Whose Values Are They Anyway?
Written by Adrian McLean
Ambassador of Character, Executive Headteacher, TEDx Speaker, BE Associate Trainer & Coach, Governors for Schools Trustee, Positive Disruptor
This blog is based on a provocation I gave to the Practical Wisdom Network to the question of “Whose values are they anyway?” I approach the provocation through the character lens of practical wisdom.
Walk into any school or scroll through a Multi-Academy Trust’s website, and you’ll see them: Respect, Aspiration, Ambition, Integrity, Courage. Neatly framed, laminated and polished like a branding exercise.
But a question should haunt us: Whose values are they anyway? Who decided that these specific words should shape the daily culture, decisions and futures of an entire community? To answer this, we need to understand the difference between values and virtues and, most importantly, the practice of practical wisdom.
Practical wisdom isn’t just book smarts; it’s life smarts. It’s the ability to do the right thing, at the right time, in the right way, balancing rules with humanity. It’s the skill of making good decisions in messy, real-life situations – choosing what’s good, right, and true, not just what the rulebook says.
Values are the principles we declare we hold, like claiming to value our health. But virtues are the habits that make those values real. If health is the value, then virtues like self-discipline, perseverance, and temperance are what turn it into a daily practice. Self-discipline is choosing a walk over crashing out on the sofa; perseverance is showing up to the gym on the days you just don’t feel like it; temperance is enjoying food without swinging into excess. Put simply: values are what we say, but virtues are how we live, especially when it’s difficult.
Who Decides?
In practice, values are almost always handed down. A trust board. A group of senior leaders. Sometimes, one headteacher with a vision. But how often do we invite students, families, or associate staff into the process? How often do we open the doors to the community whose children will live with the weight of these words? Too rarely. Values are often written in a room by people who will not face their consequences. If that doesn’t unsettle us, it should.
Take, for example, “British Values.” They didn’t emerge from a national conversation; they were written into statutory guidance in 2014 following the “Trojan Horse” affair in Birmingham schools; a moment laced with political anxiety about extremism, identity and belonging. They were less the fruit of civic reflection and more a defensive assertion of national identity.
When one-size-fits-all national values are imposed on a plural, multicultural nation, the risk is that they flatten nuance and erase lived realities.
- What does “democracy” mean to a young person who has never seen their community represented in positions of power?
- What does “rule of law” mean to families who feel over-policed yet under-protected?
- What does “individual liberty” mean when opportunity is unevenly distributed and discrimination silently closes doors?
- What does “mutual respect and tolerance” mean when some identities are merely “put up with” (not representing the true meaning of tolerance), not celebrated or centred?
From a DEIB perspective, this is not neutral ground. British values often land less like a common commitment and more like a top-down script. Practical wisdom reminds us that to live well in community is not about repeating someone else’s script but cultivating the virtues to navigate complexity, difference and difficulty with integrity.
Values vs. Virtue
Aristotle taught that true flourishing wasn’t about abstract ideals but about virtues embodied in practice. As philosopher Alasdair MacIntyre notes, a value on the wall is just a word. A virtue lived out is a habit formed through struggle and character.
Integrity isn’t a poster; it’s the painful choice to tell the truth when it would be easier to conceal it. Empathy isn’t a slogan; it’s the practiced attention to the quiet child in the back row who carries the weight of the world. Without virtuous practice, values are just advertising, not meaning.
What’s Good, Right, and True?
Schools often claim they are places where children learn what is good, right, and true. But these words are slippery. What counts as good for one community may not for another. What is right in an affluent suburb may not be in a town hollowed out by unemployment. And truth, let’s be honest, is never neutral. Curricula are choices. Discipline policies are choices. Definitions of success are choices. Those choices reflect particular cultural and political traditions, not universal truths.
This is why DEIB cannot be an “add-on.” If our values exclude or silence the lived experiences of children from different racial, cultural, religious, or socioeconomic backgrounds, they are not values. They are exclusions dressed up in nice fonts. Belonging is not assimilation into someone else’s values; it is co-creating values that are genuinely shared.
Flourishing. Defined by Whom?
Too often, the system narrows flourishing to one measure: exam results. Grades are the currency of human worth, but here’s the paradox: the system itself is designed to prevent everyone from “succeeding.” Significant numbers of children will always be labelled “below standard” because that’s how exams are normed. The Department for Education’s media guidance is instructive:
- If results go up, its proof policy has raised standards.
- If results go down, its proof policy has raised standards.
A neat trick. But let’s be clear: nobody becomes better at maths simply by sitting a harder paper, especially if they ‘fail’ it. Yet this is the frame in which “flourishing” gets defined: harder benchmarks, narrower outcomes, national straplines.
So if flourishing is defined only by grades, or boxed into compliance with a centrally imposed set of British values, then flourishing is not about children at all. It is about alignment and fitting in. It is about living up to someone else’s story of what counts as good, right, and true.
That is not flourishing. That is conformity.
Pathways for Co-Creation
So, what is the alternative? Practical wisdom points us toward a different path:
- Co-creation with communities: Values forged through dialogue with students, parents, staff, and local voices; not handed down as final.
- Virtue in practice: Schools embedding habits of integrity, courage, empathy, and service in daily routines and structures; not as posters but as pedagogies.
- Flourishing as dignity and contribution: Schools are judged not only on exam results but on how their students leave with the capacity to live lives of meaning, purpose, and contribution to the common good.
- Local nuance, national honesty: Acknowledging that “British values” are not universal values, but one political frame; opening space for communities to shape how values are lived in their context.
The Dare
So here’s the provocation: Whose values are you really living by?
- Are they values chosen in Whitehall and laminated in your corridors?
- Are they values written in a boardroom and handed down like policy?
- Or are they values forged, tested, and lived in the daily practices of your community?
The dare is this: stop treating values as safe branding. Start treating them as dangerous commitments. Dangerous because they demand something of us. Dangerous because they unsettle power. Dangerous because they might actually make our schools places where all young people, not just the ones who fit the script, can truly flourish.
I’ll leave you with the question, not as comfort, but as a challenge:
Whose values are they anyway? Are you ready to change the answer?
Deficit Language: The Invisible Barrier We Do Not Talk About
Written by Hannah Wilson
Founder and Director of the Belonging Effect (formerly Diverse Educators).
We do not just describe people with our words – we define their possibilities. And sometimes, we unintentionally define them by what they lack. Too often, the language we use to describe communities puts the blame on individuals instead of the systems that fail them. This is what we call deficit language.
Why is Deficit Language Problematic?
