Education

The Hidden Curriculum of Belonging

Written by Lorraine Kara

Early Years consultant, author and founder of Belonging in Practice. Leadership, Culture, Inclusion, Belonging.

Every nursery and school has two curriculums.

The first is the one we carefully plan.

The second is the one children experience.

The second curriculum is often the most powerful.

Children are constantly learning – not only through the activities we prepare, but through the relationships they observe, the words they hear and the way adults respond when emotions run high.

This is the hidden curriculum of belonging.

A reflection from practice

Recently, I witnessed an interaction at a school that stayed with me. A child was visibly distressed and crying while an adult, who also appeared emotionally overwhelmed, responded in a raised and angry tone. Other adults stepped in to help calm the situation.

As I watched, I found myself thinking less about behaviour management and more about what the child might have been learning in that moment.

Not mathematics. Not phonics. Not literacy.

Instead, perhaps the child was learning: “When I am overwhelmed, adults become overwhelmed too.” Or: “My feelings are too much.” Or even: “When I struggle, I may be publicly corrected rather than helped.”

None of those messages may have been intended. But intention and impact are not always the same. The experience a child has in a difficult moment can become part of the hidden curriculum they carry with them.

The curriculum we never write down

Children notice far more than the content of our planning. They notice how adults speak to one another, how mistakes are handled, whose voice is listened to, whether differences are respected and whether emotions are met with curiosity or punishment.

No curriculum document includes a learning intention that says, “Children will learn whether adults lose control.” Yet children learn this every day.

They also learn whether adults apologise, whether relationships can be repaired, whether behaviour is treated as communication and whether they remain worthy of care when they are having a difficult moment.

This is why the hidden curriculum matters. It quietly teaches children what power looks like, what safety feels like and whether belonging is conditional.

Belonging is experienced through relationships

Early childhood development is profoundly relational. Bronfenbrenner’s ecological view of development reminds us that children grow within interconnected systems of relationships and environments. Gerhardt’s work similarly draws attention to the importance of early relational experiences for emotional development.

When adults remain calm enough to help children regulate, children gradually learn that difficult feelings can be survived. When adults model empathy, children experience empathy. When adults repair after a rupture, children learn that relationships can be restored.

Belonging is therefore not created by a display board alone. It is experienced when a child discovers: “Even when I struggle, I still have a place here.”

What does this mean for educators?

The hidden curriculum invites us to look beyond what we planned and ask what children actually experienced.

What did my tone communicate?
Did my response preserve the child’s dignity?
Was I regulated enough to help the child regulate?
Did I respond to behaviour only, or did I remain curious about what might be underneath it?
If I got it wrong, did I repair the relationship?

This does not mean educators must be perfect. Early Years work is emotionally demanding and adults will have difficult moments too. It does mean that reflective practice must include the adult’s emotional state, not only the child’s behaviour.

The leadership responsibility

This is also a leadership issue. If staff are expected to co-regulate children, they need cultures that support their own regulation and reflection.

Leaders can strengthen this by creating psychologically safe supervision, modelling calm responses, allowing staff to ask for help, discussing difficult interactions without humiliation and treating repair as part of professional practice rather than evidence of failure.

The culture adults experience becomes part of the culture children experience. In that sense, workforce wellbeing, leadership behaviour and children’s belonging cannot be separated.

Reflection questions

What are children learning from the way adults respond when things go wrong?
Who receives patience in our setting – and who receives correction?
Do our behaviour approaches preserve children’s dignity?
Do staff feel safe enough to say, ‘I did not handle that well’?
What do our routines, relationships and reactions teach children about who belongs?

Read, reflect and act

This week, observe one interaction rather than one activity.

Ask yourself: What was the child learning about themselves, about adults and about belonging in that moment?

Sometimes the most important lesson was never written on the planning sheet.

Final reflection

Belonging is not only built in our easiest moments. It is revealed in our hardest ones.

Children may forget the activity we planned, but they can remember how an adult made them feel. Our responsibility is not to offer perfection. It is to keep reflecting, repairing and creating environments where children feel emotionally safe, seen and valued.

Perhaps the most powerful curriculum we offer children is not simply what we teach, but who we are while we are teaching it.

References

Bronfenbrenner, U. (1979) The Ecology of Human Development: Experiments by Nature and Design. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

Edmondson, A.C. (2019) The Fearless Organization: Creating Psychological Safety in the Workplace for Learning, Innovation, and Growth. Hoboken, NJ: John Wiley & Sons.

Gerhardt, S. (2015) Why Love Matters: How Affection Shapes a Baby’s Brain. 2nd edn. London: Routledge.

National Scientific Council on the Developing Child (2004/2020) Young Children Develop in an Environment of Relationships. Working Paper No. 1. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University.

Rinaldi, C. (2006) In Dialogue with Reggio Emilia: Listening, Researching and Learning. London: Routledge.

Siegel, D.J. and Bryson, T.P. (2011) The Whole-Brain Child. London: Constable & Robinson.

Inclusion Bases and Peer Support: Building Belonging for Every Child

Written by Liz Robson-Kelly

Educator, Positive and Organisational Psychologist, leading expert on Positive Education in the UK.

Inclusion bases give pupils who experience barriers to learning access to targeted support without losing their place in the wider school community. Yet many leaders find that specialist provision is only half the story. Whether it works depends just as much on the culture around it – a culture built on belonging.

