Class division

When American forces attacked Tripoli in 1986, a few voices spoke out in anger at Herschel Grammar School in Slough. Michael Hann, who was a pupil there at the time, returns to see how this microcosm of multicultural Britain is react

Fifteen years on, and on the face of it little has changed. My old school, Herschel Grammar School in Slough, seems smaller, but that is a function of my being older and larger. A handful of teachers from my past remain, the uniform is much the same, groups of kids on the playing fields and in the corridors seem the same as they did when I was their age: fresh-faced, polite and largely Asian.

Herschel transformed while I was a pupil there. In the space of the six years from 1980 to 1986 it went from being a school with a couple of Asian kids in most classes to one, especially in the lower school, where there were fewer white students than Asian students in most classes. There had always been political divisions in the school. We had Polish kids who would not hear a word against Solidarity or the Pope. There were Irish with forthright views on the British presence in Northern Ireland - not long after I joined, someone wrote "Smash H-Block" in four-foot-high block capitals on the sixth-form common room wall, though he did it in 2H pencil, rendering it invisible to anyone who did not know it was there. But these were not life-or-death issues.

Then, in spring 1986, US forces attacked the Libyan capital, Tripoli. A group of Muslim sixth-formers covered the blackboards of one of the sixth-form rooms with anti-American messages. Not a big deal: there was more than enough casual anti-Americanism to go round in the mid-80s, even in the suburbs. Then they started putting up slogans on the boards supporting Gaddafy and calling for attacks on America. This was something different, the first point at which I became conscious that there were people other than those on the political left who resented America. And their resentment seemed a whole lot bigger and more frightening than those of us with "Nicaragua Must Survive" badges were used to.

Since then, Herschel has become a grant-maintained school, a technology college, and has been praised by Ofsted. And it remains a school with a startlingly cosmopolitan composition. Of the 740 pupils on the current roll, 257 come from Indian families, 191 from Pakistani families and 228 are classed as "white - UK heritage". It is one of only four of Slough's 48 schools that is classed as multicultural.

Julian King-Harris, the school's affable 46-year-old headteacher (who has a Hugo Boss overcoat hanging from his door peg: unimaginable 15 years ago), says the tensions generated by events since September 11 have posed one of the biggest challenges of his career, because of the diversity of his school. "I knew straight away that the view that was projected by the media, of the horror, was not necessarily going to be shared by the whole community," he says.

Slough found itself in the papers over the next few days. There were reports of a disturbance involving 30 people around a stall in the town's high street following an argument about Islam's role in the attacks; Lofti Raissi, the Algerian who faces extradition to the US for his role in training the September 11 hijackers, lived locally and is said to have attended a Slough mosque; the Mail on Sunday carried a column condemning pupils at a "Berkshire school" - actually a Slough secondary - for celebrating the attacks, although the events described never happened; and a Slough man, Zahir Khan, was named in the Daily Mail as a key figure in the Al-Muhajiroun Islamist group.

There are almost certainly pupils at Herschel who have been hearing at home that America deserved the attacks on New York and the Pentagon. But, paradoxically, the utter horror of the attacks, and the fact that America's attacks on Afghanistan have not been televised, have helped quell passions.

Most pupils' reactions depended on their age, King-Harris says. The older students immersed themselves in newspapers, the younger ones were afraid. Alison Oxley, the head of years eight and nine (12- to 14-year-olds), says there were some who were convinced that their parents would be in danger, that the terrorists were bound to target the London offices where they worked. Now there are some who fear anthrax attacks. She says it is likely that some friendships were damaged in the short term, but the arguments were soon forgotten - no one seems to have moved seats in the classroom, or taken to ignoring their old best friend. "I'm sure some pupils would say it has strained some relationships," says King-Harris. "But it may have made other relationships closer."

Herschel has encouraged open debate - and classroom discussions have, inevitably, turned to talk of the attacks on America and Afghanistan - as long as the views expressed are not offensive to others. Where, then, is the line of acceptability drawn? Is it OK for a student to say, in class, that Osama bin Laden is a hero? "I think it's acceptable to explain the reasons why you have those opinions," says King-Harris carefully. "Just because that is not the popular public view, is it wrong for somebody to articulate that? They can explain the reasons they feel that, but they must then acknowledge that not everybody feels the same way. What I do think is unacceptable, and I've made this very clear, is for someone to say, 'I think Bin Laden is a hero and I'm glad people were killed.' "

And what if those opinions are being expressed to the children at home? The answer is to stress the difference between home and school, to point out that a border is crossed the minute the pupil passes through the gates, and that common behaviour is both appropriate and necessary if schisms are to be avoided.

Although the Department for Education and Skills has not yet published its promised guidance to schools on dealing with the current crisis, Slough's headteachers reacted more quickly. They had met within a week of September 11, and stayed in regular contact, sharing information about the mood within their respective schools. The local newspapers were briefed about the risks of inadvertently exacerbating existing tensions within schools. Slough Borough Council issued exhaustive guidelines on coping with the situation.

The guidance covered a range of likely scenarios for schools: what to do if parents protest that Islam is taught in religious education classes (refer them to Slough's agreed syllabus for the subject); debating the wider ramifications of the subject ("It is vitally important that schools find opportunities, within their wider approach to anti-racism, to enable pupils to understand that fundamentalism, fanaticism and terrorism can and do exist within all religions, and the difference between those concepts"); how to deal with political leafleting outside the school (call the police); how to deal with racial attacks precipitated by the events ("support should be offered to both the recipients and the perpetrators").

None of these has, yet, been an issue at Herschel. Fifteen years ago none of this mattered. At least, none of it appeared to matter. The school was, in retrospect, going through a period of turmoil. Not only was the composition of the student body changing, but some of the older staff were seeing their assumptions challenged by the changes in their school. This was not a school rife with racial tensions, nor was it a failing school, and I look back on it fondly. But it was a school without the will to tackle issues that cut across racial and religious lines when they did arise - such as the few kids who celebrated the death of American servicemen in the Middle East.

In 1986 no one at school had listened to those Muslim boys who called for bloody vengeance against America. Until they invoked the name of Allah in their call for retribution against Ronald Reagan, I'm not sure any of us was even certain they were Muslim. None of us in the sixth form - certainly none of the white pupils - had any inkling they would react in that way to the bombing of Tripoli. And if we didn't, I'm damn sure none of the staff did. I don't think that would be the case now. I ask Julian King-Harris what he believes the best outcome of this war would be, as a headteacher. I expect him to refuse to answer, but he does. "I'm sure it's a personal view: that the matter is settled as quickly as is possible and that we return to negotiations. The alternative is just too horrible to contemplate."