on kindness and respect, so character is being taught.

A few well-intentioned assemblies might feel like character education—but isolated messages don’t shape habits or identity.

I often sit through assemblies from the same physical vantage point of a student—not because I want an excuse to sit down (although I admit that’s an intrusive thought), but to see what the student is seeing. Same eye-line. Same camera angle, so to speak. Same echo chamber.

It reminds me of my younger, more wayward self, but also helps me assess whether this assembly would really land with a 13-year-old today. If the delivery lacks pitch, purpose, or panache—if it hasn’t been planned with the same rigour as a mini-lesson—it becomes a wasted moment. And if I, as a self-regulating adult with an incentive to be present, find it uninspiring… how might a disengaged student feel?

My top educational pick for Room 101? Assemblies that have all the hallmarks of a beautiful congregation in miniature; purposeful and efficient entry/exit, attentive listening and unwavering attention given (by students) crafted tirelessly through time, effort and diligence… only to receive what feels like a slap in the face because of poor assembly content. I hyperbolise to punctuate the point: you have the students in the palm of your hands only to waste a finite teachable moment. So cultivate this with great responsibility, not as an afterthought.

Look for instead: A spiralled, embedded character curriculum that makes virtues caught, taught, and sought. Link character messages to real dilemmas and cascade them in form time messaging. Revisit regularly. Use a diet of motivation, storytelling, SMSC-rich content, and inspiring speakers that a critical mass of students may be amenable to. And, train/upskill staff granularly on how to best deliver this, and the reasons why it allows us all to thrive.

A unique benefit of a well planned character/pastoral curriculum is that it is a rare opportunity to kill 3 birds with one stone and front-load caught, taught and sought elements in circularity.

Ask: “Where else does this virtue show up in school life?” Is this done organically and with phronetic awareness, or as a tick box exercise?

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4. The behaviour policy is consistent, so culture must be strong.

Even a well-designed policy can be performed mechanically. Consistency in issuing sanctions doesn’t necessarily mean the culture is thriving—it might just mean it’s being administered competently.

Personally, I don’t subscribe to one behaviour ideology over another. I believe in absorbing the good and forbidding the bad (like anything in life). But as Tom Bennett aptly put it: “It’s about certainty, not severity […]”

Systems are only as strong as the people who run them. Many schools swear by their policies—and that’s fine when systems operate like machinery. But where there’s inconsistency, half-hearted enforcement, or a “do as I say, not as I do” culture, the system begins to crumble. Culture, like a house of cards, is hard to build and easy to break.

A concrete (though not exhaustive) example?

Schools with fluctuating Ofsted ratings:

In a random sample of local schools I studied for my MA, “behaviour” and “culture” were the most quantifiable/cited determinants for both upward and downward movements in judgment—even more than attainment. That correlation speaks volumes.

Look for instead: Consistency plus meaning. Do staff and students understand why the rules matter? Are relationships restored—not just rules enforced?

Ask: “Do our systems cultivate understanding, or just blind obedience?” It is important to have substance beyond style. Many schools adopt mental models to this end which can superficially pass the eye test, yet leaves leaders scratching their heads when it goes awry.

As Mary Myatt says: “Policies should be lived, not laminated.” Your policy is your mythology—it tells people what matters here. If it’s applied inconsistently, it becomes hollow. If it proscribes things that are neither phronetically judicious (in being written as policy in the first place) or actually enforced in the day to day reality of school life… it is redundant.

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5. There are few exclusions, so the culture must be inclusive.

Low exclusion numbers can look great on paper—but the absence of exclusion does not always mean the presence of inclusion. This is a myth—and, dare I say, a contradistinction worth scrutinising: what is absent from data may be deeply present in experience.

In some settings, exclusions are avoided not because behaviour is exceptional, but because staff are discouraged from recording incidents or feel unsupported in following through. In other settings, students remain in school physically—but are emotionally or academically excluded by stealth. Silent removals. Off-rolled pathways. Dumped in “behaviour support” rooms long-term with minimal reintegration. Or worse, left in their normal lessons to their classmates’ detriment.

To be clear, a high exclusion rate is not a proxy for good culture either—it can signal a failure to proactively address needs. But a low exclusion rate, devoid of context, means very little.

Exclusions, put simply should be as few as possible, but as many as absolutely necessary. This should not be considered contentious, but common sense.

Look for instead: Transparent inclusion. Effective reintegration. Patterns in data. Pupil voice. Cultural belonging. Does the said intervention have fidelity in practise with opportunities to make this better through direct feedback?

Ask: “Are students being kept in school for education, or just in school for stats?” What is being done to support outlying students, and just as crucially, what’s being done to protect the learning and wellbeing of the many, not just accommodate the few?

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6. Everyone’s smiling, so the school must be a happy place.

You can tell a lot from a smile—but not everything.

Smiles can hide burnout. Laughter can mask anxiety. Uniformity in mood is not the same as unity in mission. I’ve been in schools where the mood is genuinely uplifting, purposeful, and joyful—and others where the smiles are superficial, performative, or transactional.

Culture isn’t just about energy levels—it’s about whether people feel safe to have difficult conversations/provide challenge, be who they are, yet be inspired to be who they could be. This should not be conflated with unconditional empathy. Kim Scott talks about the difference between ruinous empathy and radical candor – and the role of both serving their functions in a healthy, empowering environment. Others talk about different managing styles: coaching, mentoring and delegating – these ought to be functional, mechanism driven with “tight but loose” direction. Again however, extremes demean well intentioned efforts and smiles should not equate to school culture being healthy.

If I had a pound for every time I heard some variant of “you just need to build relationships,” I’d be a millionaire. At best, it’s a well-meaning confidence boost; at worst, an empty platitude. What does that actually mean? What counts as a “relationship”? How is one built, let alone rebuilt under pressure? Where can I buy one?

The sarcasm masks a serious point: too often, smiling and surface-level warmth are mistaken for a strong school culture. But a corridor of friendly exchanges isn’t the same as a school that deliberately fosters the moral and professional character needed to form genuine connections—especially for new teachers, career changers, or those struggling.

Character isn’t caught through osmosis. It has to be explicitly taught, modelled and embedded. Otherwise, all you’re left with is a culture of performance: warm smiles that mask weak foundations.

A social experiment I do (with students): every time I have visited a school in a student panel, I have asked the students (unashamedly) to rate their school dinners on a scale of 1-10. Almost every time the host teacher would interject to provide nuance/ balance to steer the conversation another way. Why? Difficult conversations are needed for moral courage—the willingness to speak truth, hear challenge, and change/stand firm when it matters. We can write a whole blog on school lunches, but I’ll leave this one here to illustrate the bigger point.

Look for instead: Psychological safety. Feedback that changes things. Dissent without drama. Belonging without tokenism.

Ask: “Who gets to speak freely in this space—and what happens when they do?” / “Name one person that inspires you in school and why?” / “Tell me one thing you like and one thing you would improve at this school?”

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Closing Reflection

I write all this not to be cynical, but to be cautious. The best school cultures I’ve witnessed are those where the surface indicators of success are backed by something deeper—habit, purpose, trust, and time. The schools not yet there in their character/culture journeys are those that trade on optics and lean too heavily on proxies.

The proxies can be helpful snapshots. But don’t confuse the photograph for the person.

What do you think? Agree? Disagree? Let me know your thoughts.Poor Proxies of Behaviour, Culture and Character Education

Originally posted here: https://shaf95.wixsite.com/career/single-post/poor-proxies-of-behaviour-culture-and-character-education