Why Pupil Voice Matters

Inclusion is not something you do to pupils. It is something you build with them.

Pupils know where they feel safe and where they do not. They know which corridors feel overwhelming, which transitions cause anxiety, and which spaces feel welcoming. When you ask and genuinely listen, you learn about the real barriers to learning rather than the ones adults assume exist.

The Department for Education’s guidance on inclusion bases reinforces this, listing child, young person, and parent and carer voice among the quality-assurance sources a base should draw on each year. Pupil voice is not a nice extra. It is expected practice.

Crucially, pupil voice does not replace specialist teaching, therapeutic input, or SENCo oversight. It strengthens the whole-school culture that surrounds your specialist provision. Think of it as the soil, not the plant.

How Peer-Led Programmes Build Belonging

At Worth-it, we believe that belonging is one of the most powerful protective factors for young people’s mental health. Our programmes are rooted in positive psychology and designed to nurture a deep sense of school belonging that shapes identity, safety, and long-term wellbeing. When young people truly feel they belong, engagement, attendance, and positive behaviour naturally follow.

Peer support helps by:

Reducing isolation and normalising conversations about wellbeing

Creating low-barrier routes into help

Modelling kindness and inclusion across year groups

Building confidence and leadership in the pupils who take part

This matters enormously for an inclusion base. The DfE guidance is explicit that schools must guard against making pupils who use the base feel less valued than their mainstream peers. A strong peer-led culture is one of the most powerful ways to prevent that.

Peer Support in Practice

At Rainey Endowed School in Northern Ireland, trained student ambassadors set up a lunchtime Wellbeing Club. Autistic and SEN pupils in particular benefited from a calm, consistent space during what can otherwise be an overwhelming part of the day.

Many of the 200 schools we have worked with have paired Year 7 forms with trained ambassadors, run reverse integration through shared clubs, and produced pupil-authored welcome packs for children joining a base. Most schools run sustainable peer-led programmes with just two trained staff and a cohort of motivated students.

Evidencing What Inspectors Look For

This work helps you evidence exactly what the DfE and Ofsted are looking for. Ofsted inspects the base as part of the whole school, examining whether pupils feel welcome, valued, and part of the community.

Keep simple records of your peer-led activity. Buddy pairings, drop-in numbers, and feedback sessions all count. A shared spreadsheet is enough to demonstrate impact rather than just describe it.

Start Small

An effective base needs specialist teaching and clear SENCo oversight at its core. But they cannot succeed in isolation. What makes a base thrive is the culture around it, and that culture is built through belonging.

The schools that do this well all started with something small. A lunchtime club. A buddy pairing. A group of trained students with a clear brief. You do not need to do everything at once. You just need to start.

Worth-it Positive Education has three practical next steps to help you move forward:

Download the free Peer Support for Schools Info Pack to see how peer support maps onto Ofsted expectations

Use the Wellbeing and Inclusion Planning Tool to identify your school’s priority pathway in under five minutes

Find out more about the Wellbeing Ambassadors programme and how it helps schools build a sustainable, pupil-led culture of belonging from within

The rise of ‘Universal design for learning’ – Why every Further Education provider is talking about UDL

Written by Sarah Vickrage

Sarah Vickrage is a Teaching and Inclusion Specialist at the Fellowship of Inspection Nominees, supporting Further Education providers to embed meaningful inclusive practice.

For years, Universal Design for Learning (UDL) has often been viewed as something “nice to have” or an approach championed by SEND specialists. Today, that is changing. Across the further education sector, UDL is moving from the margins into the mainstream as a practical framework for improving teaching quality, supporting inclusion and helping every learner achieve.

Growing interest in UDL also aligns with the direction of travel set out in the Department for Education’s proposed SEND reforms under Universal Support. While the reforms cover the whole education system, they place a strong emphasis on creating a more inclusive mainstream experience, improving consistency of support and reducing barriers to participation. For further education providers, this reinforces a shift away from relying solely on individual interventions and towards designing learning environments that are accessible from the outset, with the assumption that learner variability is entirely normal. UDL provides a practical framework for achieving this: embedding inclusive practice into everyday teaching while continuing to offer targeted support where it is needed most.

Individual reasonable adjustments remain an essential part of high-quality education provision. However, they often rely on diagnosis, disclosure or referral and can also unintentionally create delays or reinforce the idea that some learners are exceptions to the norm.

Why now?

Several factors are bringing UDL into sharper focus across FE. Firstly, colleges are seeing increasingly diverse learner cohorts. We are still seeing the children of the Covid-19 pandemic move into the workplace, and while the pandemic did not create the need for UDL, it highlighted many issues UDL seeks to address. Alongside growing awareness of neurodiversity, there is greater recognition of differences in language, literacy, mental health, disability, prior educational experiences and life circumstances.

Secondly, inclusion is increasingly recognised as an organisational responsibility rather than solely the responsibility of learning support teams. It needs to be embedded into every decision, strategy and policy.

Finally, expectations around quality teaching continue to evolve. Inclusive practice is no longer viewed as an optional enhancement but as a hallmark of effective teaching and learning. For many providers, UDL offers a practical way of bringing these priorities together.

What does UDL look like in practice?

One of the biggest misconceptions is that UDL requires teachers to produce multiple versions of every lesson. When I think back to my first years in teaching where we were expected to make 3 versions of the same worksheet and know exactly who would be working on each sheet before the start of the lesson it makes my toes curl.

