
The Leaving Cert is not a meritocracy. Elitism is baked into Irish education
There's a version of the Irish education system that exists only on paper, one where every student is given an equal chance to succeed, where the Leaving Cert is a meritocracy, and where hard work alone determines outcomes. But in practice, that promise is being steadily eroded, not because grinds exist, but because of how a broken system is being exploited.
There has been a lot of discussion about the unfairness of grind schools, and rightly so, but the issue runs deeper than a handful of elite institutions. We need to start talking about grinds as part of a larger problem, one that reflects how elitism is baked into the infrastructure of Irish education. A system where access to additional support is shaped not by need, but by postcode and income. A system where grinds, once intended to support struggling students, now operate as yet another instrument of advantage for those already ahead.
[
Classroom to college: our essential Leaving Cert guide for parents, guardians and students
]
Grind schools with full-time timetables and five-figure fees have become the poster children of this ecosystem, and they warrant scrutiny not just for who they serve, but for how they've normalised a model that commercialises success. Their extensive part-time offerings, evening classes, weekend blitzes and Easter revision camps, are marketed with precision and priced at a premium.
Alongside an expanding network of private tutors and agencies, they reflect a broader reality: public education is no longer perceived as enough.
READ MORE
Grinds have been part of Irish education for decades, but what was once viewed as a remedial safety net has evolved into a shadow economy, one where high-achieving students turn to extra tuition as a competitive necessity.
Over half
of Leaving Cert students now take grinds, and that
number is rising
. This year alone prices have increased by as much as 23 per cent, with some providers now charging up to €100 an hour, meaning a single subject can cost families over €1,500 for the year. For households managing two or three grinds, the total can rival private school tuition, with none of the systemic support.
This inequality is geographical as well as financial. The most widely known, incumbent grinds options are concentrated in and around South Dublin. These are areas where transport links are strong, marketing budgets are high, and families are willing and able to pay. Students elsewhere, in rural communities or underfunded schools, often have to settle for far less. Less choice, less structure, less access. And so, the gap widens, quietly but relentlessly.
The State tells students they all sit the same paper, but some will walk into that exam hall with ten months of extra teaching behind them, others will walk in with none
The impact is not just financial, it's emotional and cultural, with grinds becoming a shorthand for doing everything possible to get ahead. For students who can't afford them, it can feel like being left behind before the race even starts. Just imagine being told your classmates are getting extra notes, mock papers, and exam strategy sessions, all while knowing you can't access the same because of where you live.
That pressure shows up everywhere, in the anxiety that builds as the CAO deadline approaches, in the hours spent commuting to revision courses, and in the narrowing of education to what's examinable. The State tells students they all sit the same paper, but some will walk into that exam hall with ten months of extra teaching behind them, others will walk in with none. The idea that this is fair is a story we tell ourselves, but it's not one our students believe.
The truth is that grinds are just one part of a broader national story, a symptom of a society increasingly divided along lines of income and access. In housing, in healthcare, in education, we see again and again how opportunity is being privatised, how those with the means to pay are stepping further ahead while others are locked out. The grinds economy reflects that same logic: if you can afford it, there's a door. If not, you're left behind, watching others walk through.
Grinds aren't the problem, access is. Extra tuition can play a powerful role in supporting students, teachers, parents, and schools. When done well, it gives learners the best possible chance at success. But right now, grinds operate like a premium product, reserved for those who can afford it. That's not a reflection of their value, but of a broken model. It's time to break that cycle, grinds schools are elitist, but they do not have to be.
Brendan Kavanagh is founder and chief executive of the global EdTech company,
Olive
Hashtags

Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles

Irish Times
an hour ago
- Irish Times
Rent reform: is immediate pain worth uncertain gains?
Pat Leahy and Ellen Coyne join Hugh Linehan to look back at the week in politics: Rent reform: the announcement of Minister for Housing James Browne's plans to change the rules around rent pressure zones dominated the week. Will the Government's gamble on investment pay off? And why was the rollout so haphazard? Adjustments to residential property tax received less attention but the changes also carry political risk. Israel's attacks on Iran add further uncertainty to a fraught geopolitical moment. Anti-immigrant riots in Northern Ireland: was the violence exacerbated by political interventions? Plus the panel pick their favourite Irish Times articles of the week, including a reflection on 1980s Ireland's strange treatment of women , a critique of Irish media's coverage of a controversial issue and how social media firms used the 'like' button to turbocharge their business models .


