We’ve all heard the classic tale of The Three Little Pigs. It’s a story we tell our children to champion hard work, foresight, and the virtue of making wise choices. One pig, we’re told, hastily builds a house of straw. Rushes is lazy and the consequences follow. Another settles for sticks, and thus doesn’t get to play as much as his brother but still more than pig number three. Only the third, the diligent and wise pig, invests the time and effort to build a house of bricks. When the wolf arrives, the moral is proven with every huff and puff: only the brick house stands. Don’t cut corners, we preach; diligence, hard work, is security.
But let’s pause the familiar story and look at it through a different lens, the lens of a classroom. Let’s mix it all up for a split second. What if the pigs weren’t inherently lazy or foolish, but were simply products of their environment? A self-fulfilling prophecy. Imagine a teacher, well-intentioned and dedicated, handing out the day’s resources. To one group of students, she gives straw; the most basic materials, the simplest task. To another, she provides sticks; a moderately more complex challenge as sticks are trickier to arrange and work with. And to the last group, she hands a pallet of bricks; a rich, complex project with high expectations. The students didn’t choose their materials; they were assigned. They were grouped.
How does the story feel now?
Suddenly, the narrative shifts from one of individual morality to one of systemic equity. The warm feeling of a lesson learned is replaced by a pang of sympathy for the pig with the straw, a pig who never stood a chance. We start asking bigger, more uncomfortable questions: Who decides who gets the bricks? On what basis are these decisions made? Why are some children handed the sturdiest materials and expected to build a fortress, while others are given flimsy straw and praised for merely surviving, ‘giving it a good go’? And what message are we sending when we disguise this act of pre-judgment, ability grouping, as a necessary, even helpful, practice?
The Architecture of Inequality: Grouping in Practice
Ability grouping, a practice as old as schooling itself, persists…And in some lessons, at some school is more popular than ever! It may be cloaked in modern pedagogical terms like “levelled groups,” “tracking,” “ability sets,“ “pathways,” or “targeted instruction,” but its core function remains the same: to sort and group students based on perceived or previously demonstrated ability.
Sometimes the sorting is overt and impossible to miss: the Redbirds, Bluebirds, and Sparrows reading groups in a year one classroom. Other times, it’s more subtle, hidden away in the language of choice and challenge. Consider the “one-chilli, two-chilli, three-chilli” system on a worksheet, or within a lesson. It whispers a constant message about who is capable of handling the “spicy” intellectual work. Let’s be honest with ourselves; the children know. Whether through explicit labels or coded tasks, they quickly and accurately decipher the classroom hierarchy. They know who the “straw,” “sticks,” and “bricks” students are supposed to be.
This architecture of inequality is built daily in our core subjects, including our most innovative ones like Computer Science.
In Mathematics: The tiered “chilli challenge” is a classic example. A teacher, aiming for differentiation, creates three versions of a word problem.
- 🌶️ (Straw Task): You have 10 apples. You give away 3. How many are left?
The student practices a single, isolated skill. - 🌶️🌶️ (Sticks Task): You have 25 apples. You give 8 to a friend and 5 to your teacher. How many are left?
The student combines two steps of the same operation. - 🌶️🌶️🌶️ (Bricks Task): You start with 30 apples. You give away half of them. Then, you receive 7 more from a friend. How many do you have now?
This student engages in multi-step reasoning involving different operations, building true problem-solving stamina.
The teacher believes they are helping, but the outcome is a wider gap. The “bricks” student spends 20 minutes wrestling with complex logic, while the “straw” student finishes in three minutes and is left with busywork, internalising the message that they aren’t capable of more.
And don’t think I’m not guilty of this! I thought I was doing the best possible thing for my students by offering this differentiation!
In Computer Science: The same sorting happens with digital tools.
- Early Primary/Elementary (K-2): A teacher introduces algorithms using Bee-Bots, small programmable robots. The “straw” group is asked to simply make the robot move from one mat square to another. The “sticks” group is given a simple path to follow. The “bricks” group is challenged to program the Bee-Bot to navigate a maze and spell a word, requiring planning, sequencing, and debugging. One group learns to push a button; another learns to think like a programmer.
- Upper Primary/Elementary (3-5): A group project is to design a game in Scratch. The “straw” task is to make a sprite move when the arrow keys are pressed. The “sticks” task adds a second sprite to collect. The “bricks” task requires students to invent a game complete with a scoring variable, a timer, and a “Game Over” screen. The potential for creativity and computational thinking is capped from the outset for two-thirds of the class.
- Secondary School (6-12): The sorting becomes more formalised into tracks or sets. Some students are guided into “Introduction to Cybersecurity” courses focused on user-level skills, while others are placed on the “AP Computer Science A” track in Java, a path that leads directly to university credit and STEM careers. The tools themselves; block coding vs. text-based languages, user interfaces vs. algorithmic problem-solving, become the new straw, sticks, and bricks, predetermining a student’s digital future.
The Flawed Promise: “But They Can Move Up the Chillis!”
