Dear members of the GISS community,

Term 4 is the time for marks at our school. In a few days’ time, the IB Final Exams will begin for our Class of 2026; shortly afterwards, Year 10 will sit their final exams; and in December, all students will receive their end-of-year reports. Rarely does a school issue so many marks in such a short space of time.

It therefore seems to me to be the right moment to share the following story with you: the other day, at the end of a school day, I overheard a child being asked, whilst being picked up, what mark they’d got in their maths test. The question is understandable; as a father, I’ve often asked it myself. And yet I’d like to write today about why it isn’t the best first question to ask.

I’m a maths teacher and I’ve got nothing against numbers. Grades serve a purpose, and I do not wish to downplay them. They condense a complex achievement into a seemingly objective symbol that can be compared, transferred and archived. Universities, government bodies and employers need this symbol because they do not know the child behind it. For the system, the grade is a very efficient tool.

For learning itself, however, it is a surprisingly weak one.

This is primarily down to the condensation involved. A ‘4’ or an IB Grade 5 indicates where a child stands, but not why. It does not distinguish between a calculation error made under time pressure and a concept that was never understood. It does not indicate whether the work was produced with great effort or without any preparation whatsoever. Everything that would be crucial for the next step in learning has already been stripped away in the mark.

But it is also down to something that goes on in the child’s mind. In a study that remains one of the most frequently cited in educational psychology to this day, the Israeli psychologist Ruth Butler provided students with feedback on a task in three different ways: with a mark only, with a written comment only, or with both. The group that received comments only showed a marked improvement in subsequent tasks and retained their interest in the subject. The group given marks showed no improvement. And what I found most astonishing: the group that received both a mark and a comment behaved just like the group given marks alone. As soon as the mark was written on the paper, the comment next to it was effectively ignored. (Butler, British Journal of Educational Psychology 58, 1988).

This finding has since been confirmed on numerous occasions. Edward Deci and Richard Ryan have shown, through decades of research, that external evaluations can reduce interest in an activity if they are perceived as a form of control. And John Hattie, whose analyses are among the most comprehensive in the field of education, cites feedback as one of the most effective influences on learning of all – but specifically feedback that indicates the next steps, rather than feedback that merely states where one has got to.

Marks also shift the question a child asks themselves. A child who is learning asks, ‘Do I understand this?’ A child who is being marked asks, ‘Is this good enough?’ The second question is not wrong, but it leads to different behaviour. One chooses the safe topic rather than the interesting one. One avoids mistakes rather than learning from them. One compares oneself with one’s neighbour rather than with oneself four weeks ago. Everything we summarise at this school under the heading of ‘conceptual understanding’ – the ability to apply knowledge to unfamiliar situations, grappling with a difficult text, and the willingness to fail and start again – stems from the first question, not the second.

In this respect, we are a unique school because we operate within two assessment cultures simultaneously: the German system with its scale from 1 to 6; the IB with its criteria and grades from 1 to 7; and the Australian standards, which allow for comparison within the year group. This can be confusing. However, it has one advantage that I consider important: Anyone who has to describe the same performance across three systems quickly realises that none of the three numbers represents the performance itself. They are translations, and every translation loses something.

Nevertheless, we shouldn't aim to do away with marks altogether. Our students need them for the path that lies ahead after GISS, and we are proud of what they achieve there. It follows, however, that we never want to let the mark stand on its own. The discussion about a piece of work is more important to us than the mark below it. Our teachers invest a great deal of time in providing feedback that a child can actually use, and we work to ensure that this feedback comes before the mark, not after it.

And what does this mean for at home? Perhaps just a change in the order of the questions. What have you learnt? What was difficult? What would you do differently next time? Are you happy with yourself? The question about the mark is welcome to follow, but it shouldn’t be the first one. Children listen very carefully to what the adults around them are interested in first, and they align their own interests accordingly.

In the last foreword, I wrote about quantitative questions – about minutes, hours and percentages – which translate an educational question into a number and, in doing so, lose sight of what really matters. The mark is the oldest example of this kind. It is useful, it is necessary, and it is not what matters.

To our Class of 2026 and all our Year 10 students: as exams approach, I wish you clear heads and the quiet confidence that comes from being well prepared. And to our families, I hope December’s school report becomes the start of a conversation rather than the end of one.

Warm regards,

Michael Cordes
Principal