Most UDL strategies are simple changes that improve learning for everyone. Many educators are already using these approaches. UDL simply provides a framework for making them intentional and consistent.

Good for everyone, not just some

One of the strengths of UDL is that it avoids creating a divide between “supported learners” and everyone else.

For example, when a learner with ADHD frequently asks for instructions to be repeated, they can be viewed as needing extra support. However, providing instructions verbally, visually and in written form benefits everyone, including learners with anxiety, language differences or those balancing education with other responsibilities.

Clear visual organisation may support an autistic learner, while also reducing cognitive load for someone learning in a second language. Captions on videos help learners with hearing impairments, but they are equally valuable in noisy environments or for learners revising independently.

A strategic opportunity for FE

As providers continue to strengthen their approach to inclusion, UDL offers more than a collection of teaching strategies. It provides a common language that can connect curriculum design, staff development, learner support and quality improvement, ensuring we are all on the same page with the same high standards.

For providers looking to reflect on their current practice, the Fellowship of Inspection Nominees’ inclusion resources provide a useful framework for exploring how effectively inclusion is embedded across the organisation, from leadership decisions through to classroom practice.

Looking ahead

Universal Design for Learning is unlikely to remain a specialist concept for much longer. As FE providers continue to reflect on curriculum quality, teaching and learner experience, UDL provides an opportunity to move beyond asking whether individual learners are being supported and towards asking whether the learning environment itself is designed to enable success.

The most inclusive providers will be those that see accessibility not as something added when a need is identified, but as a fundamental part of high-quality education.

The conversation about UDL has started. The opportunity now is to move from discussion to action, embedding inclusive design into everyday practice so every learner has the opportunity to participate, progress and achieve.

Ask yourself, are you designing education around the barriers the learners face, or are you designing education that removed those barriers in the first place?

What Do I Say Right Now?

Written by Orla McKeating

Entrepreneur, coach and motivational speaker

“My parents told me to cross the road when I see a Black or Brown man.” “Can I say the word ‘Black’?” “I don’t think immigrants should come here.” “That’s gay.”

These are conversations I have heard over the last five years through my work with Still I Rise Voices. And increasingly, I hear another question underneath all of them:

“What do I say right now?”

Because our children are growing up in a world where conversations about race, migration, identity, gender, disability, culture and belonging are everywhere. They hear things at home. They see things online. They hear conversations in the playground. They absorb the language of adults around them. And sometimes they bring all of that into the classroom.

For teachers and educators, this can feel like a lot.

You are already carrying enormous responsibility. You are supporting children academically, emotionally and socially, often while navigating significant workload pressures.

The 2025 NASUWT Big Question Survey, which included more than 10,000 teachers across the UK, found that almost half of teachers – 48% – reported a substantial increase in workload over the previous year. Teachers reported working an average of 47 hours a week, including around 12 hours outside the school day.

And in England, the picture is similarly difficult. Research commissioned by the Department for Education found that only 17% of teachers and leaders agreed that they had an acceptable workload in 2023.

So, when we talk about creating inclusive classrooms, we may need to acknowledge something important. Teachers cannot be expected to know everything. They cannot be expected to have all the language. All the answers. All the cultural knowledge. All the confidence. And all the time. That doesn’t mean these conversations aren’t important.

It means we need to give educators the tools and support to have them well.

The Context is Changing

In Northern Ireland especially, the need for these conversations is not theoretical. Our classrooms are changing alongside our communities, and the wider environment children are growing up in matters.

The PSNI recorded 2,260 race-motivated incidents and 1,430 race-motivated crimes during 2025 – the highest 12-month level recorded since this data series began in 2004/05.

The figures don’t tell us what every child is experiencing but they do tell us something about the environment around us.

And educators are often the adults who are expected to help children make sense of that environment. They may be the person a child turns to after hearing something racist. The person who notices that a child has stopped participating. The person who needs to challenge a stereotype without humiliating the child who repeated it. The person trying to support a child who feels different. The person wondering:

“Is this the right language?”

“Should I challenge this?”

“What if I make it worse?”

“What if a parent complains?”

“What if I don’t know enough?”

These questions don’t make you a bad educator. They make you human. We need to move away from fear

One of the things I have learned through working with more than 10,000 children and young people across Ireland and the UK is that the most powerful conversations don’t usually begin with having the perfect answer.

They begin with curiosity.

I have seen a Global Majority girl jump up when she recognised someone who looked like her in a book. Her whole face lit up. “She’s like me!”

I’ve seen a child proudly share parts of their culture with classmates after seeing a character wearing a hijab. I’ve heard teenagers express views about immigration that are uncomfortable to hear. I’ve heard children say, “That’s gay,” followed by laughter.

And these moments matter. Not because every child has suddenly become perfectly inclusive. But because we have an opportunity to pause. To ask:

Why do you think that?

Where did you hear that?

How might that make someone feel?

Is that actually true?

What could we say instead?

That is where learning happens. Not through shame. Not through humiliation. Not through pretending difficult things aren’t being said. But through conversation. Inclusion isn’t about having the perfect words.

I used to think change came through fighting. I fought hard for my mixed-race son and what he experienced in school. I fought against systems. I fought against language.

But over time, I realised that there is another kind of work. The quieter work. The work of sitting together. Listening. Learning about our own biases. Understanding where someone is starting from. Having the conversation. Asking another question. Sharing another story. Changing one word. Opening one book. Helping one child feel seen. Because sometimes one moment can change how a child understands the world. And sometimes one moment can change how an adult understands a child.