As we strive to become more inclusive, we really need to consider the language we use and consider if it is a tool for inclusion or a weapon for exclusion. We choose our words to speak out loud our thoughts – language selection gives us agency and we need to be conscious about what we say and how it lands as there is often a gap between our intention and our impact.
In schools and workplaces we can fall into the trap of using deficit language to define and categorise people – it is problematic as it leads with what people are not, as opposed to leading with what they are. It highlights their barriers, instead of celebrating their strengths.
Definition: The word deficit comes from the Latin deficit meaning “it is wanting.” A deficit is characterised by the wanting of something missing – e.g. deficit (noun) is the property of being an amount by which something is less than expected or required.
How Do We Shape Intention into Impact?
When we talk about people, the words we choose matter. They do not just describe reality – they shape it. Deficit language is one of the most common, yet often overlooked, ways language reinforces stereotypes and limits opportunities.
Deficit-based language frames individuals, groups or communities in terms of what they lack rather than what they bring. It emphasises shortcomings, needs, or problems.
Asset-based language focuses on strengths, resources, and potential, using words and framing that promote dignity, confidence, and empowerment. It celebrates difference as a value-add.
Example 1:
It rattles me when I hear educators referring to people on their staff as ‘non-teachers’. This centres the voice and the experience of teachers at the expense of the support staff, the admin staff, the site staff, the catering staff who can be collectively referred to as the operations staff. To open a DEIB training session by welcoming everyone and naming who is in the room, it is both ironic and counter-intuitive, furthermore it undermines the commitment a school is striving to make, when the impact of the language contradicts the intention.
There is nothing ‘non’ about working in a school and being in the majority of the staff who are not the teachers.
Example 2:
It frustrates me when I hear people refer to others as ‘non-English speaking’. This assumes that everyone around the world speaks English and that there is a hierarchy of language. It makes the EAL learner or the multilingual family the problem and negates the value speaking a different language has.
There is nothing ‘non’ about being a linguist and being able to communicate in multiple languages.
Example 3:
It jars me when I hear people refer to others with a darker skin tone as ‘non-whites’. To me this smacks of racial segregation and categorisation. I can’t imagine anyone ever saying can the ‘non-boys’ come over here, or can the ‘non-parents’ go over there? It would get a reaction as it explicitly reduces people and erases their identity.
There is nothing ‘non’ about being racialised as being black, brown or biracial and belonging to the global majority.
Example 4:
It infuriates me on a personal level when people refer to me as being ‘non-married’ and a ‘non-parent’ or childless. This defines me by what I am not instead of what I am. It carries judgment about my lifestyle and my life choices. I am in fact very happy being ‘partner-free’ and ‘child-free’.
There is nothing ‘non’ about being independent, autonomous and self-sufficient.
Why is Deficit Language Harmful?
- It Perpetuates Stereotypes: Deficit framing positions people – especially marginalized communities – as inherently lacking. This reinforces harmful biases rather than dismantling them.
- It Shifts Blame to Individuals: Instead of addressing structural inequities (like underfunded schools, discriminatory hiring, or systemic racism), deficit language makes individuals appear responsible for circumstances beyond their control.
- It Limits Opportunities: Words influence perception. When people are described in deficit terms, decision-makers (teachers, employers, policymakers) may unconsciously lower expectations or overlook talent.
- It Shapes Identity: People internalise how they are described. Constantly hearing deficit-based narratives can impact self-esteem, confidence, and the way individuals see their own potential.
How Do We Move Beyond Deficit Language?
- We shift from “what’s wrong” to “what’s strong” – by replacing reductive phrases and by choosing our words more carefully.
- We highlight agency and resilience – by acknowledging the challenges people face, but also their strengths in navigating them.
- We name systems, not individuals – by focusing on the problem itself instead of focusing on the person who is facing the problem.
- We ask communities how they want to be described – by respecting that self-identification is key so we need to listen, unlearn and re-learn the language that we use.
The Bigger Picture
Moving away from deficit language is not about being “politically correct.” It is about shifting narratives to more accurately reflect reality, challenge harmful assumptions, and honour the dignity and resilience of individuals and communities.
When we change our words, we begin to change the systems they uphold. Asset-based language celebrates the value that difference brings, whereas deficit-based language puts the problem onto the person and others them.
This approach involves shifting the narrative from problems to opportunities, particularly in fields like education and social services, by recognising and valuing individual and community assets to achieve positive and equitable outcomes.
So as everyone strives to articulate their DEIB commitment, as we become more conscious of who we are and our own lived experience – can we please become more confident in modelling inclusive language and more competent in calling in and calling out language that diminishes others?
What Inclusion means depends on where you are standing…
Written by Michelle Sakande
Michelle Sakande is an Inclusion Specialist, consultant, speaker and the author of Jude the Giant. She is currently the SENDCo at the Arbor School, Dubai. Michelle works across the UAE and Africa to support schools, communities, and policymakers in building equitable education systems. With expertise in special educational needs, assistive technology and inclusive literacy, she blends research-driven strategies with authentic storytelling to inspire change.
Inclusion is one of those words we all use, but we rarely define it the same way. In some parts of the world, inclusion means a child with autism sits in the same classroom as their peers. In others, it means a child simply has access to any education, regardless of ability. For some, it means policy. For others, it’s a prayer or a wish.
The truth? Inclusion isn’t a checklist; it’s a cultural conversation. But depending on where the soil, sand, grass or pavement you’re standing on is, that conversation sounds very different.
Inclusion in Context, A Global Mosaic
In Ghana, a child with learning differences may never be assessed or diagnosed. According to UNICEF, only 8% of children with disabilities attend school regularly and most teachers receive little to no training on neurodiversity. Cultural stigma plays a role too, especially as some families still hide their children due to fear or shame. Here, inclusion often starts not in the classroom, but in the mindset of the community. Across Africa, resources can be stretched, but innovation thrives. In Kenya, low-cost assistive tech is reforming access. In Nigeria, mother led advocacy groups are raising awareness. Still, inclusion is often treated as a charitable act, not a right.
Contrast that with Finland, which is consistently ranked one of the most inclusive education systems in the world. There, early screening, flexible curricula and a zero-stigma approach allows students to receive support before they fall behind. Around 32% of Finnish students receive special education services at some point, not because they’re failing, but because the system adapts to them.
In Singapore, inclusion is more structured, but highly academic. Neurodivergent students may attend special schools or units within mainstream ones. There’s investment, but still a strong cultural preference for high performance, which can leave some children feeling excluded within an ‘inclusive’ system. And in Japan, progress is slow but steady. A 2022 survey showed that only 13% of schools had fulltime special needs support teachers, although social awareness is rising because of advocacy by parents and NGOs.