Irish Times
9 hours ago
- Irish Times
Other potential new names for the Department of Arts: Smacc, Cacs, Scam and – my favourite
The Government has lost the arts down the back of the sofa again. Look, it happens. It's probably nothing to worry about. It knows it's there. It hasn't abandoned the arts as if it were a failed IT project or anything. Not yet. This is about nomenclature. 'Arts' has been dropped from the name of the department in charge of it as part of a string of shake-ups, with the Department of Tourism, Culture, Arts, Gaeltacht, Sport and Media losing responsibility for tourism and the Gaeltacht and becoming the Department of Culture, Communications and Sport. [ Arts Council wrote to officials almost 60 times over botched IT project without issue being escalated Opens in new window ] On Wednesday we were treated to an official denial that this penalty was for the crime of starting with a vowel. Minister for Culture, Communications and Sport Patrick O'Donovan , as he's now known, was reportedly wary of a name change to the Department of Sport, Media, Arts, Culture and Communications because he didn't want to be Minister for Smacc. READ MORE Other acronyms were available. We could have had Cacs, which would have conjured up a lovely image every time, or Scam. My personal choice would have been to name it the Department of Sport, Arts and Communications and then dub it DoSac, in homage to the chaotic Department of Social Affairs and Citizenship from Armando Iannucci 's BBC satire The Thick of It. Asked about the Smacc theory at this week's meeting of the relevant Oireachtas committee – which still has arts in its title – the department's secretary general, Feargal Ó Coigligh , said the previous name was 'seen to be a mouthful' and the Minister was anxious that the new one be 'accessible'. Across European ministries, 'culture' was the term usually favoured. 'Culture is the normal word that's used,' he said, seeming relieved to take a break from raking over how the Arts Council spent €6.7 million on a botched, bug-riddled IT project. The upshot of the committee meeting, as summarised by its chairman, Alan Kelly of the Labour Party, was that the department has more questions to answer about its handling of that fandango. With O'Donovan opting not to appoint Maureen Kennelly for a further five-year term as director of the Arts Council , Kelly couldn't help feeling that she had become 'a sacrificial lamb'. There was some eagerness, too, about O'Donovan's scheduled appearance before the committee in early July. He may no longer be minister for the arts, but he is still, after all, the Minister in charge of the Arts Council. He's also the Minister who has backed extending the Basic Income for the Arts scheme beyond its pilot phase, though that doesn't, of course, guarantee the introduction of these financial lifelines for artists. This Coalition, like the one before it, is so good at being non-committal, and so adept at being angered and disappointed by various agencies and semi-States, that it seems a stretch to think it would bother vanishing 'arts' from the department name as part of any distancing exercise. But some believe the ditching bodes ill. Labour's arts spokesman, Rob O'Donoghue, has blasted the rebrand as shameful, saying that it sends a message – some might say an unnecessary one – to artists 'that they don't matter and aren't a priority'. Subsuming arts into 'merely culture' is symbolic of artists' status as 'the poor relation within the department', O'Donoghue suggests. It's a Smacc-down. Naturally, no one cares about 'media' being swallowed up by 'communications'. And few will remember that before the last name change, in 2020, the reconfigured department was first announced as the Department of Media, Tourism, Arts, Culture, Sport and the Gaeltacht before someone realised that this was not the correct pecking order and booted 'media' down the back. 'Arts' has, by comparison, enjoyed long spells on departmental stationery. Responsibility for it escaped the Department of the Taoiseach in 1993, when Michael D Higgins became minister for arts, culture and the Gaeltacht. Since then there have been two artsless periods – May 2010-June 2011 and August 2017-September 2020 – with culture reigning supreme both times. [ Up to 90: The best Irish words and phrases Opens in new window ] I haven't always been a fan of the term 'the arts'. I've recoiled from it because of the precious way that a minority invoke it as a kind of extension of their privilege, trumpeting it as a rarefied and narrowly defined practice, replete with gatekeeping and entitlement. 'Culture', by contrast, is a word that seems to reflect the entire sweep of creativity embedded in our lives. Culture is not 'merely culture'. It's inseparable from who we are. But these semantics are only safe to explore in the abstract, divorced from concerns about political expediency – even the slightest hint that it might be convenient for the Government to jettison 'arts' from the department name is enough to render the demotion ominous and, well, artless. It's possibly either too late or too soon for a Save the Arts campaign. Still, prepare your placards. We must start one in support of the establishment of the Department of Smacc right away.


