Elite private school students behind wild Airbnb party should know better
In the smorgasbord of choice for students privileged to attend a prestigious Brisbane private school, a little piece of learning has been lost, at least on some students, writes Madonna King.
Opinion
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For $26,000, you can send your five-year-old to prep this year at Brisbane Boys’ College, where expansive manicured green fields ensure they’ll come home tired.
For a touch more – let’s say about $35,000 each year – you can enrol your son in years 7 to 12, where they will be schooled in state of the art classrooms.
There’s more; dozens of sports and activities to choose from, ranging from percussion to rowing and robotics.
But it seems, in the smorgasbord of choice for those students privileged to attend this big Brisbane private school, a little piece of learning has been lost, at least on some students.
And that is this: it is not okay to trash someone else’s home. It is not okay to fake identities or to throw lawnmowers and vacuums and irons into a pool. And it’s not okay, either, to upturn tables and shatter glass, or to have bodily fluids streaking down walls or even to soil a bed.
It seems preposterous to even have to pen that; to point out that civilised and educated teens, some of whom are privileged enough to attend a rich private school, should know better than to host a drunken and illegal bunfight, where war is waged on a home that is not their own.
No doubt students from other schools attended because hundreds of teens joined in this rave, at a suburban East Brisbane Airbnb. Some of them were responsible for the damage; others watched on.
Bystanders, they’re called, which should leave us all wondering what behaviour they might walk by, next weekend.
But parents at BBC, which promises to produce ‘gentlemen of honour’, should also be left wondering whether their money might be better spent, and angry that a group of entitled teens has hurt the brand of their own son’s school.
BBC headmaster Andre Casson, who says the school is co-operating with police and pursuing its own internal investigation, should be wondering what else he needs to add to his lengthy list of offerings already available to students.
Paying for the damage, apologising to the Airbnb owner, school and wider community – with their parents by their side – might be the start of a new list, designed specifically for last week’s troublemakers.
But this episode should also provide a window of review into the elitism that now umbrellas private schools.
How else do you explain the unveiling, at one Sydney school this week, of a $60 million imitation Scottish-style baronial castle – which will serve as a student centre.
Or the exorbitant school feels that now are required for a child to attend a southeast Queensland private school – even in the primary years.
At BBC, for example, new students in 2025 pay a $550 non-refundable application fee, followed by a non-refundable $2250 confirmation fee. And then for prep, the tuition per year is $23,680. But add to that, a campus development levy of $1580 per student and a $470 technology levy – even in prep!
Elite.
It’s a tag the schools pretend to hate, but love. It means making that league table of academic results; of being mentioned in dispatches of how tomorrow’s leaders are being schooled with today’s results.
It’s a tag some parents love too; dropping their children off in racy European cars, school holidays in far flung places, and networks that promise a bright career future.
Not all private schools – or all students at BBC – are at fault here. My own children attended private schools and as an author who visits schools I witness weekly the work put into building good young adults.
But this loutish behaviour tarnishes everyone, including the private school brand.
You can add another E word to elite – and that is entitled. And last weekend’s disgraceful crime show illustrates how entitlement acts as a licence for brainless and boorish brats to see themselves above everyone else.
Above those who are public-schooled in demountable rooms in the bush. Or in old schools in unfashionable suburbs on the other side of Brisbane.
Those who don’t jet oversees in the September school holidays each year or have a string of private tutors. Or those who don’t get to wear a tie and hat and blazer that signal entry into a special club.
When you strip all that away – the paint on the classroom wall, the number of football fields and the price of an education – it comes down to character.
And that can be taught, but not bought.