A common defense of the tiered task model is its supposed flexibility. “Students start on the task that’s right for them,” the argument goes, “and when they finish, they can move up to the next level! It encourages everyone!” This “chilli ladder” approach feels logical, but in practice, it is often more harmful than helpful and has been refuted by a wealth of research on learning and cognition.
The fundamental flaw is that it begins with a lowered expectation. By assigning a student to the “one-chilli” task, the teacher has already capped the cognitive bar for the most crucial part of the lesson: the beginning. As cognitive science tells us, the initial engagement with a problem is where the richest thinking occurs. Students who start on the “straw” task miss this critical phase of productive struggle. Furthermore, the model ignores the reality of classroom time. By the time a student completes the first task, waits for the teacher to check it, and receives permission to start the second, the lesson may be halfway over. Meanwhile, the “three-chilli” students have had the entire period to immerse themselves in complex thought. The gap doesn’t shrink; it is actively maintained and widened by the structure of the lesson itself.
This practice stands in direct opposition to one of the most powerful findings in educational research: the power of high expectations. Educational researcher John Hattie’s work has shown that teacher expectations are a significant predictor of student achievement. When we differentiate the outcome, giving students different tasks, we are signaling that we expect different outcomes. The more effective, equitable approach is to differentiate the support, not the destination. This means keeping the expectation high for all learners (everyone works on the “three-chilli” problem) and providing strategic, temporary support. Scaffolding, to help every student access it. It’s the difference between saying, “Here’s a small hill for you to climb,” and saying, “We are all climbing this mountain, and I will give you the tools, support, and strategies you need to reach the summit.”
What the Research Says: The Evidence Against the Wolf
The case against rigid ability grouping is not merely philosophical. It is built on decades of robust, international research that highlights its academic and psychological harms.
- Long-Term Impact on Self-Concept: The foundational study by Jo Boaler, Dylan Wiliam, and Margaret Brown (2000) on students in tracked math classes was devastatingly clear. Students placed in lower sets developed debilitatingly low academic self-confidence. They began to describe themselves as “dumb” or “not a math person,” internalising the school’s label as a permanent feature of their identity. These effects, the study found, persisted long after the students left school. Thinking back to my own experiences in the first few years of Secondary, this was definitely me… All until I had that one teacher in Year 9 who just believed in me and challenged me setting High expectations and providing scaffolding!
- Reinforcing Social Inequality: As further detailed in The Myth of Ability (2005), the sorting process is rarely neutral. It consistently reflects and reinforces existing societal inequalities. Students from low-income backgrounds, as well as racial and ethnic minority students, are disproportionately placed in lower sets, often due to implicit biases about their home life or perceived potential. The school system, in this model, doesn’t just measure inequality; it becomes an engine for its reproduction. Think of your EAL learners who are working in a lower set because of language rather than Computer Science or Mathematical ability.
- The Danger of a Fixed Mindset: Carol Dweck’s groundbreaking research on mindsets provides the psychological mechanism for why grouping is so damaging. Fixed ability labels foster fixed beliefs about intelligence. Students in “low” groups, believing their ability is unchangeable (like the pig who thinks, “I was only given straw, so what’s the point in trying to build?”), give up when faced with a challenge. Conversely, students in “top” groups can become so attached to their label of “smart” that they become terrified of failure, avoiding difficult problems to protect their status.
- Negligible Academic Gains, Significant Harm: The Education Endowment Foundation (EEF), in a 2018 meta-analysis reviewing hundreds of studies, delivered a stark verdict. For students, ability grouping offers “a small negative impact for low-attaining pupils, and a small positive impact for high-attaining pupils.” When you average it out across all students, the impact is negligible or negative. The practice provides minimal benefit to a few at a direct, measurable cost to many, particularly the most vulnerable learners.
- The Inequity of Opportunity: The damage is not just psychological. The UCL Institute of Education’s “Best Practice in Grouping Students” project uncovered a systemic disparity in the quality of education delivered. Students in lower sets were consistently taught a “less-rich and less-demanding curriculum,” were more likely to be assigned less-experienced or non-specialist teachers, and were subject to a pervasive culture of low expectations. They weren’t just given straw; they were given a less-skilled builder and a flawed or half completed blueprint.
The Alternative in Action: Low Floor, High Ceiling Design
The most powerful objection to abandoning ability grouping is the practical question of classroom management. “How can I possibly teach 30 students at 30 different levels?” The answer is not to create 30 different pathways, but to design a single, rich task that is accessible to all and extensible for all. This is the core principle of “Low Floor, High Ceiling” task design. Everyone is given bricks; the real differentiation lies in the complexity and creativity of what they are inspired and supported to build.
A Low Floor, High Ceiling Maths Example (Grade 4-7)
Let’s transform the tiered apple problem into a rich task.
The Core Task: “Using only the numbers 2, 3, 4, and 5, and the operations +, -, ×, ÷, get as close as you can to the target number 20. You must use each number exactly once.”