Even in the UAE, where huge strides have been made in inclusive policy, implementation varies drastically from one school to another. There’s an appetite for change, but real inclusion can’t thrive without systemic accountability and sustained cultural sensitivity.
What does this mean for neurodivergent students?
For neurodivergent students, the definition of inclusion is often felt in small moments:
Is my difference seen as a deficit or a gift?
Am I supported to thrive, or just to survive?
Do I belong here or am I being tolerated?
What is inclusive in Finland may feel isolating in Ghana. What is normalized in Tokyo may be stigmatized in Accra. There is no one size fits all. But there is a shared goal: dignity, access and belonging.
So… What is Inclusion?
Inclusion is the right to participate fully in life at your own pace, with the support you need and the freedom to be your full self. It must be rooted in context, culture and care. It must be flexible enough to honour difference and firm enough to insist on equity. It’s important not to export models that don’t translate… Listen deeply, learn locally and lead with humanity. Because true inclusion doesn’t start with policy. It starts with people.
Ten years of ‘No Outsiders’ assemblies: driving inclusion at a whole school level
Written by Andrew Moffat
Andrew Moffat has been teaching for 25 years and is currently PD Lead at Excelsior MAT. He is the author of “No Outsiders in our school: Teaching the Equality Act in Primary Schools” and “No Outsiders: everyone different, everyone welcome”. In 2017 Andrew was awarded a MBE for services to equality and diversity in education and in 2019 he was listed as a top ten finalist in the Varkey Foundation Global Teacher Prize.
No Outsiders assemblies are 10 years old this month! Hooray! This is amazing – it’s gone by in a flash and I can remember each one like it was only yesterday … all 693 of them and with over 300,000 views.
The point of a No Outsiders assembly is to make the ethos real. The No Outsiders scheme is based on 43 picture books with a progression of lesson plans written for children in Reception to Year 6. The picture books are great; I’m using some wonderful authors and classic reads in there. Some of the picture books are based on real life stories, but it’s still different to discussing a photo taken of a real person in the last week.
I realized in the early days of introducing the scheme in my school, that the lesson plans were not enough. You can’t build a whole school ethos on 6 lesson plans in each year group spread over the year; you need a weekly inclusion injection. Assemblies are the way to do this – everyone together discussing and driving the inclusive narrative. My aim was to find interesting current pictures to discuss with children and find ways to reach a ‘No Outsiders’ conclusion: “That’s why we say there are no outsiders here- everyone is welcome.” The assemblies became a key driver in our effort to develop the inclusive language and understanding. Everyone attended the weekly assemblies, and I encouraged staff to comment and relate to their own experiences in front of the children. Furthermore, as all the teachers were in the assembly, they would be referencing it throughout the week with their class.
I was worried when I first started doing the assemblies that we were summarising with the same sort of conclusion every week and I was reflecting whether children might get bored and start blandly replying, “No Outsiders” to every question, but it never happened. Even so, I started thinking about better questions and discussions; foster empathy skills and critical thinking; get a debate going with the children- ‘why does that person think that?’ and give them space to consider new and different ideas to their own.
Oracy changed everything. I remember attending an oracy inset at my school in about 2021 and it was a game changer. The oracy lead at the time suggested we worked together and used No Outsiders assemblies to teach oracy and it was a perfect solution to both our aims.
The aim in oracy is to teach children to speak; to use sentence stems and articulate their feelings; to agree and disagree. Disagreeing is ok as long as you disagree respectfully. This was key for No Outsiders because I could put in to practice this idea that different opinions were ok as long as you voiced them with respect and non-judgement. The ability to hold two points of view and balance opinions has always been central to a no outsiders ethos- I’m not teaching children what to think; rather I am teaching children to think. Now, using oracy, I had strategies and literally scripts (sentence stems) that I could use to encourage children to see other points of view and articulate those points of view in a reasoned manner, without necessarily agreeing with those points of view.
The first No Outsiders assembly was published on June 27th 2015. Looking back at my first attempt., it’s very different to the No Outsiders assemblies I am publishing today. It’s short, there are few questions and there is no attempt at recognising different points of view. Still, it’s a good first attempt and interesting to see how far we have come since June 2015.
Here it is (June 27th 2015): https://no-outsiders-assembly.blogspot.com/2015/06/assembly-picture-1-british-values.html
The picture shows a hand holding an old photo at chest height of an army squad. The focus is on the photo and the medals pinned to the jacket of the person holding up the photo. We can’t see their face.
Our activity:
Sword Beach, France Normandy veteran Alan King, from the Norwich and District NVA, holds a photo of himself (front second left) and his comrades from B Company taken on VE Day 1945, as dozens of British veterans made a cross-Channel pilgrimage to Normandy to honour the legacy of comrades killed in the D-Day landings 71 years ago. Photograph: Jonathan Brady/PA
- Who is this man?
- Why does he wear medals?
- Who do you think is in the photo he holds?
- What happened on June 6th 1944?
- Why does Alan King want this photo to be seen?
- What do you think are his feelings about that time?
The obvious change over the last 10 years is the development of questions. I would still use the photo today but if I were writing this assembly in 2025, the questioning would be completely different. Here’s a plan using the same picture but ten years on. The questions to ask the children use italics.
Our activity:
- What do you see in the picture? What do you think this story is about?
- There are two pictures here, how do you think they are related?
The photo shows Alan King who is a France Normandy Veteran.
- What is a Veteran?
- What does “France Normandy” mean – what famous event happened on the beaches at Normandy in WW2?
Alan holds a picture showing his comrades, taken on VE day in 1945. Alan is in the picture on the front row, second left.
- Why do you think Alan is holding this picture?
- What is VE day, what does it stand for and what happened on that day?
- We can’t see Alan’s face in the photo today; we just see his medals and the old Alan in the photo he holds. Why do you think the photographer chose to do this?
- Do you think the photographer should have sown Alan’s face? What are the arguments for and against this decision?
This photo of Alan was taken in 2015 as dozens of veterans crossed the English channel to Normandy to honour the legacy of comrades killed in the D-Day landings on June 6th 1944.
- What were the D-Day landings, what happened on that day?
- Why do you think veterans chose to make the crossing again 71 years later?
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- On the day in 1944 how many people do you think were involved in the crossing? (there were 175,000 soldiers involved.) Why only dozens today?
- Why do we still remember that time when it was so long ago? Why not forget about it?
- What can we learn from Alan?
- Why is this about No Outsiders?
- Which British value is this about?