So, What Do I Say Right Now?

That is exactly why I created “What Do I Say Right Now?”

It is a practical resource for teachers, educators, parents and anyone who wants to feel more confident navigating difficult conversations around inclusion.

Because sometimes we don’t need another lecture. We need somewhere to start. We need language. We need prompts. We need reassurance. We need to know that we are allowed to say: “I’m not sure, but let’s explore that together.”

There is something beautiful about correcting something without shaming a child. We can start to understand that having a conversation about race does not have to mean having the perfect vocabulary.

And we need somewhere to keep learning.

That is what I want to create through The Inclusion Lab – a hybrid learning platform and trusted space for educators and people who care about creating more inclusive environments to keep learning, asking questions and building confidence.

Because inclusion isn’t a one-off training session. It isn’t a tick box. And it certainly isn’t about getting everything right all the time. It is a practice. A conversation. A commitment. Little by little. Word by word. Story by story.

So, if you have ever found yourself thinking:

What do I say right now?

I’ve created something to help. Download your free copy of “What Do I Say Right Now?” and start with one conversation.

Because language changes things. Connection changes things. Stories change things. Voices change the world. Still We Rise.

Can Omission Teach as Loudly as Words Complete

Written by Glenda Obeng

Glenda Obeng is a published author and multifaceted educator with a legal background and a law and politics specialism, serving as Teacher of Social Sciences and Citizenship Curriculum Lead. She is Founder and CEO of The Artourney, which produces multimedia resources praised for illuminating Black, African and Caribbean communities and sparking conversations about identity, belonging and civic agency.

A persistent label in compulsory education is that Black history belongs to a single month. In the UK, Black History Month (BHM) falls in October after Akyaaba Addai-Sebo helped establish it in 1987, choosing October because it aligned with the start of the academic year. BHM has value, but it becomes tokenistic when treated as the only moment Black history is meaningfully explored. Slavery, racism and oppression are important histories, yet when they dominate the narrative, they create a narrow lens and deny pupils the opportunity to understand the full breadth of Black identities, achievements and cultural contributions.

While teaching international relations, in a debate preparation task Person A, a pupil of mixed heritage assigned Egypt expressed surprise to learn it is in Africa. Pupils rarely learn the vast cultures of Africa or the diverse histories and traditions of the Caribbean during formative years. These topics may appear later in further or higher education, but that is neither guaranteed nor equitable. We must move beyond monolithic education and ask, what futures do we limit when we teach only a fraction of the truth?

This concern has historical context. The Swann Report (1985) highlighted systemic barriers faced by ethnic-minority pupils, while the Educationally Subnormal (ESN) scandal of the 1960s–70s showed how Black children were disproportionately removed from mainstream schools and labelled ‘educationally subnormal’. They were steered into narrow practical training instead of a full academic curriculum, leaving many without recognised qualifications and facing long-term barriers to employment and social mobility. There has been progress, ESN schools were closed, equality duties were introduced, and curricula have slowly broadened. Yet a debate in the UK Parliament marking the 40th anniversary of the Swann Report in March 2025 made clear that unequal outcomes and exclusionary practices persist, so reform has not yet translated into equal opportunities for all pupils.

Some may argue that the UK’s White majority reduces the need for racially diverse education. The 2021 Census for England and Wales show those identifying as White British fell from 80.5% to 74.4%; an ageing population and low birth rates mean future growth will likely depend on net migration, so classrooms will only become more diverse as noticeable emigration from the UK continues to rise. Schools should teach cultural literacy and adopt inclusive practices so pupils can navigate shifting cultural environments. Person B, a pupil of North-East African heritage, once asked when I was going to “get my hair done” as I walked through the corridor with my natural 4C afro. I told them, “I do not need to conform to Eurocentric beauty standards to be professional”. Their question was not malicious; it reflected a message many internalise about beauty when navigating an environment as a minority.

Blanket acronyms like ‘BAME’ or ‘BIPOC’, though pragmatic for policy monitoring to some, flatten distinct communities with different histories and needs. If we criticise monolithic curricula, we must also reject monolithic labels. In March 2026 the United Nations General Assembly adopted resolution A/RES/80/250 declaring the trafficking of enslaved Africans and the radicalised chattel enslavement of Africans ‘the gravest crime against humanity’, affirming the need for justice, dignity and healing. Reparations must include educational measures; a truthful curriculum should foster understanding rather than hierarchy. That curriculum must also address everyday signals of belonging.

School rules that label natural or protective hairstyles as ‘extreme’ or ‘unprofessional’ undermine pupils’ confidence and force conformity to Eurocentric norms. Person C, a pupil who habitually used gel to flatten their hair or wore a straight-haired wig, often appeared less confident when their natural hair was out. When I complimented their natural hair, they replied, “don’t, it’s messy”.

Racial literacy should link histories of the Global Majority and Global Minority, recognising power, population and historical context, decentre Eurocentric narratives, and pair sustained, age-appropriate teaching with media literacy so pupils can separate fact from fiction and resist online radicalisation. Person D, a white English young person, said ‘it was not entirely their fault they knew little about other races because they lived in an area where most people look like them and their school did not teach much about race’. Person E, a light-complexion mixed-heritage young person, discussed chemically straightening their hair ‘to pass’ as White. When young people rarely see their cultures, histories or physical features reflected in the curriculum, those who are different often feel pressured to flatten or minimise their identity in public rather than feel proud of who they are and where they come from.