Irish Times
9 hours ago
- Irish Times
The great tragedy is there's no political pendulum to restrain Israel's Cromwellian impulses
General Sir Cecil Frederick Nevil Macready hated Ireland. He had a sense of foreboding when summoned to Downing Street in March 1920, fearing it had something to do with 'the island I had hoped never to set foot in again', the Ireland, he said, 'I loathe with a depth deeper than the sea'. Macready was a much-decorated soldier by then; he had seen active service in the Boer War from 1899 to 1902, was promoted to major general in 1910 and knighted in 1912. From 1916-18, he served as adjutant general at the War Office and subsequently commissioner of the Metropolitan Police in London. The Downing Street meeting in 1920 saw him appointed general officer commanding in Ireland. As he recorded in his voluminous memoir, Annals of an Active Life, published in 1924, it would involve a task he 'instinctively felt would be affected by every variation of the political weather clock and in which it was doubtful if any satisfactory result could be achieved'. As historian Keith Jeffery observed, Macready made it clear to the British government 'that without a drive of Cromwellian severity (which was politically quite unacceptable) no military solution was possible in Ireland'. The extent to which Macready's mind was imbued with imperialism is evident in his depiction of the Irish as an inferior race: 'a people characterised through past centuries by lack of discipline, intolerance of restraint and with no common standard of public morality'; the sort who could only be governed and held in check 'under the protection of a strong military governor'. Taking soundings after he arrived in Dublin, he spoke to one woman who claimed to be a direct descendant of a Cromwellian soldier, who told him the solution to the problem of Irish republicans: 'Shoot them all, General, shoot them all'. Macready noted wryly that this would have been 'a very effective policy if it could have been carried to a logical conclusion'. But he knew it could not be. He accepted that an eventual settlement with Irish enemies would be necessary and was appointed precisely because of his well-attuned political antennae. He also recognised that civil and social factors had to be considered when designing military strategy, believing, despite his personal prejudices, that 'no amount of coercion would settle the Irish question'. READ MORE He also parroted the usual tropes about the Irish and, indeed, the myth of British soldiers' purity, expressing himself 'astonished at the self-restraint and discipline maintained by the troops ... under provocation such as no other troops in the world would have withstood'. But whatever about his extended propaganda and disdain for armchair generals and politicians, he knew he was not in control of British policy in Ireland and that his job would be dictated by the 'the spasmodic movements of the political pendulum'. Those swings were ultimately to be influenced by the desire for a political solution and the opening of dialogue with the IRA . The great tragedy of Israel 's war on Gaza is the absence of a restraining political pendulum and the merging of Israeli political and military strategies. Exactly a year ago, the death toll in Gaza was 37,000 and much attention was given to a UN inquiry highlighting war crimes. Today, the death toll is above 55,000. Israel is still led by a Binyamin Netanyahu who, more than 30 years ago, decried compromise with Palestinians and accused Israeli politicians who advocated dialogue of being 'criminals of peace' who would 'face the trial of history'. Netanyahu has consistently peddled the myth that the way to peace is to build Israel's might. He sustains his career with the idea that the Jewish people live in a constant state of fundamental insecurity and that Palestinians have no ancient connection to the land of Israel. His political longevity is such that his biographer in 2018, Anshel Pfeffer, notes how he came to believe 'the prime minister's office was his by right'. Likewise, veteran Israeli political scientist Arye Naor has written of how 'he negates the possibility that any explanation might be accepted other than that which he proposes'. He can do this because of woefully insufficient international pressure, US financial backing and because UN resolutions demanding a ceasefire are still vetoed. [ Protest planned in Israel at marriage of Netanyahu's son Opens in new window ] In 2025, the Israeli version of 'Cromwellian severity' has been chillingly defined by Israeli finance minister Bezalel Smotrich : 'We're occupying, cleansing and staying there until Hamas is destroyed'. This military strategy will never lead to the permanent fulfilment of Netanyahu's aims; the 'war and victory' plan to 'take control of the entire territory' using what he calls 'the most moral army in the world'. But in the meantime, what was deemed politically unacceptable by British imperialists more than a century ago, because of domestic and international pressure and the recognition of the impossibility of peace by means of long-term coercion, is permitted today, at hideous cost.