I love the questions about the focus of the image- why can’t we see Alan’s face? This is a great debate, and we can encourage pupils to think about and articulate both sides of the argument using sentence stems such as:
- “I would like to start by saying…”
- “I can see both sides: on the one hand, ___________, on the other…”
- “One argument might be…”
- “Building on…”
- “That’s an interesting point, have you thought about…”
Today I always end my assemblies with the two questions, “Why is this about No Outsiders?” and, “Which British value is this about?” to ground the discussion in our school and link it back to the experience of the children in school.
So, how should I finish this ten year anniversary blog post? It can only be to choose 5 of my favourite assemblies. It’s an impossible task to choose 5 out of over 500 so I will select 5 assemblies that reflected key events at the time. A key strength of these assemblies is I can write them quickly in response to any news event that I think schools need to talk about. I can respond right away, and schools can use the resource the next day.
1 – The death of Queen Elizabeth II
The photo shows thousands of people congregating outside Buckingham Palace.
I struggled at first to think of an angle that linked to No Outsiders and then when commentators kept referring to the stability and constant presence that the Queen represented in their lives, I realised my focus could be on how equality laws and attitudes have changed while she was on the throne and also how people from different backgrounds felt the same way about her. This assembly is by far the most viewed assembly of the last ten years. https://no-outsiders-assembly.blogspot.com/2022/09/queen-elizabeth-ii-1926-2022.html
I did meet the Queen in 2017 when I received a MBE. I had about one minute with her, and she asked what I did in school. I told her what No Outsiders was aiming for and how we taught it in schools – I got in the protected characteristics and British Values! I think she didn’t quite know what to say at first and my boyfriend in the audience who was watching said you could see her concentrating and thinking of a reply. Then she said, “Very important for all our futures, I should think.”
2 – England losing the Euros final 2024
The photo shows Gareth Southgate in a kit on a pitch cheering. The impression is he has just scored a goal.
The Euro final between England and Spain was held on a Sunday evening in July 2024 and I knew that the game was going to be the only topic of conversation in school the next day. It had to be the theme for the Monday morning assembly, but I didn’t want to be writing an assembly at 10:00 on a Sunday evening about the result. I needed an assembly that could be used in schools the next day regardless of the result.
I found a fantastic article on radio 4 about Gareth Southgate and a speech he gives to the players in the changing room before every match. In the speech, Gareth talks about what it means to be English and about Pride in the game. He also says this:
“I am the England men’s football team manager. I have a responsibility to the wider community to use my voice and so do the players. It’s their duty to interact with the public on matters such as equality, inclusivity, racial injustice, while using the power of their voices to help put debates on the table; to raise awareness and educate.”
A Head teacher contacted me after using this assembly to say it visibly lifted the children on Monday morning after they came in despondent and disappointed because of the result. That was exactly the response I hope for. This assembly became the third most viewed of the ten years.
3 – General elections
The photo shows Prime Minister Theresa May standing alongside Lord Bucket Head at the count in her constituency for the general election.
General elections give us a wonderful opportunity to talk about British values and this picture from 2017 says it all. It’s a perfect vehicle to get children discussing democracy and how it works.
The assembly also referenced Mr Fish Finger who stood in Westmorland and Lonsdale. Questions to consider included:
- 37,469 more people voted for Theresa May than voted for Lord Buckethead; why?
- Do you think Lord Buckethead and Mr Fishfinger wanted to win?
- Why do you think Mr Fishfinger and Lord Buckethead stood for election?
- Some people voted for either Mr Fishfinger or Lord Buckethead. Did their votes count? Why?
- Should Lord Buckethead and Mr Fishfinger be allowed to take part in elections? What would happen if they won?
- What does this story demonstrate about democracy in the UK?
- Why is this about No Outsiders?
4 – Fish and Chips
The photo shows Gary Lineker in a cafe tucking in to a plate of fish and chips.
When the horrific violence against refugees erupted last summer in Southport and across the country, I published assemblies for schools to use when they returned in September. In the autumn term 2024 I was invited by a school in Southport to deliver No Outsiders training to their staff. Five other local schools joined the training and the local police also came.
This assembly was a direct response to any voices arguing refugees are not welcome, by making clear how England has benefitted from refugees. In a short video, Gary Lineker celebrates National Fish and Chip day, by asking where all the food on his plate originates.
I recently asked the Head Teacher of the school where I delivered training to reflect on the impact of that training a year later and here is his response:
“The No Outsiders programme has had a huge impact at our school. The assemblies are fresh, relevant and provide wonderful opportunities for interactive assemblies that cover vital issues. In addition, the units of work for classrooms provide a depth of discussion that has really improved provision at our school. The programme has been embraced by the whole school community and is one of the most positive things we have undertaken in the last few years.”
5 – Start of a school year
The photo shows a sky dive formation involving 113 people making a flower shape in the sky.
The most re-used assembly of the last ten years has placed this one as the second most viewed overall. It’s perfect for the first assembly of a new school year. I find small ways to update it every time I repost, but the essence remains the same. It uses a photo of a world record flower formation skydive performed by an international crew and asks what is the impact when people of different nationality, gender, religion etc work together. Why don’t all the black sky divers stay together, and the white sky divers stay together? The flower formation took 13 attempts to get right; why didn’t they give up after 5?
There’s also a lone figure top left who is not part of the formation – who are they, what are they doing? What do you think people are shouting to them? My most recent update included questions about how the photo was taken- from what angle and form where? And how long would the divers have to make the formation? What can we learn from them?
https://ks1no-outsiders-assembly.blogspot.com/2024/09/start-of-school-year.html
I want to say thank you to anyone who has used a No Outsiders assembly over the last ten years and also to anyone who has got in touch to give feedback. I can’t see a time when I won’t be writing and publishing these assemblies; I think I’ll be writing them long after I am retired! The assemblies still give me joy both to write and deliver, and when things get challenging in the world outside, they give me hope. These assemblies are my way of saying “It’s going to be ok – we can get through this together. Together we are strong.”
Here’s to the next ten years. Cheers!
Signposting:
No Outsiders assemblies are published weekly free to access on the No Outsiders website www.no-outsiders.com
Andrew Moffat also sends assemblies in powerpoint form to schools on a mailing list each week. To join the free mailing list and receive the power points, contact Andrew on his school email a.moffat@excelsiormat.org
To Belong Is Not Enough: Why We Must Move Towards Mattering
Written by Mohamed Abdallah
With almost two decades of experience, Mohamed started his journey in youth work and pupil referral units before spearheading groundbreaking inclusive practices and systems as a leader in an 'Outstanding' all-through mainstream school. Driven by a relentless commitment to positive change, Mohamed now dedicates his efforts to collaborating with school leaders across the nation as the Head of the Inclusive Leadership Course at The Difference.