Implementing these insights requires curriculum change, teacher reflexivity, revised policies and supported spaces for complex identities. Schools that treat cultural knowledge as an asset rather than a deficit will improve belonging, attainment and the long-term resilience of all pupils. If education shapes who we become, can we justify teaching anything less than the whole story?

Curriculum is Never Neutral

Written by Shilpa Darbar

With over a decade of experience as Head of History, Shilpa’s experience extends beyond classroom instruction to strategic leadership in curriculum development. She has reshaped the History curriculum to promote diversity and inclusiveness, a mission echoed in her published work with Impact and on her Substack. Her expertise in public speaking aids in advocating for educational innovation and elevating varied perspectives.

After sixteen years in education, I’ve realised that the most valuable professional learning hasn’t come from courses or conferences. It’s come from conversations with colleagues, moments of reflection after lessons, and the experiences that have quietly reshaped how I think about teaching, curriculum and leadership.

Those experiences are why I’m starting this newsletter.

Over the years, I’ve collected questions, ideas, successes, mistakes and moments that have challenged my thinking. This is a space to explore them. I’ll be writing about curriculum, middle leadership, diversity and inclusion in education, and the realities of trying to lead meaningful change in schools. I certainly don’t have all the answers—but I do have plenty of questions that I think are worth asking.

Looking back, my journey from NQT to Head of History has been shaped by a series of opportunities that stretched me well beyond my comfort zone.

In my very first year of teaching, I was given the chance to help develop a new Current Affairs programme for Key Stage 3. It was designed to improve pupils’ understanding of the world around them, and although it felt like a daunting responsibility at the time, those lessons quickly became my favourite part of the week.

I loved the challenge of taking complex global issues and transforming them into lessons that encouraged curiosity, discussion and critical thinking. More than anything, I remember my students’ reactions. They were often shocked by the injustice, conflict and inequality they encountered in the news. Their innocence and incredulity at the actions of so-called “grown-ups” was both heart-breaking and deeply hopeful.

In those moments, I found myself thinking: if they respond with such disbelief to the world’s problems, perhaps they will grow up to do better than the generations before them.

Looking back now, I can see that those lessons changed something in me as much as they did my students.

I had trained to teach History, but I was beginning to realise that the most important questions in education often sit beyond the boundaries of any one subject. How do we help young people make sense of the world? How do we nurture curiosity alongside knowledge? How do we prepare students not just to pass exams, but to participate thoughtfully in society?

Without realising it, this was the first of many moments that would shape my philosophy of education. It pushed me towards thinking about educating the whole child—not just through my beloved subject of History, but through every opportunity we have to develop thoughtful, informed and compassionate young people.

Not long afterwards, I also took on the role of Debating Coordinator. Once again, I found myself drawn to work that extended beyond my subject specialism. I wanted students to become confident speakers who could listen carefully, challenge ideas respectfully and build arguments based on evidence rather than opinion. Watching students discover their voice—sometimes literally—reinforced my growing belief that education is about far more than examination results.

As my career progressed into middle leadership, the questions evolved. I became just as interested in leading people as leading curriculum. How do you bring colleagues with you when introducing change? How do you build a department culture where everyone feels valued and challenged? How do you make decisions that are both strategically sound and deeply human?

These are the questions that continue to occupy my thinking today.

My Substack newsletter is my place to think out loud. I’ll share reflections from my own classroom and department, practical ideas that have worked (and those that haven’t), thoughts on curriculum and diversity, and lessons I’ve learnt through leading others. Some posts will be practical, others more reflective, but all will be rooted in the belief that education is ultimately about helping young people flourish.

If you’re a teacher, middle leader, curriculum enthusiast or simply someone who enjoys thinking deeply about education, I hope you’ll find something here that resonates.

Belonging Is Not Another Initiative. It Is an Outcome of How Your School Works

Written by Dr Donna de Haan

Dr Donna de Haan is a sociologist, qualitative researcher and Founder of The Diversity Doctor. She helps brave leaders make the invisible culture of their organisations visible by uncovering the patterns shaping people’s everyday experiences. Donna is the creator of The Living School Model™, which helps schools create the cultural conditions in which staff thrive and pupils flourish, and the author of the forthcoming book If These Walls Could Talk. Find out more at www.diversity-doctor.com.

Belonging is about to become another thing schools are expected to measure. And I can already see what could happen next.

A new survey.
A new initiative.
A new responsibility added to somebody’s already overflowing workload.

But belonging is not another piece of work to add to the school improvement plan.

Belonging is an outcome of how your school already works.

It is shaped by the interactions pupils have with the adults around them. By the way they are greeted in the morning. By what happens when they get something wrong. By whether expectations feel clear and consistent. By whether their contribution is noticed and whether they feel safe enough to ask for help, express who they are or say when something does not feel right. Pupils are experiencing the culture of their school every day. The question is whether we are paying attention to what that experience is telling us.

Lived experience is data

Schools already hold vast amounts of data about pupils: attendance, attainment, behaviour, exclusions and engagement. But much of this is lagging data. It tells us what has happened after a pupil has started to disengage, withdraw or struggle. It shows us the outcome, but it does not always reveal the everyday experiences that created it.