- Low Floor (Access for All): Every student can begin immediately. One might start with simple addition: 2 + 3 + 4 + 5 = 14. This is not a “wrong” answer; it’s an entry point into the problem space. Another student might try 5 x 4 = 20 but quickly realize they failed to use the ‘2’ and ‘3’, leading to a moment of self-correction. This is productive struggle, and it is available to everyone.
- Rising Up (Building Complexity): As they explore, students discover more complex solutions. One might find (4 x 3) + 5 + 2 = 19. Another might have a breakthrough with (5 + 3) x 2 + 4 = 20. The classroom buzzes with shared discovery, not segregated activity.
- High Ceiling (Endless Extension): For those who find a solution quickly, the challenge is not over; it deepens. The teacher can prompt: “Can you find a different way to make 20? What’s the closest you can get to zero? What’s the largest possible number you can make? ” The task grows with the student’s curiosity.
A Low Floor, High Ceiling Computer Science Example (Grade 6-10)
Let’s transform the segregated “greeter” program into a rich task.
The Core Task: Using Python, write a program that greets the user.
- Low Floor (The Foundation): The teacher first ensures everyone can lay the foundation.
name = input(“What is your name? “)
print(“Hello, ” + name)
This two-line success is the shared starting point. Every student has built a functioning, if simple, structure. The teacher celebrates this as the first successful prototype. - Rising Up and Branching Out (Adding Rooms and Features): From here, the teacher provides a menu of possible extensions, not as required levels, but as creative options. Students can choose to work on what interests them.
- Repetition: “Can you make it greet the user 5 times using a for loop?”
- Conditionals: “Can you make it give a special message if the user enters your name? Use an if statement.”
- Validation: “What happens if the user doesn’t enter anything? Can you make it ask again? Use a while loop.”
- High Ceiling (Designing a Mansion): The potential for extension is limitless and can be student-driven.
- “Can you store a list of known users and have it say ‘Welcome back!’ to them?” (Uses lists).
- “Can you write a function called greet() that you can reuse?” (Promotes abstraction).
- “Can you build a dictionary of names and personalized greetings?” (Uses more complex data structures).
- “Can you save new names to a file so the program remembers them next time?” (Introduces file I/O).
In this model, everyone is a software developer working on the same core project. The differentiation happens through choice, depth, and support, not through pre-judged segregation or stepped stones.
The Way Forward: A Culture of High Challenge and High Trust
Shifting from a culture of sorting to a culture of inclusive challenge requires more than just new lesson plans; it requires a new mindset. It’s about redefining differentiation itself.
- Embrace Low Floor, High Ceiling Tasks: This must be the default mode of planning. It means actively seeking out and designing problems that are open, creative, and multi-layered. This requires more thoughtful planning upfront but results in far deeper and more equitable learning during the lesson.
If you feel like you are getting stuck here or are brand new to it, why not use your trusted LLM to help brainstorm High Ceiling tasks based on what you would have set as chilli challenges before. It’s a good starting point and will after a few examples give you plenty or original ideas to no longer need to rely on AI. - Use Purposeful, Flexible Grouping: This doesn’t mean abandoning grouping entirely, but rather using it as a dynamic, temporary tool. A teacher might say, “For the next five minutes, I want everyone who is exploring how to use a while loop to come to the front table.” The groups are formed for a specific, short-term purpose and then dissolve. They are a scaffold, not a cage. The groups are temporary and change all the time!
- Provide Targeted Feedback as Scaffolding: Effective feedback is the engine of a mixed-ability classroom. Instead of labelling the student (“You’re a one-chilli learner”), label the work and provide a next step. “Your program works perfectly! A great next challenge would be to think about how to handle errors. What should happen if the user enters a number instead of a name?” This focuses on the learning, not the learner’s perceived ability.
- Invest in Deep Professional Development: To undo decades of sorting, teachers need robust support. This means training in powerful pedagogical frameworks like Universal Design for Learning (UDL), which proactively plans for learner variability by providing multiple means of Engagement (the “why” of learning), Representation (the “what”), and Action & Expression (the “how”). It’s about equipping teachers with the skills and confidence to build a classroom where every student is seen as a capable, “brick-house” builder.
Some additional thoughts
When we dare to retell the story of The Three Little Pigs through the lens of equity, we are forced to confront an uncomfortable truth about our own practices. The story ceases to be about the laziness of the pigs and becomes a parable about a system that allocated resources and opportunities unfairly. The question is no longer “Why didn’t the pig with the straw work harder?” but “Why wasn’t that pig given bricks and taught how to use them with confidence?”
For all its perceived practicality, rigid ability grouping is the Big Bad Wolf that haunts our schools. It huffs and it puffs, not at houses, but at a child’s self-concept, and self-confidence, at their aspirations, at their fundamental right to a rich and challenging education. It whispers to some that they are not capable, and to others that they must not risk failure.
If we truly believe in the boundless potential of every child, then our work is clear. We must stop sorting the straw, sticks, and bricks. We must give every single student a pile of bricks, teach them how to build with skill and creativity, and stand back in awe at the unique and sturdy structures they design.
The real wolf, after all, was never the animal at the door; it was the story that told the pigs what they were capable of in the first place.