“No one would care if I weren’t here.”
I can remember the words hitting me hard. As Designated Safeguarding Lead there were immediate red flags, but on a human level it broke my heart.
100% attendance, great progress, and never in trouble. On paper he belonged – but in reality he thought nobody cared.
Across the country, I hear the language of belonging increasingly referenced in discussions about student engagement, wellbeing, and success. And I welcome it. It’s a refreshing shift in our narrative about the student experience.
Still, something didn’t feel right. Then, it clicked.
It is not enough to simply belong; you should also matter.
My experience has shown me that a student can belong to a school community without ever feeling that their presence or contributions truly matter. A friend recently shared a US study with me that revealed a surprising finding: a sense of ‘belonging’ to a school community did not significantly affect academic performance. But instead there were other factors that determined success, such as participation and self regulated learning.
Think about it this way: You belong to a gym, but do the regulars know your name? You belong to a workplace, but do your ideas shape the way things are done? You belong to a school, but when you are absent, is there a noticeable void?
Mattering is more than belonging to a place or a community; it is about your significance.
One of the most prominent academic advocates for mattering is the US community psychologist Isaac Prilleltensky. He argues that developing a strong sense of mattering depends on two things: feeling you are valued, and feeling that you add value – whether that be within your workplace, your community, your family, or your friendship group. In the UK, my good friend Luke Billingham has been one of the most influential thinkers and writers on young people and mattering.
The Three Components of Mattering in Schools
After multiple voice notes back and forth, Luke and I sat down to discuss this matter (see what I did there!), and we asked:
If a student stopped coming to school tomorrow, would they feel like their absence was noticed?
Does every student have positive and affirming relationships with peers and at least one adult?
Are students actively shaping the school environment, or are they simply complying with expectations?
These questions helped us think more deeply about mattering. Of course, students should belong. But would we be satisfied as school leaders with 100% attendance, high attainment, and zero suspensions, yet students still told us, “No one would care if I weren’t here”?
They should feel they matter.
Reflecting on our experiences in different schools, Luke and I identified some key factors which we think enable students to develop mattering; Voice, Relationships, and Participation.
- Voice: Too often, schools claim to prioritise student voice while keeping real decision-making at the leadership level. But voice is not just about being heard. Schools must embed student experience and perspectives into decision-making, not just through surveys, but by creating opportunities for meaningful dialogue and change. Even when student perspectives challenge us, they offer uncomfortable truths we must engage with. When students see their input shape school culture, they matter.
- Relationships: A student might belong to a school, but do they have relationships that affirm their worth? Schools could cultivate opportunities for positive peer relationships to create strong social bonds, and to ensure every student has at least one trusted adult. Relationships built on trust and recognition, and environments where students feel valued and connected.
- Participation: Mattering isn’t just about feeling noticed, it’s about feeling needed. Students need opportunities to contribute meaningfully to their school communities. This goes beyond enrichment clubs; it means ensuring that students are actively shaping their environments. Whether through student-led campaigns, or engaging with the local community, authentic participation allows students to see their impact.
Why Mattering Matters for Inclusion
I worry that belonging is being used as a catch-all solution for inclusion, or dare I say it, a form of soft inclusion. For many students from marginalised backgrounds, belonging can feel conditional. They may be required to turn up, but do they feel like their presence and identity are essential? Do they see themselves reflected in the curriculum? Are their voices shaping school systems? Are their experiences acknowledged and valued?
Mattering addresses these questions by ensuring that students are not just included, but recognised as integral members of their schools. For students from underrepresented backgrounds, the feeling of mattering can be a protective factor against marginalisation and disengagement.
If we stop at belonging, we risk creating schools where students exist but don’t thrive, they comply but are disengaged, are included but unseen. The real challenge for schools isn’t just inclusion. It’s significance. Instead of asking, ‘Do our students belong?’ ask, ‘Do they know they matter?’
I Am Not Afraid
Written by Rachida Dahman
Rachida Dahman is an international educator, a language and literature teacher, and an educational innovator. She started her career in Germany as a teacher trainer advocating the importance of relationships above academics. She then moved to Luxembourg where she teaches German language and literature classes to middle and high school students. She is an award-winning poet, co-author of the best-selling book, ATLAS DER ENTSCHEIDER Entscheiden wie die Profis- Dynamik, Komplexität und Stress meistern.
School hallways are noisy. So much simmers in those corridors during breaks, and even more seems to ferment in teachers’ lounges, in the spaces of our schools as a whole. One might call it a festival of unresolved relationships, one that struggles to keep pace with the relentless pressure of coexistence, confrontation, and interdependence. By the end of a school day, we often stand slightly hunched, worn out, with restless legs that refuse to find stillness.
Amid this disorder, schools often become arenas of fear, environments where anxieties are not merely tolerated but systematically nurtured. These fears dance unseen and unchecked while the guardians of order, the teachers and educational institutions stand by as mere spectators. But what if this breeding ground of fear is not simply the result of carelessness or overwhelm, but rather the consequence of constant monitoring, control, and evaluation?
In my own school days, things were not so different. Students were expected to know little, challenge nothing, provoke no one, and certainly not disrupt. Teachers, on the other hand, constantly provoked, carried their small scandals into the school and sometimes even into the classroom. They unsettled us, and when we went home after school, we had little to report. Math, German, English, sports—subjects isolated from one another. Even the teachers lacked unity; how could the subjects possibly converse?
I remember a history teacher who filled gaps in knowledge with half-truths about controversial topics, as though he were a chronicler from another era. His stories brought the past to life, yet within the fog of his legends, the facts remained hidden. In math class, so-called wisdom from “great thinkers” was often reduced to hollow phrases—”Einstein probably said something like this.” These words sounded clever but were no more than glittering packages. In physics, correlation was sold as causation, “The moon and bad weather? That can’t be a coincidence!” Stereotypes were used so liberally that distinguishing between reality and fiction became a challenge.
In sports, fear was a constant companion. Our physical education teacher constructed scenarios of dread, “No training? That could lead to serious long-term damage!” The art teacher presented false dichotomies: “Either you draw like Van Gogh, or not at all.” Where were the nuances? Where was the space for creativity and individual thought? The music teacher, meanwhile, sought constant excuses to shield herself from constructive criticism: “It sounded fine, didn’t it? The acoustics were just bad.” The pursuit of excellence seemed replaced by a need for approval.