The lived experience of pupils and staff is the data being created in real time.

Belonging is present in the small interactions that happen long before a pattern appears on a dashboard. It is shaped through relationships, routines, decisions and responses that may seem insignificant in isolation but collectively teach people what they can expect from the school. That is why measuring belonging cannot begin and end with asking pupils whether they feel they belong. We also need to understand the culture producing their answer.

Pupils experience school through its adults

When we talk about pupil belonging, our attention naturally turns towards pupils. But pupils experience their school largely through their interactions with adults, and those adults are also having a lived experience of the same organisation.

Do staff feel valued and trusted? Do they experience clarity and consistency? Can they ask questions, contribute ideas or admit that they are struggling without fear of judgement? Do they feel part of the school community, or simply responsible for delivering within it?

This matters because adults do not create culture from outside it. They create it while experiencing it. A teacher who feels trusted, supported and able to contribute is working within very different cultural conditions from one who feels unheard, depleted or constantly scrutinised. Those conditions travel. They influence the tone of classrooms, the quality of relationships and the emotional experience pupils have throughout the school day. This does not mean that pupil and staff experiences will always be the same. But they are not separate. If we want to understand whether pupils belong, we must also become curious about whether the adults responsible for creating that belonging experience it themselves.

Start by noticing what is already happening

The good news is that schools do not need to create belonging from nothing. It is already alive in many of the relationships, routines and practices taking place every day. There will also be moments when it becomes inconsistent, conditional or harder for some people to access.

The work is to notice both.

Before launching something new, look at how your school currently works. Where are people already experiencing trust, connection and contribution? Where are they having to work harder to feel included? What are pupils and staff learning about what happens when they speak, struggle, challenge or need something different? That is where the real story of belonging begins.

I have created a free resource, How to Build and Measure Belonging Without Adding Another Initiative, exploring the five questions school leaders are asking following the White Paper—and the answers many schools may be missing.

If you would like ongoing support to look at your school through a different lens, you can also join the Living School Leadership Community. Each week, I share one idea and one practical invitation to help school and trust leaders notice the culture they are already creating and decide where their attention will have the greatest impact. Members can also join live Listening Circles to explore these questions alongside other leaders, without judgement and without pretending to have everything figured out.

Because belonging will not be created by the initiative we launch next. It is being created by the way our schools work today.

RIP Professor Jason Arday: The Tragic Cost of Scrutiny

Written by Hannah Wilson

Founder and Director of the Belonging Effect (formerly Diverse Educators).

Rest in peace, Professor Jason Arday.

The news of his death at just 41 years old is heartbreaking and devastating. A partner, father, son, friend and colleague has been lost.

My social media timeline is awash with tributes to a man who impacted so many. I never met Professor Jason Arday, but I followed and admired him from afar. I feel deeply sad at his loss, angry at how he was treated and sick to my stomach that we find ourselves standing at yet another crossroads where our shared humanity is being questioned.

Professor Arday, a working-class Black man, became the youngest Black professor in the University of Cambridge’s history. His remarkable journey, scholarship and leadership should be remembered and celebrated.

His death is a devastating loss to education. It should also make us confront some difficult questions about racism, scrutiny, trauma, mental health, the media and institutional responsibility.

Content warning: This article discusses mental health, racism and death.

Contribution

Professor Jason Arday dedicated his life to challenging inequality in education, opening doors for those too often left outside them and pushing institutions to become more reflective of the society they serve.

His work helped shape important conversations about race, social mobility, inclusion and educational justice.

A post by The Black Curriculum reminds us that in moments like these, we all have a choice about the stories we amplify. Let us not reduce a life of service, scholarship and advocacy to its final chapter:

Let us remember the work.
Let us remember the impact.
Let us remember the lives changed because he dared to imagine something better.

We need to drive the right narrative, to honour the legacy and to remember the work.

Accusations, Accountability and Humanity

Professor Arday faced serious public accusations concerning his academic work and other aspects of his record. He disputed allegations of deliberate wrongdoing, and some previous allegations had not been upheld.

I fully agree that questions about academic integrity deserve proper scrutiny.

Accountability matters. Investigations matter. Evidence matters. Truth matters.

But people matter too.

An investigation should never become a process in which we forget there is a human being at its centre.

Professor Arday’s family has spoken about the impact of sustained abuse, harassment and misinformation. The precise circumstances surrounding his death have not yet been established publicly, and we should be careful not to claim a medical or legal cause that has not been confirmed.

But acknowledging that uncertainty does not require us to ignore the context in which his death occurred.

Everyone deserves fairness, due process and an opportunity to respond to allegations without being subjected to relentless public humiliation. Scrutiny and accountability are not the same as dehumanisation.

The Media

I firmly believe that our media needs to take a long, hard look at itself.

Professor Arday was subjected to an extraordinary level of public scrutiny. NEWSCORD has catalogued 249 articles published about him over a period of just 22 days.

Think about that… Two hundred and forty-nine articles… Twenty-two days…

Front pages and headlines are not produced in a vacuum. Editors decide which stories deserve repeated attention. Algorithms reward outrage and engagement. Audiences click, share, comment and search for the next revelation.

Collectively, a human being can become content.

Whatever the rights and wrongs of the allegations against Professor Arday, we must be able to ask whether this level and intensity of scrutiny was proportionate and in the public interest.

We must also be prepared to ask another, more uncomfortable question:

Would everybody have been subjected to the same scrutiny?

