Having been fortunate enough to attend a strict, single-sex grammar school with traditional, conservative and typically Christian values, I was not surprised to find that my own experience of sex education was somewhat lacking. There was the puberty-specific primary school science, which was repeated in secondary school, followed by a brief segment on reproduction and how to avoid getting pregnant. I have a vague memory of the school nurse gingerly showing us how to put a condom on a model of the male anatomy, before explaining the woes of various sexually transmitted diseases. It was not until my third year of university that I received any formal education on what constitutes consent. I cannot help but wonder if this measly offering is representative of an entire nation’s education, if it differed from the education received by our joining boys’ school, or if it has changed at all in the years since I left school.

Uncertain as to whether my scepticism was a misremembering of my school days, I reached out to the Instagram community, asking people to recount their own experiences. The general consensus was that sex education had been subpar, with responses ranging from not remembering extensive education on sex and relationships to teachers refusing to answer reasonable questions on the grounds of embarrassment. Even more embarrassing, however, is that the UK has had the same sex education policy for over twenty years—one that does not even mention LGBTQ once. Who thought that teaching kids how to put condoms on bananas and refrain from teaching about consent or sex outside of a heterosexual relationship was sufficient sex education?

Of course, there are difficulties in teaching such a sensitive and important topic. The current curriculum aims to work in conjunction with the science curriculum to help secondary school students “understand human sexuality, learn the reasons for delaying sexual activity and the benefits to be gained from such delay, and learn about obtaining appropriate advice on sexual health”. It is vital that such teaching does not encourage premature sexual experimentation and complies with the wishes of parents, who reserve the right to withdraw pupils from sex education at any point. Therein lies an issue that many students are denied their rights to learn about an important part of growing up and, consequently, may make poor decisions when it comes to their sexual health. Ramming the dangers of sexually transmitted infections down their juvenile throats is a disproved method of preventing sexual activity in teens. Yet the policy maintains a focus on the benefits of delaying sex without truly tapping into the questions that may be on many teenagers’ lips. Sure, in England in 1998, when the policy was first drafted and there were over 100,000 conceptions to teenagers, this may have been of higher priority. In 2020, the curriculum is nothing but outdated. I recently learned that my own secondary school was hosting talks on saving sex for marriage, aimed at teaching year nine girls the importance of abstinence. We should be offering students a safe space in which to ask questions regarding sex, rather than ignorantly believing that most of them will wait until their wedding night. With a programme so focused on teaching sex as a taboo, it is any surprise that more than a third of 18-to 24-year-olds do not feel ‘sexually competent’ the first time they have sex?

Despite significant numbers of students identifying themselves as part of the LGBTQ community, many are left feeling excluded from sex education lessons which tend to focus on heterosexual relations. Teaching students about LGBTQ rights and issues is mandatory under the 2010 Equality Act, but it is only compulsory teaching “at the point at which schools consider it appropriate”. This leaves schools to decide at which age this should be taught, and to what degree. In the entire document, the term consent is mentioned just twice, both being in reference to the right to consent to medical treatment. One particularly questionable segment of the government’s guidelines lists “how to negotiate sex with a partner” as an essential lesson, as though intimacy is something to be bargained. There certainly was not any mention of the female pleasure sphere. So, if young adults are not being educated about these critical parts of sexual relationships, what are they being taught? In 2018, there were 7,285 conceptions to under 16s in England alone. One must question whether the PSHE lessons are effective in delivering what appears to be their sole takeaway message: Do not have sex and definitely do not get pregnant.

In September 2020, the government will introduce a new statutory guidance policy for Sex and Relationships Education across the UK. With the current policy dating to July 2000, perhaps this cohort will be the first to obtain a thorough and inclusive sex education. The new school guidelines state that LGBTQ-inclusive sex education is a must, as are lessons on what constitutes full and conclusive consent. It still includes all of the usual STI and pregnancy fearmongering, aiming to help students understand the reasons for delaying sex. But there is also a greater focus on inclusivity and ensuring young people are equipped to make informed choices.

Yet with little in the way of training for teachers, I fear that there is a long way to go before sex education in schools is up-to-date and extensive enough to cater for the needs of today’s young adults. The updates to the curriculum are a step in the right direction, but are they enough? Instead of preaching the prohibition of sex, perhaps teachers need to remember the hormone-fueled years of their own youth. The spluttering cough that accompanies everyone’s first cigarette, or the hangover that follows getting drunk on stolen liquor. Smutty and confused teenage lust and experimentation, having boyfriends, having girlfriends, having sex, not having sex—it is all normal. If we want to give young adults the information and resources to make good decisions, we must stop being so prude. And as part of that the UK’s sex education, or therefore lack of, needs to change in line with the needs of students. There is more to the years at school than science and English. Maybe we should stop treating teenagers like the children they were when they left primary school, and more like the young adults that they are.

Is the UK’s approach to sex education failing our young people?

Illustrations by Zsófi Mayer.

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