Parents observed this strange game, unfolding beyond grades and lesson plans, a struggle for “the best” for their children, though it was unclear what that even meant anymore. The best opportunities, the greatest potential, the most tailored support, concepts they discussed without ever fully grasping, haunted by the question of how much of their desires were genuine and how much were projections of societal expectations.
Children sensed what adults dared not articulate — that this was as much about demands as it was about support. What simmered here weighed on all of us, a pervasive burden whose origins no one could pinpoint but whose presence was undeniable.
This was a time when sports and music icons of the 1990s sparked cultural revolutions. With their bold hairstyles and extraordinary performances, they left powerful impressions that extended far beyond their fields. They influenced not only fashion and trends but also the values and norms of an entire generation, embodying success, individuality, and determination. Yet the school corridors simmered. A cacophony of invisible tensions echoed between the walls, while the daily routines left unspoken feelings like a tangled web between teachers, students, and parents.
Parents understand that children learn as much about social dynamics in school as they do about academic content. The lessons taught in classrooms are only a fraction of the school’s essence. It is the interpersonal relationships and encounters that leave lasting imprints, shaping self-worth. Sadly, this invisible yet essential layer often remains untouched and unformed. Students seem to be molded into compliant chess pieces in the game of knowledge dissemination. But what of their independence, their ability to express themselves, their courage to be authentic?
“Tell me how you speak to my child, and I will tell you who you are to them.” Language shapes our self-perception, and this is especially true in schools. The way a teacher speaks to students often reflects how they perceive their relationship with them. Are the words mere rhetorical phrases repeated out of habit, or is there genuine dialogue? Students are perceptive, quickly recognizing whether a teacher’s words make them feel valued or dismissed.
When communication is honest and direct, it creates a space where students can trust that their thoughts and feelings are welcome in school. Sadly, this is not always the case. Too often, we encounter linguistic “theater tricks,” half-truths, exaggerated dramatizations, or the subtle construction of false dichotomies, “Either you understand it, or you just don’t have what it takes.” Language, however, could serve a different purpose, reducing fear and building authentic connections.
The days of teachers as untouchable authorities, almost divine in stature, are over. This venerable role, where educators not only imparted knowledge but also moral judgments and ethical frameworks, has been increasingly supplanted by social media. Today, it is platforms and influencers, not teachers, that shape the values and norms of our students. Algorithms and digital streams dictate what is right and wrong, eroding the teacher’s role as a moral compass.
When I ask educators, “What do you think was truly happening then, and is it definitively different today?” I rarely receive a clear answer. Perhaps the point is no longer the answers but the questions themselves. Asking the right questions is a form of resistance in this era. Questions that inspire rather than inflame, that touch rather than coerce.
The fear of new technologies like artificial intelligence (AI) may be significant, but the greater threat lies in the erosion of human connections that should form the bedrock of education. True education requires profoundly personal and meaningful relationships, not just to address technological challenges but to renew and solidify the interpersonal foundations of teaching and learning.
Children are acutely sensitive to language. They are deeply aware of repetition, which is why rituals carry emotional weight. As adults, especially in classrooms, how we speak to them matters immensely. Every word, every gesture reflects what we hope for them and believe in them. Relationships cannot thrive in utter chaos; they falter when they cannot take root in fertile ground. We must create spaces where these relationships can flourish, enabling genuine connections and fostering a positive learning environment. It takes courage to step into these spaces of vulnerability and to cultivate an atmosphere where students not only learn but also experience what it means to be part of a community. Every child has the right to sovereignty over their feelings and their story, and these spaces should be defined by openness and respect.
The future of education lies in empowering these voices, breaking rigid structures, and rethinking what is possible. As educators, we must rise to the challenge of creating spaces of vulnerability where students can safely express their fears and hopes, fostering an environment where learning is not only possible but joyful. By engaging in true dialogue, we can transform the corridors of our schools from places of fear into spaces of growth and understanding.
Only then can schools become what they were meant to be, vibrant places of learning where every person, regardless of their background or history, has the opportunity to thrive and find their voice. In honoring children as autonomous beings with their own stories and inalienable emotions, we unlock the fundamental relationships that make learning meaningful and transform schools into places of deeper humanity.
What's Special About You? Teaching Children About Identity.
Written by Mel Lane
Mel Lane (she/her) is Head of Education at Pop’n’Olly. She has been a primary school teacher and teacher trainer for nearly 30 years and worked in schools on LGBT+ inclusion policies with thousands of children and school staff. Mel is a co- author of What Does LGBT+ Mean? (Pop’n’Olly, 2021).
“I don’t know what’s special about me… I don’t have anything special about me,” a 5-year-old once told me. I’ll be honest, I was shocked. How could a child not be able to say a single thing that made them feel proud of themselves? – Nothing that singled them out from everyone else.
It was a learning curve for me. I realised that knowing what makes you special isn’t something that children necessarily know about themselves. For whatever reason, some children really need help with identifying what makes them stand out, what particular skills, talents and unique attributes help to define them.
Since then, I’ve really worked hard to ensure that I give children the language they need to talk about themselves – language that they can take with them throughout life to help them feel good about themselves, and to raise their self-esteem.
Here are some things you can do with your class:
- Help children understand that they are made up of a complex mix of things, including how they look, their skills and talents, and their personality. Some of these change and some stay the same.
- Pick a few different children each day. Talk to them in spare moments and find out what they like/dislike and are good at. Give them the language to praise themselves…
“Wow Molly, not everyone can remember to feed their dog every day/draw Pokemon so well/give someone space in the line without asking. That’s part of what makes you unique and special. Don’t forget to tell yourself that and feel proud.”
- Actively teach children how to praise each other and how to accept compliments…
“I noticed that Tariq kept going when the maths was tough today/ was really careful when cutting out the pictures/ balanced that ball in PE really well. Who’d like to compliment Tariq? Did anyone notice anyone else they’d like to praise? Is anyone proud of themselves for something today?”
- Hold a ‘Teach your Talent Day’, where children work in small groups sharing what they can do with each other. I’ve seen children teach each other magic tricks; demonstrate how to do a backbend, explain how to look after a dog and teach how to draw a cartoon dinosaur. Every child has a skill, they just sometimes need help realising it.
Also, don’t forget yourself. You are unique and special too. Every teacher has a different set of skills that help them be great at their job and none of us are the same. Instead of comparing yourself to the person in the next room and convincing yourself they’re better, look for the things you’re good at. Look for those little achievements throughout the day. There is no one way to be a great teacher – you are great just as you are.
If you’d like to do some work on this with your class, our FREE Back to School: Identity Pack gives you lesson plans and resources to help children develop a sense of their own unique identity and feel good about themselves. Download it here.
What does it mean to our families when we support bilingual literacy?
Written by Emma Sheppard
Emma founded The MTPT Project, the UK's charity for parent teachers, in 2016 when on maternity leave with her first child. She has 12 years experience as an English teacher, Lead Practitioner and ITT Lead, and now runs The MTPT Project full time.
This is a vulnerable blog to share publicly. If you follow me on LinkedIn, it will reveal the hard work and heartache behind the upbeat and practical strategies around bilingual education that I often share.
Of course, we save our shiniest achievements for social media platforms but over the last few weeks – in the real world – I have felt keenly, the crushing failures of being “immigrant mum”.
For context, I am an educated middle-class British former teacher living in France with my bilingual children and French husband. My children were born in the UK, have been fully bilingual since birth, and now attend French state primary school. I’m a fluent French speaker (and have a state-issued certificate to prove it) work in English and socialise in both languages.
Sounds dreamy, right?
But sometimes, I feel as if I am losing my children – that they are so culturally embedded in the country we live in, that they have no connection to the identity of their birth country. My identity.
This fortnight, we have been learning about Advent in our home-learning English lessons. They don’t go to school on Wednesdays, you see, because it’s France.
My son, who had a year of lockdown education, is au fait with the characters. He was, after all, the donkey in his Reception nativity and plodded along to Bethlehem with Mary and Joseph. He best friend Gabriel was… the angel Gabriel.
My daughter, who has been educated in the secular French system since pre-school, has a vague understanding of the baby, called Jesus. The star? Joseph? Virgin birth? Heavenly hosts? Gold, frankincense and myrhh? Even the word ‘shepherd’ in English? All these cultural indicators so essential to the British primary education experience? Not a clue.
It gets worse: for the last three years, we’ve attended the carol service run by the local American church. I alone in my family know the words to Silent Night. My husband and children are ignorant to the joy of “Glororororororia” or “Fivvvvee go’old ringggsss!” and as such, they can’t sit through a full service. I hissingly insisted my husband remove them (and himself) somewhere between Royal David’s City and Angels in the Realm of Glory and – French and relieved – they went to eat waffles and ride fairground rollercoasters in le marché de noël.
Extended writing – the lovely recipes and stories and letters you’d expect in lower KS3 – simply aren’t required of my children yet in the French state system. Admittedly, their grammatical knowledge is fast surpassing my own, but mostly they are asked to copy, or write short responses to comprehension activities.
They have never been asked to be a Victorian maid or a to persuade anyone to save the rainforest. They have not written a diary entry from a ship in the middle of the Atlantic, or a newspaper article about a volcanic eruption. Maybe creativity, generally, will never be required of them?
The request to write the Nativity story therefore resulted in meltdowns on all fronts: my son can’t bear the idea of more than two sentences and disappears into the ether of his daydreams; my daughter can’t remember how to spell ‘all’, even though it’s been on her spelling list for millennia.
My children are spectacular: there is no need to qualify this with any reasons why. They just are.
But they are not British, and they have no other encouragement to be British than me, their mother. Ensuring they retain a sense of this identity has become a base urge in me. They will know who Shakespeare is. They will eat jacket potatoes. They will understand the culture importance of a Harvest Festival. Failure simply isn’t an option.
But a lot of the time I feel like a lone salmon, swimming against the current. And increasingly, I’m experiencing the anticipatory grief of becoming the mother of two French children.
For the first-generation immigrant parents in our school communities, how keenly is this loss also felt?
Do they, too, look at their children and see huge holes where a shared identity should be?
And as schools, what can we do to support families who might be going through similar experiences?
(Here come those upbeat, practical strategies…)
- Understand, appreciate and acknowledge (if you can) the cultures of your school communities – including the educational cultures
- Value and encourage the use of the home language – never fall into the trap of thinking that one language leads to an inability to acquire another because the opposite is true – languages feed off one another and grow together
- Value languages, and teach them well – from the earliest possible age
- Create bilingual streams if appropriate for your school context
- Introduce Community Language GCSEs and A Levels as far as your timetabling or extra-curricular offer can support – and involve parents in their children’s preparation for these exams
- Research community language hubs and signpost these to parents if you don’t have the capacity to ‘in house’
- Align language with culture – food, traditions, literature, film, history, sports – and take opportunities to celebrate these
- Foster opportunities where parents can make connections and build their own language communities
As cultural diversity in our schools increases, assumptions of monolingualism in our curricula and communities will only become a hindrance. Celebration and practical support for families aspiring to full bi- or multilingualism will bring out the best in our students and support the full complexity of their identities.
The theme behind my Children’s book – Zeb, Jet and the Ice-Cream Calamity.
Written by Mirabel Lavelle
Mirabel is a qualified Teaching and Learning Coach, Creative Writing Lecturer, Allergy Awareness Advocate and Author of: Zeb, Jet and the Ice-Cream Calamity. An adventure story aimed at raising food allergy safety awareness. She is also the founder of: writebymirabel.co.uk – Crafting stories: where every voice counts and allergies matter. a website dedicated to the art of crafting stories, especially those that help raise awareness to disability, equity and inclusion.
I am a teacher and grandmother who loves stories. Two of my grandchildren carry auto-injector pens because of food allergies. One day, the older of the two asked me if I would write a story book about allergy. Hence, Jet, Zeb and the Ice-Cream Calamity.
I want to encourage the reader to learn about allergy, to become actively aware of how to safeguard and to include children with food allergies at social events such as Easter egg hunts, trick or treating, and parties without the fear of reaction to food – or worse still – anaphylaxis. I would like the reader to ask:
‘How can we plan a party that children with food allergies can safely enjoy?’
Allergic disease is a disease of the immune system, and it is the fastest growing disease among children in the UK. This condition impairs the sufferer on a day-to-day basis, in many different ways.
Sufferers cannot eat the same food as everyone else unless it has been prepared especially. This has substantial implications. For example, in school during lunchtimes a child may be asked to sit at a separate table because of their food allergies. Outside of school a child may be excluded from social events that centre around food because of a nervous adult.
The culture this creates is that if a child is different in any way, for example by having a dietary requirement, then society will exclude them. New studies are showing certain children, who have experienced anaphylaxis, to display allergy related anxieties and behaviours that are similar to PTSD.
This is why I want to raise food allergy safety awareness. I want to educate so that we can eradicate food cross contamination. This way we can significantly reduce allergy anxiety and promote inclusion at all times.
My story book features a relatable fox cub (Zeb) and playful puppy (Jet) as characters, rather than humans, because of the subject matter. Jet has a food allergy and when Zeb meets Jet, he learns how to be allergy safe aware. This exciting adventure encourages children to want to help Jet by telling others about how to keep him safe. It is an adventure that celebrates diversity, equity and inclusion.
I reinforced my message by creating a joyous song. The chorus shows how to significantly minimise food cross contamination. Children love music, the catchy chorus carries the central and crucial message of the book.
This book invites children to learn about allergy safeguarding by finding out about simple yet responsible behaviour around allergic kids. One example is not to leave wrappers, which may contain allergens, lying around but to bin them responsibly. My message to the reader is about building a society of caring individuals so that no one has to get sick because of the carelessness of others.
I added differentiated tasks to encourage readers to ask more questions about allergy. I want children to have fun whilst they learn. After all, it is through stories and through education and by putting ourselves in someone else’s shoes that we become more understanding of others.
Going into schools to deliver allergy safety events is a very rewarding experience for me because of the positive response from children and staff. They are providing me with a wealth of exciting ideas on how to continue taking my campaign of safe allergy inclusion, forward.
When I first wrote the book, I wanted it to be a key educational resource as well as an entertaining adventure. I aimed to provide schools and communities a point of reference that raises awareness and encourages people to want to know more about allergies and their impact. I needed to ensure that allergy sufferers are included in all activities that everyone their age enjoys. Since taking the book and the presentation into schools and libraries, it continues to inspire a range of immersive activities such as art projects, drama, puppet shows and animation.
This book highlights equity and the tasks that follow the story are focussed on finding ways that are fair and inclusive for Jet. The story affords time to explore feelings, such as Zeb’s feelings after Jet got sick. It creates an opportunity for discussion, for thinking, for empathising, and for bringing about positive change.
Useful Links:
The Natasha Allergy Research Foundation (narf.org.uk)
The Benedict Blythe Foundation Allergy & Education Foundation | Benedict Blythe Foundation
The Sadie Bristow Foundation: Don’t Be Afraid to Be Great
Don’t Assume…
Written by Gerlinde Achenbach
Gerlinde Achenbach is a senior education consultant and former primary headteacher. Her career spans more than 35 years, with over 30 years teaching in schools. Since 2021 she has been supporting schools across the UK with Equity, Diversity & Inclusion, specifically LGBTQ+ inclusion. Her expertise is in leadership and changing school culture.
It is a reality that every LGBTQ+ stakeholder within a school community – child or young person, member of staff, visitor, parent or carer – is on the receiving end of constant heteronormative messaging. This isn’t because schools are not complying with their Public Sector Equality Duty or because they’re not focused on being inclusive. It’s because the world is set up to portray ‘usual’ as heterosexual.
The Oxford languages dictionary defines heteronormativity as: “denoting or relating to a world view that promotes heterosexuality as the normal or preferred sexual orientation.”
Heteronormativity permeates every aspect of school life. It’s in the images on our walls, it’s in the things we say and in what we do. Put simply, there’s an unspoken acceptance that it is ‘the norm’. It confirms for us that heterosexual relationships dominate the human experience. It also reminds us of the relationship between heterosexuality and gender inequity for women and girls through history. We see this every day, where gendered language, stereotyping and imbalanced expectations still dominate our lived experience in the wider world. We like to think we work hard to challenge this in our schools…but are we doing enough?
What can heteronormativity look like in schools?
Environments
- Most images of families show mums and dads. This can be on ‘welcome’ posters or in books and images on display.
- We find ‘corporate’ cartoon images depicting (stereotypical) boy, girl, boy, girl across school spaces.
- Books and literature have not been evaluated in terms of how representative they are of different types of families or identities.
Systems and Policies
- In primary schools we have a habit of assuming (unless told otherwise) that a child has heterosexual parent(s) and that our children will end up in heterosexual relationships.
- We include ‘mother / father’ on application forms and permission slips.
- The words ‘Mr & Mrs’ are on the tips of our tongues when referring to families.
- Our school uniform policies state gendered expectations for girls and boys, even down to shoe styles.
- Our staff dress code does the same.
- We appoint a Head Girl and a Head Boy.
- Our website staff lists denote marital status first – Mrs, Miss, Mr – and we have the same on classroom doors.
Communication and Language
- We welcome our children with “Good morning, boys and girls” and our staff, or parents and carers, with “ladies and gentlemen”.
- The phrase, “Tell / give this to / show / ask your mum and dad” rolls off the tongue for most school staff.
- Staff address girls as ‘darling’, ‘princess’, ‘sweetie’, and boys as ‘mate’, ‘mister’, ‘dude’.
- We hear the terms ‘Headmaster’ and ‘Headmistress’. We address staff as ‘Sir’ and ‘Miss’.
- We hear adults calling for ‘a couple of strong boys’ for certain tasks around school.
Practice and Culture
- We line up our classes in boys’ and girls’ lines, or in a boy, girl formation.
- We seat them on their carpet ladybird places or at tables in the same way.
- We separate and organise children by gender for the most random of reasons and activities.
- We organise role play, construction and crafts with different genders in mind, albeit subconsciously.
- We appoint class names of famous scientists, authors, sports people or musicians where the majority are male (and straight).
- The staff culture feels fixed, exclusive, cliquey and difficult to break into.
- Staff congratulate themselves on the way they have always done things.
I have deliberately not set out here inclusive versions of the above examples. They are a starting point for whole staff thinking and they’re guaranteed to promote worthwhile discussion. It’s important in our schools to do the hard work required, challenge heteronormativity in all its guises and ask the following questions:
- Might a child with same-sex parents feel quietly excluded in our school?
- Will their parents feel welcome?
- How about a child who has lost a parent, or a child who is care-experienced?
- Have we removed assumptions in all our interactions with families?
- Can a member of staff, whatever their sexual orientation or identity, can be their authentic self at work?
- Are our language and expectations truly gender-inclusive?
- Is our inclusive approach understood by all groups of staff in their varying roles across school?
Why does this matter? It matters because of the need for us all to feel we belong in the places where we, or our loved ones, spend a good deal of time. Marian Wright Edelman coined the phrase, ‘You can’t be what you can’t see’, and this matters if you rarely see yourself (child or adult) or your family represented in your school. Representation is validation.
It matters because subliminal messages such as those received (through unthinking words, gendered phrases and activities defined by gender) by girls and women, or by those for whom gender is not fixed or for whom gender causes anguish, can be damaging and self-fulfilling over time.