This is where it is important that we need to acknowledge and talk about racism.

If we cast our memories back to 1993 when Stephen Lawrence was murdered, there was public outcry at the time about the wrongdoing. The media focused on the individuals and the institutions who were in the wrong to ensure that they were held to account. This led to a lengthy investigation and the publication of the Macpherson Report in 1999. It famously concluded that the Metropolitan Police investigation failed due to “institutional racism,” professional incompetence, and a lack of leadership.

I am curious who will be holding to account the individuals and institutions who are collectively responsible for Professor Arday’s death. I wonder who will drive this justice forward for him and for his family.

Racism, Scrutiny and the Invisible Weight

Racism has severe consequences.

It is not always a racial slur or an explicitly discriminatory act. It can operate through systems, cultures, expectations and patterns of behaviour. It can shape who is presumed competent, who is given the benefit of the doubt, who is scrutinised most intensely, whose mistakes are survivable and whose mistakes become defining.

Professor Arday’s death has prompted many Black academics, educators and leaders to speak publicly about the racialised nature of scrutiny and the invisible weight of occupying spaces in which people like them remain underrepresented.

That invisible weight matters:

The weight of representation.
The weight of being “the first”.
The weight of knowing that your success may be treated as evidence of progress while your mistakes may be used as evidence against an entire agenda for equality.
The weight of wondering whether you will be afforded the same grace as others.
The weight of having to be resilient again and again and again.

Racism creates trauma. The cumulative experience of racism can affect mental health, physical health which in turn impacts individual levels of confidence, trust, safety, hope and belonging.

We cannot discuss what happened to Professor Arday without being willing to discuss that context.

In His Own Words

A few weeks ago, I signed the Good Law Project’s Solidarity Letter supporting Professor Arday.

On 5 August, as a signatory I received a personal update from him confirming that he had resigned from his position at the University of Cambridge.

He reflected on becoming the youngest Black professor in Cambridge’s history, something he said he could scarcely have imagined as a child growing up with autism and not speaking until he was 11.

More significantly, he described the personal impact of the scrutiny he was experiencing. He wrote of the “profound toll” the accusations, speculation and public commentary had taken on him and those he loved.

And then came the sentence that, reading it again now, feels particularly heart-breaking: “But there comes a point when the personal cost becomes too great.”

He spoke about wanting to be present for his family. He wanted peace… privacy… an ordinary life. He no longer wanted to live under a constant spotlight in which every aspect of his life was subjected to public examination and judgement.

I think we should sit with those words. Sit with that discomfort. Sit with the knowledge that his Black Excellence had led to such significant personal harm.

Institutional Racism

The Macpherson Report famously described institutional racism as the collective failure of an organisation to provide an appropriate and professional service because of someone’s colour, culture or ethnic origin, manifested through processes, attitudes and behaviours that disadvantage minority ethnic people.

Sivanandan, A. Director, Institute of Race Relations, described institutional racism as racism residing, overtly or covertly, within the policies, procedures, operations and cultures of institutions.

These definitions matter because they remind us, as The Commission for Racial Equality stated, that racism does not require an individual person to consciously decide to behave in a racist way.

We need to look at patterns, processes, cultures and consequences.

We need to ask the hard questions about who currently benefits from our systems:

Who is harmed by them?
Who is protected?
Who is exposed?
Who is believed?
Who is given grace?
And who is required to demonstrate exceptional resilience merely to remain in the room?

A lens I emphasise in our Belonging Effect DEIB training is that our focus should be on the impact instead of the intention of our words, behaviours and actions.

There is not an individual who is solely responsible for Professor Arday’s death, there are many people with his blood on their hands.

Representation Matters, but Representation Is Not Enough

Success does not insulate Black professionals from racism, hostility or harassment. In fact, sometimes increased visibility can make the scrutiny greater.

For people of colour occupying significant positions, there can be an invisible mental load attached to being highly visible and underrepresented: the fear of getting something wrong, of being judged more harshly, of being expected to represent more than yourself, or of discovering how precarious acceptance can become when something goes wrong.

That burden must be recognised because representation alone is not inclusion.

Representation without protection is not inclusion.

Visibility without psychological safety is not belonging.

And celebrating someone’s resilience while ignoring what requires them to be resilient in the first place is not progress.

Institutional Responsibility

Universities and the media need to take a long, hard look in the mirror.

It is not enough for institutions to recruit diverse talent, celebrate “firsts”, publish photographs, announce appointments and point to representation as evidence of progress.

Institutions have a responsibility to the human beings behind those achievements:

What happens when they become vulnerable?

Who protects them when scrutiny becomes overwhelming?

Who notices when accountability becomes humiliation?

Who intervenes when criticism becomes harassment?

Who considers the cumulative impact of racism, ableism, classism and public scrutiny?

Who safeguards the person while the process takes place?

We need to lead institutions where people do not have to become exceptionally resilient simply to survive them.

Professor Jason Arday’s death should not become another moment of collective grief followed by institutional silence.

I think it is important to remember that we can hold two things at once:

We can believe in academic integrity and humanity.
We can believe in accountability and proportionality.
We can believe in scrutiny and dignity.
We can ask legitimate questions about someone’s work without forgetting that there is a human being answering them.

And we can acknowledge that racism does not have to be the only factor operating in a situation for us to examine seriously how race shaped what happened.

