In the fourth season of the brilliant HBO crime series The Wire, disgraced cop Roland Pryzbylewski (Jim True-Frost) finds employment as a teacher in a disadvantaged school in Baltimore. Mr Prezbo, as the kids call him, has this idealistic notion that he is going to introduce the world of the mind to these black kids, who know more about selling caps of dope off the corner than anything.

At the very moment when Prezbo is making hard-won progress, the edict comes down that he is to prepare his students for the periodic diagnostic test on whose successful completion the funding of every school in Baltimore is dependent. Results, too, which governments can point to as evidence of the success of educational policies. Only education has got nothing to do with it as Prezbo points out when he protests that the test is culturally alien to these kids and largely meaningless as a result. The school authorities are deaf to his entreaties. Teach to the test, he is told.

Teaching to the test is what education authorities increasingly require of teachers. It already happens in Year 12 where students are coached to reproduce the answers that the assessors expect.  If students learn anything in Year 12, it is that competition is king in the world they are about to enter. They will also understand that they are expected to conform. At which point students would have every right to feel betrayed by their teachers who, up until this final year, have sought to open the minds of their charges to the infinite possibilities of learning.

Already Year 12 results are considered to be synonymous with success. Rather than being indicators of a student’s ability to play the game of Year 12, exam results are thought of more and more as parameters of destiny. One of the significant problems teachers face is convincing Year 12 students that there is more to their young lives than a 99.95 score. The prevailing culture, though, is telling them otherwise.

As more and more importance is placed on Year 12 results, the Year 12 ethic of gruelling competition trickles down into the more junior years. Year 11 becomes the dress rehearsal for Year 12 and Year 10 for Year 11. And so it goes. No wonder parents of students in Years 7 and 8 are anxious to know that their children are being adequately prepared for the daunting years ahead. These same parents will draw upon the information soon to be published online by education authorities.

Parents have every right to know how their child’s school is performing in relation to other schools. The only problem is that the information is based on flawed data since it is largely derived from the results of the National Assessment Program – Literacy and Numeracy (NAPLAN) diagnostic testing. NAPLAN is a version of those ghastly tests that students have been made to submit to since the 1960s. You know the kind of thing: brain teasers about relative velocities and the like. Horrible. And of very limited educational value.

Governments are backing NAPLAN and the provision of what Julia Gillard calls “rich data” for two reasons. The first is to better target struggling schools for funding and intervention. The second is to satisfy parents that their children are being adequately catered for by the system. It is really the same reason: governments are looking to satisfy voters.

Parents may feel empowered by the new statistical information but they need to be wary of the so-called rich data. Like the black kids in Mr Prezbo’s class, there will be cultural reasons why some children do not respond to elements of NAPLAN. This is not to say that teachers should not try to mould their students into productive citizens. Of course they must. But in education one size does not fit all. A school that the online data suggest is struggling, according to the parameters set by NAPLAN, may in fact be doing a wonderful job of providing an education.

In the meantime, those parents of apparently under-performing schools will inundate the school management with their concerns and demands. The cynical might see all this as a clever confidence trick perpetrated by federal and state education authorities. When things go awry in the system, education ministers, like the proverbial bad workman, will be able to blame their tools.