My thoughts are with Professor Arday’s family, friends, colleagues and all those mourning him. I have discovered in the last 24 hrs how many of my network were connected to him and have been impacted by his death.

May he rest in peace. May we learn from this tragic loss.

Read, Reflect and Act

Read and engage with the reflections being shared across our network and wider community, including those from: Adam Vasco, Caroline Keep, Chantelle Haughton, Clive Lawrence, Domini Choudhury, Patrick Cozier, Shammi Rahman, The Black Curriculum.

Read Broken Ladders from The Runnymede Trust and consider what the evidence tells us about racism and the experiences of people of colour within UK academia.

Follow, listen to and engage with organisations campaigning for racial equity and racial justice, including: 100 Black Professors, 100 Black Headteachers, Aspiring Heads, BAMEed, DARPL, Everyday Racism, REND, The Black Curriculum and The Runnymede Trust. (Lots of these orgs are listed in our DEIB Directory).

Consider filing a complaint against the media outlets that printed endless stories about Professor Jason Arday.

Consider donating to the GoFundMe page set up by Professor Sir Patrick Vernon OBE FrHistS – ‘In Memory of Dr Jason Atta Kwei Arday: Supporting His Family’.

Most importantly, do not let this conversation disappear when the headlines do.

Racism has consequences. Institutional responsibility matters. Our shared humanity matters.

What start of term rituals and routines can educators create in our classrooms to centre student belonging?

Written by Hannah Wilson

Founder and Director of the Belonging Effect (formerly Diverse Educators).

Belonging is what students feel. Mattering is what students believe about their value to others.

A student can feel accepted but still wonder whether anyone would notice if they were absent.

True inclusion is when students know:

I am welcome here.
I am known here.
I am valued here.
I contribute here.
I make a difference here.

So as we plan to set up our new classrooms and meet our new students at the start of a new academic year, what should we be intentionally planning and consciously considering to ensure that we centre belonging and mattering at the heart of our learning environments?

Theme 1: Look from the outside in

The most powerful question educators can ask at the start of the academic year is not “What do I want my classroom to be?” but “What does it feel like to be a student walking into this classroom for the very first time?”

Belonging begins with perspective-taking. For some learners, the first day is exciting. For others, it is filled with uncertainty, anxiety or the question, “Will I fit in here?” Looking from the outside in encourages educators to notice the small moments that communicate whether students are welcome, valued and safe before a single lesson begins.

Theme 2: Safety creates the conditions for growth

Students bring with them the seeds of who they are – their strengths, hopes, identities and experiences. The role of the school is to cultivate those seeds.

This means creating an environment where students feel physically, psychologically and emotionally safe. It is about setting clear expectations alongside compassionate relationships. Like a safety net beneath a tightrope, boundaries do not restrict students; they give them the confidence to explore, take risks, make mistakes and discover who they are becoming.

When students know they will be supported if they stumble, they are far more willing to participate, lead, question and learn.

Theme 3: Belonging grows through contribution

Belonging is not something educators simply give to students. It develops when students have meaningful opportunities to shape their community.

Leadership roles, student voice, peer mentoring, classroom responsibilities and collaborative decision-making all communicate a powerful message:

“You are not just part of this school – you help make this school what it is.”

Feeling heard is just as important as being listened to.

Theme 4: Students need to see themselves

Creating belonging is also about what students encounter every day through the curriculum.

The books on the shelves, the scientists, authors and historians studied, the case studies, examples, photographs and research all send messages about who matters.

When diversity is woven naturally throughout learning – not reserved for awareness days or special events – it communicates that different ethnicities, religions, family structures, genders, abilities and lived experiences are an ordinary and valued part of society.

Representation tells students: “People like me belong here too.”

Theme 5: Know the learner behind the learner

Relationships remain the foundation of belonging.

Learn names and pronounce them correctly. Show genuine curiosity about students beyond their attainment or behaviour. Ask about their interests, aspirations, cultures and lived experiences – and keep asking.

Students quickly recognise the difference between being known and simply being managed.

When educators remain interested throughout the year, they communicate one of the strongest messages of mattering:

“I see you, and you matter to me.”

Theme 6: Build belonging together

One practical way to establish this culture from day one is to create a class agreement or class contract collaboratively.

Rather than presenting a list of rules, invite students to explore questions such as:

How do we want everyone to feel in this classroom?

What helps us learn best?

What behaviours create belonging?

How will we respond when mistakes happen?

What responsibilities do we all share?

Co-creating expectations fosters ownership, accountability and mutual respect from the outset.

Final Thoughts

Perhaps the greatest gift educators can give at the beginning of the academic year is not a perfectly organised classroom or an engaging first lesson – it is the certainty that every student belongs and matters.

Belonging does not happen by chance. Mattering is not left to luck. They are cultivated through thousands of intentional moments: a smile at the classroom door, a correctly pronounced name, a curriculum that reflects the richness of our communities, an invitation to contribute, a conversation that says: “Tell me about you.”

Students flourish in environments where they feel safe enough to be themselves, valued enough to contribute, and supported enough to grow. Every interaction, every curriculum choice, every relationship and every opportunity for student voice helps create that culture.

The question is not simply: “Do our students belong?”

The more important question is: “What are we intentionally doing every day to ensure every student knows they belong – and that they matter?”

Recommended Reading:

If you would like to explore the evidence behind belonging and mattering in greater depth, these are two excellent places to start: