Language in the Classroom: The Signals We Send
Written by Amy Wilby
I am an experienced senior educational leader, currently serving as an Assistant Headteacher with responsibility for Curriculum, as well as a Trust-wide DEIB Champion, edublogger, and proud mum to a 21-year-old son. Since qualifying as a teacher in 2009, I have built a career rooted in both academic excellence and strong pastoral care. I bring extensive experience across middle and senior leadership, including roles as a Specialist Leader of Education (SLE) and Associate Assistant Headteacher. I hold an NPQSL and a master’s degree in educational leadership, and I am deeply committed to evidence-informed practice, drawing on educational research to enhance teaching, learning, and curriculum design.
Walk into any classroom and you’ll hear a constant flow of language, questions, instructions, feedback, encouragement. It’s so familiar that it can feel almost invisible.
But there’s a deeper question we don’t ask often enough:
What are our words actually signalling to students, and how are they being received?
Because language doesn’t just deliver learning.
It shapes expectations, communicates beliefs, and quietly influences who feels confident, capable, and included. It can also show our own bias, our own understanding of what is an is not acceptable.
If curriculum is what we teach, and literacy is how students access and participate, then language is how belonging is communicated, both directly and indirectly.
The hidden layer: micro-signals in everyday language
Most classroom language is not part of a formal plan. It lives in the small, repeated interactions:
- how we respond to a wrong answer (Nonverbal cues as well as verbal ones)
- who we call on, and how often
- the tone we use when giving instructions
- the way we frame challenge or difficulty
- the ways we build engagement and excitement in our classrooms
These are micro-signals, subtle, often unintentional cues that students pick up quickly.
Over time, they begin to answer questions like:
- Am I seen as capable here?
- Is it safe to take risks?
- Do my contributions matter?
Students don’t just listen to what we say.
They interpret what it means about them.
The Pygmalion versus the Golem effect!
Your expectations matter and the subtext of your language and choices will have an impact.
‘The belief the teachers had in the students’ potential had been unwittingly and nonverbally communicated. More important, these nonverbal messages were then digested by the students and transformed into reality.’ (Acher. S, 2010)
Tone: more powerful than we think
Two teachers can say similar words and send completely different messages.
Consider:
- ‘Not quite. Try again.’
- ‘Not quite yet, let’s think it through together.’
The difference is small, but the signal is significant.
Tone communicates:
- belief (or doubt) in a student’s ability
- patience (or frustration)
- partnership (or hierarchy in the classroom)
- Which classroom environment would you rather take risks in? Which classroom highlights the importance of metacognition and learning the steps? Which one is stressful and the focus on the outcome only?
When tone consistently signals respect and belief, students are more likely to stay engaged, even when learning feels difficult.
Expectations: what we imply, not just what we say
High expectations are often discussed in terms of outcomes. But in practice, they are communicated through language every day.
For example:
- ‘This is tricky, so I don’t expect everyone to get it’
vs - ‘This is challenging, and I’m going to support you to get there’
The first lowers the bar, even if unintentionally.
The second maintains high expectations while offering support.
Students are highly attuned to these cues. Over time, they internalise them:
- who is expected to succeed?
- who is expected to struggle?
- who gets stretched, and who doesn’t?
Ultimately this leads to,
- ‘Who believes in their ability to succeed, and who doesn’t’?
- ‘Who wants to be here, and who doesn’t?’
- ‘Who is going to mask their struggle with other behaviours and who is going to embrace it’?
Inclusive classrooms are not those where work is made easier, but where expectations are consistently high and clearly supported.
Framing: how we position learning
The way we frame tasks and responses shapes how students experience learning.
Deficit framing might sound like:
- ‘Some of you didn’t understand this’
- ‘This group struggled with…’
- ‘You are set… and therefore we are doing something different…’
Asset-based framing shifts the perspective:
- ‘Let’s build on what we’ve started here’
- ‘Here’s where we can go next’
- ‘Learning starts only once it gets tough. Thinking and working hard is good!’
This doesn’t ignore gaps, it reframes them as part of the learning process, rather than a fixed limitation.
Similarly, how we respond to mistakes matters:
- Are they signals of failure?
- Or are they positioned as a normal, valuable part of learning?
The language we choose answers this for students.
The risk: when language goes unchecked
Just as curriculum can become tokenistic, classroom language can become habitual, and habits are powerful.
Without reflection, we may unintentionally:
- call on the same students repeatedly
- soften expectations for some and not others
- use praise that is uneven or limiting. Focusing on the student rather than the choices (‘You’re so clever’ vs ‘That strategy worked well’)
- signal frustration more quickly with certain learners
None of this is usually deliberate.
But over time, these patterns can shape students’ sense of where they fit.
And again, students notice.
What this looks like in practice
The strength of focusing on classroom language is that it’s an immediate, actionable shift.
You don’t need to redesign the curriculum.
You need to become more intentional with what you’re already saying.
- Pause and notice patterns
- Who do you respond to most?
- Whose answers are extended, and whose are closed down?
- When does your tone shift?
- If a student doesn’t know the answer, how do you frame this as a learning opportunity rather than a failure?
- Make belief explicit
- ‘I know you will absolutely give your best to this’
- ‘I believe in you’ (supported with appropriate scaffolding)
These statements matter, especially for students who may not hear them elsewhere.
- Normalise struggle
- ‘This is challenging, but we’ll get there, learning starts once you get stuck’
- ‘This is the part where it gets tricky’
- ‘If you’re finding this hard, you’re in the right place’
This reduces anxiety and increases participation.
- Use inclusive questioning
- Give thinking time before taking answers
- Invite multiple approaches
- Build on responses rather than evaluating them immediately, if a learner gives a partial or incorrect answer, build on it, don’t dismiss it!
‘I can see why you might think that, that’s a really astute observation, however I was thinking more of this…can someone build on this?’
- Be consistent with expectations
- Avoid lowering the bar for some learners
- Instead, increase the scaffolding and support
Why this matters for belonging
Belonging is not built through single moments, it’s built through patterns.
And language is one of the most consistent patterns students experience.
Over time, it tells them:
- You are capable
- Your ideas matter
- You are part of this learning
or you can signal the opposite.
The power of language is that it operates in real time. Every lesson, every interaction, every response is an opportunity to reinforce inclusion.
What you can do tomorrow
If you’re looking for a simple starting point:
- Choose one class and consciously adjust how you respond to incorrect answers
- Add one phrase that signals belief (‘Let’s work through this together’)
- Track who you call on, and aim for greater balance
- Try to build in some tasks that don’t have a definite answer. I like to use 4 seemingly random pictures and ask, ‘Which one is the odd one out and why’? so that everyone has a chance to explain their thinking and get praised for their work! (There is no correct answer, only answers that are not thought of effectively, everyone has the same starting point) This builds confidence over time.
Small, intentional changes in language can have a disproportionate impact.
Final thought
If mirrors and windows help students to see,
and literacy helps them to participate,
then language is what tells them:
‘You belong here and you are valued!’
And often, it does so in ways we don’t even realise until we choose to notice.
Further reading
Achor, S. (2010) The happiness advantage: the seven principles of positive psychology that fuel success and performance at work. New York: Broadway Books.
Erikson Institute (2019) Inclusive language is a classroom superpower, Erikson Institute Blog, 2 October. Available at: https://www.erikson.edu/blog/inclusive-language-is-a-classroom-superpower/
Kratz, J. (2024) ‘6 research-backed inclusive language dos and don’ts’, Forbes, 4 February. Available at: https://www.forbes.com/sites/juliekratz/2024/02/04/6-research-backed-inclusive-language-dos-and-donts/
Roberts, N. (2021) ‘Why we need to ditch deficit labels in SEND language’, TES Magazine, 22 June. Available at: https://www.tes.com/magazine/analysis/general/why-we-need-ditch-deficit-labels-send-language
University College London (UCL) (2023) Using inclusive language in education. Available at: https://www.ucl.ac.uk/teaching-learning/publications/2023/jul/using-inclusive-language-education
Worth-it (2021) How to build positive relationships in school, Worth-it Blog, 17 May. Available at: https://www.worthit.org.uk/blog/positive-relationships-school
Mental Health or Mental Illness? Why Silence Speaks in Teaching
Written by Katja Pavlona
Katja Pavlovna is a teacher in alternative provision and has previously taught in specialist SEMH and prison settings. She runs the lived experience mental illness project Lives Not Labels and is co-author of the book Sorry My Mental Illness Isn't Sexy Enough For You.
There is often – rightly – a lot of talk in education about teacher wellbeing and mental health. Burnout, stress, anxiety and depression are sadly commonplace within our profession. However, something we hear far less about is teacher mental illness.
I was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD, or to give it its newer name, Emotionally Unstable Personality Disorder, or EUPD) in 2021. Whilst the diagnosis was both a blessing (I knew what was wrong with me) and a curse (it’s incurable, although it can go into remission and be managed), I knew deep down that there was something else going on that BPD couldn’t quite explain. That’s how I ended up with a second diagnosis in 2023 of Schizotypal Personality Disorder (STPD). Managing two different, yet serious, mental conditions is something of a challenge in itself, let alone with the added complication of working full time in a career known for the risks it poses to mental health. So, how on earth do I do it? Truth be told, it’s hard.
Whilst mental health might be a hot topic in education, mental illness certainly is not. Whilst colleagues might join in with me for a moan about how exhausted I am, I can’t imagine them having much to contribute were I to discuss my propensity towards magical thinking, odd interpretations of events, finding hidden meanings in everyday things and my visual, gustatory and olfactory illusions, which are all part of my STPD.
I am extremely fortunate to be able to manage my disorders independently, and am generally classed as low support needs- that is, I function in society as anyone ‘normal’ would, predominantly by masking my symptoms and mirroring those around me. Whilst this does have obvious advantages, it does come with some fairly significant drawbacks too.
As someone who has very high expectations of myself and prides myself on being resourceful, diligent and practically-minded, it’s fair to say that I’m seen as good- even great- at my job. How could that ever be a negative?
The problem is that because my illnesses are well managed, it’s very hard for people to conceptualise that I am actually unwell. I mask so much that my disorders are basically invisible, so it’s very easy to assume they’re not there at all. People assume I’m fine, so when things start to slip, I’m judged harshly for not being able to perform in the same way I could when I was ‘fine’.
A few years ago, I had to take some time off work. I’d been wrongly taken off all of my antipsychotic medication, which led to my psychotic-like STPD symptoms returning. Fairly obviously, I couldn’t teach in that time and was signed off. I was already stressed and anxious- work keeps me stable and grounded and I rarely take time off, so being stuck at home with no interaction or purpose was causing me to deteriorate, quickly. I was then accidentally copied into an email complaining about my absence, which only added to my feelings of guilt. I was having to plan cover lessons around psychotic episodes and hospital trips, but when I returned after two weeks when my medication was reinstated and I was cleared by Occupational Health to return, I was still subjected to snide comments about how much time I’d had off due to the culture of presenteeism. People knew I had a serious mental illness, but it was still hurtful to realise I was seen as a liability.
The thing about mental illness is that everyone claims to be fine with it, until you start showing symptoms. This is, I think, especially true for a personality disorder. I am covered under the Equality Act 2010 for both BPD and STPD, but these are often seen less as a disability and more as a conscious attempt to manipulate. I clearly recall once, whilst temping, being asked to leave the classroom after requesting time off for a psychiatric appointment. Management then interrogated the pupils as to whether they felt safe in the classroom with me. Luckily this incident was dealt with, but I’ll never forget how it made me feel to know they clearly thought I must be dangerous.
The practical side of managing a mental illness in teaching is also difficult. Attending appointments during the school day can be tricky. After I was diagnosed with an eating disorder which arose as a coping mechanism for my personality disorders, I was offered specific treatment (DBT therapy), but this was a two hour session every week for 20 weeks in a neighbouring city. At the time I was teaching in an SEMH school who were extremely understanding and rejigged my timetable to allow me to attend. I suspect many schools wouldn’t be able to be that generous.
Reasonable adjustments can be hard to navigate too. Because of my fears of contamination with food due to the STPD, one of my adjustments is to bring my own lunch to work rather than eat from the canteen. Whilst you wouldn’t think this was likely to be an issue, in one school I worked at, a senior member of staff continuously ‘reminded’ me that teachers had to eat the same food as the pupils as it set a bad example. They weren’t the kind of person I could confide in, so I ended up eating alone in my classroom.
The fact is, my mental illness is always in the back of my mind. I constantly fear another ‘episode’, although I know realistically as long as I’m looking after myself, it’s unlikely. But still I lie awake at night worrying. I am the main earner in my household. If I can’t work, we would stand to lose everything. That’s an enormous pressure to have on my shoulders. Over the course of my career, I have met several teachers with BPD in the schools I’ve worked at. As far as I am aware, I am the only one still in the profession. It’s tough.
It’s not all negative, though. My disorders have given me resilience, creativity and compassion towards others. Some of the more challenging aspects of my disorders- such as BPD impulsivity- I can channel in healthier ways through teaching. I am self-aware enough to pre-empt when symptoms may occur and manage them, and I draw on appropriate support as and when needed. Pattern recognition has been vital in helping me to be proactive in managing my disorders. I love my job, so I’m committed to doing whatever it takes to make sure I can remain in it.
It’s also been an unexpected asset in some of the settings I’ve worked in, most notably alternative provision, prison and PRUs. In recent years I’ve worked with pupils with personality disorder or conduct disorder diagnoses, and it has helped me to better understand their inner experience. I could never share my own diagnoses with them, though. The stigma around personality disorders is so intense that to do so could potentially jeopardise my career.
A few years ago I spoke to a national newspaper about my lived experience project, Lives Not Labels (www.livesnotlabels.com) and received some hateful messages from people who took issue with the fact the article mentioned my career. I was accused of being abusive, manipulative and too unstable to work with children, told I was probably only in education to make false allegations about parents to social services to have their children removed, and threatened that if they knew what school I worked at, they’d destroy my career as people like me are a danger to children, including my own. To see such attitudes on display so plainly was incredibly confronting.
In October of last year, my book Sorry My Mental Illness Isn’t Sexy Enough For You was published which detailed some of the challenges I’ve faced as a teacher with serious mental illness. Although I’ve become gradually more confident in speaking out about my experiences, for many working in education with mental illness, there is too much at stake for them to be able to do the same. It’s clear that strides forward have been made in the realms of teacher mental health, but for those of us with mental illness, resources and understanding are sorely lacking.
Here is the link to my book: https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/aw/d/1805010670/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?ie=UTF8&dib_tag=se&dib=eyJ2IjoiMSJ9.eMN7CSJN8yAXZ5LF9EtaQQ.UXJCGah2s3DoEkFTDqRf2TfZOyzEcavIn2mhgstUTXI&qid=1781934392&sr=8-1
School is so gay
Written by Ian Timbrell
Ian has worked in education for 18 years, including as a teacher and deputy head teacher and now supports schools develop their provision for LGBTQ+ and adopted pupils. He is the author of 'It's More Than Flags and Rainbows', a guide to supporting schools become more LGBTQ+ inclusive.
I remember seeing bullying when I was at school. I remember the names, the laughter, and the way certain words landed harder than others. I also remember how normal it all felt at the time, not because it was harmless, but because nobody really stopped it.
Years later, when I became a teacher, I genuinely believed things would be different. Society had moved on, language had evolved, and schools were far more aware of safeguarding and wellbeing. But standing in classrooms and corridors, I found myself hearing the same phrases, watching the same patterns, and feeling the same familiar knot in my stomach.
What devastated me most was not just that bullying still existed. It was how often it was excused.
“That’s so gay.”
“They don’t mean it like that.”
“It’s just a saying.”
“There are bigger issues we need to focus on.”
I heard these comments repeatedly. Sometimes from pupils, but far more painfully from adults.
For LGBTQ+ people, language like this is never neutral. It carries weight, history, and memory. When a word connected to who you are is used as shorthand for something negative, it teaches you very early on that your identity is something to be laughed at, minimised, or ignored.
As a pupil, that message hurts deeply.
As a teacher, watching it be passed on to another generation is crushing.
Over time, I became increasingly frustrated by the idea that tackling homophobia was somehow an “extra”. Something to get to if there was time. Something that sat below academic outcomes, behaviour targets, or inspection priorities. I watched schools work tirelessly on countless tick-box initiatives, yet hesitate when it came to properly challenging harmful language, often out of fear of backlash or because it was seen as controversial.
But bullying linked to sexuality or gender identity is not less serious because it is verbal. It is not less damaging because it is common. And it is not less urgent because some people are uncomfortable talking about it.
I reached a point where I could no longer accept that this was just how things were. Leaving teaching was not an easy decision, but it became a necessary one. I set up More Than Flags and Rainbows because I wanted to challenge the idea that inclusion is optional and that addressing homophobia is somehow a distraction from “real” education. It is not. It is central to it.
I have worked with children who learned to make themselves smaller to feel safe. I have listened to young people who stayed silent because drawing attention to themselves felt dangerous. I have seen how unchecked language creates cultures where exclusion becomes normal and cruelty becomes background noise.
This work matters because words shape environments. When harmful language goes unchallenged, it sends a clear message about whose feelings matter and whose do not. When schools, and wider society, treat this as a low priority, LGBTQ+ young people pay the price.
This is not abstract to me. It is personal. I have lived it, witnessed it, and ultimately walked away from a career I loved in order to keep challenging it in a different way. And I believe deeply that when we stop making excuses for harm, we create spaces where young people do not just survive, but belong.
Everyday Sexism: A Powerful Call to Action from Laura Bates - What Schools Can No Longer Ignore
Written by Hannah Wilson
Founder and Director of the Belonging Effect (formerly Diverse Educators).
When Laura Bates, founder of the Everyday Sexism Project, addressed the room of boarding school headteachers and senior leaders, her message was not abstract, ideological, or optional. It was urgent, and it was evidence-based.
Drawing on what is now one of the largest datasets of its kind – over 250,000 testimonies, many from children – Bates laid out a reality that schools are already part of, whether they recognise it or not.
This Is Not a “Girls’ Issue”
One of the clearest points: sexism is not about being “anti-boys.” It is instead about the ecosystem young people are growing up in. Rigid gender stereotypes harm everyone – shaping body image pressures for both girls and boys, narrowing subject choices, and reinforcing harmful expectations about relationships, power, and identity.
The idea of a “gender war” or “battle of the sexes” is not only misleading, it actively prevents progress. Instead, Bates reframed the issue: this is about culture, not conflict.
The Scale and Subtlety of the Problem
Some statistics that she shared were stark and made me feel really uncomfortable, despite being familiar with most of them:
- 86% of women in the UK report experiencing sexual harassment
- 72% of women report sexism in the classroom
- 71% of 16-year-old girls report being called “slut” or “slag” on a weekly basis
But just as important is what Bates called “subtle sexism.”
This is the quiet shaping of expectations:
- which subjects feel “appropriate”
- how physical spaces exclude women and girls
- whose voices are taken seriously
- how authority – especially female authority – is undermined
These are not isolated incidents: they are cumulative; they are structured; they are reinforced through media, advertising, peer culture, and increasingly, algorithms.
Language Matters More Than We Admit
The distinction between “groping” and “sexual harassment” is not semantic – it is cultural. So too is the shift from focusing on victims to naming perpetrators, and from passive bystanders to active upstanders. Language shapes what young people think is normal, tolerable, or reportable. If we minimise behaviours in how we speak about them, we normalise them in practice.
As a former English teacher, and now DEIB trainer, the power of language and our language choices are something I think about a lot and explore with our clients regularly.
The Online World Is Not Separate From School
A major theme was the widening gap between adults and young people in digital spaces. Most educators and parents are not digital natives. Yet, their students and their children are.
This gap matters because the online environment is not neutral – it is actively shaping attitudes:
- Influencers like Andrew Tate have amassed billions of views
- Algorithmic pathways can lead users toward extreme misogynistic content in minutes
- Exposure to pornography is now commonly reported around age 13
Bates referenced the “manosphere” – a network of online communities where ideas such as “AWALT” (“all women are like this”) circulate and harden. This is not fringe content. It is mainstream, accessible, and often gamified.
A New Frontier: AI and Exploitation
If that was not enough for us to deal with in our schools and in our homes, then the emerging technologies that are accelerating the problem are the next challenge we face:
- Deepfake and “nudify” tools enabling new forms of abuse
- AI “girlfriends” reshaping expectations of relationships
- Gamified, exploitative systems rewarding harmful behaviour
- Poorly regulated virtual spaces (including metaverses) lacking safeguarding measures
The direction of travel is clear and really concerning. I am conscious that I am not a parent, I am no longer a headteacher and I have recently stood down from being a trustee who led on safeguarding, but I care deeply about our sector, about our society and about our young people. So sitting in a room of school leaders I felt the palpable weight of responsibility on their shoulders as they began to process the enormity of what is rapidly attacking our schools and our homes.
The Youngest Are Most at Risk
Perhaps the most sobering insight: the youngest generation is not the most protected – it is the most exposed. Grooming, radicalisation, and exploitation are no longer rare nor exceptional risks. They are structural features of the environments young people inhabit – and schools sit at the intersection of all of this.
So What Can Schools Do?
Bates did not leave the room without direction but offered some practical advice and signposting.
Effective responses are not one-off assemblies or reactive policies. They are cultural and sustained:
- Start early: challenge gender stereotypes in early childhood
- Explore openly: normalise discussion of relationships, consent, and respect
- Intervene consistently: address language, behaviour, and culture in real time
- Encourage allyship: shift from bystanders to upstanders
- Support staff: particularly where female authority is undermined
- Involve parents: bridging the digital knowledge gap is essential
This is where she signposted organisations such as Tender, Lifting Limits, Beyond Equality, and Bold Voices are already doing critical work alongside schools.
A Cultural Shift, Not a Checklist
Perhaps the most important takeaway is this: sexism does not operate in a vacuum. It is built on foundations – early stereotypes, repeated messages, normalised behaviours.
Which means the solution is not a single intervention, but a process of deconstruction:
- recognising the patterns
- naming them
- and creating genuine alternatives for young people
This is not about removing choice – it is about creating it.
The Question That Remains
Bates left the audience with an implicit challenge to consider: not whether schools should respond – but whether they are prepared for what is already here, and what is coming next. She held up a mirror to remind us that the culture shaping young people today is moving faster than most institutions, so ignoring it is no longer a neutral act.
BSA – thanks for creating the space at the annual conference for this talk (and Gaelle thanks for the invitation to be in the room). Laura – thanks for the clarity and the data that you brought to the conversation.
Closing the Gap by Valuing Multilingualism
Written by Soofia Amin
Soofia Amin is the Multilingual Trust Lead for Tapscott Learning Trust (TTLT). She is also a Specialist Lead in Education for Multilingualism with vast experience in supporting multilingual pupils and their families. Soofia is passionate about developing excellent practice for multilingual pupils whilst promoting their first languages as a resource in both the classroom and the wider school community. She strongly advocates for a whole-school approach to multilingualism and uses her own school’s example to provide effective models of practice for others.
I recently visited a primary school where low writing outcomes for multilingual children had led leaders to search urgently for ways to “close the gap.” For many school leaders, this phrase often leads to discussions about data dashboards, targeted interventions, and heightened accountability measures. These discussions often neglect one key factor: the children’s first languages.
Many children in this school confidently use two or three languages and travel regularly to their countries of origin. Leaders worry that this rich linguistic exposure might be contributing to weaker writing outcomes. While understandable, this view risks misidentifying the problem.
The challenge here is not multilingualism. Rather how much we, as educators, value and use the children’s linguistic proficiency to further their learning, including their writing. If we focus intentionally on using the multilingual children’s rich language skills to support learning, particularly their writing development, outcomes could look very different.
Building Strong Foundations Through Explicit Language Instruction
Language and subject learning develop together. Children do not learn content first and language later; they learn both simultaneously. Evidence from Cummins states that,
“Conceptual knowledge developed in one language helps to make input in the other language comprehensible.” (Cummins, 2000,p.39).
Therefore, embedding spoken language approaches across the curriculum can strengthen literacy and attainment when language is taught explicitly and in context. For multilingual learners, this means making the language demands of lessons visible and teachable.
In practice, this involves modelling how this language is used in speech and writing.
Classroom example: Year 5 science (States of Matter)
The educator explains evaporation using sentences such as:
“When water is heated, it evaporates.”
“As a result, the liquid changes into a gas.”
The educator unpacks key vocabulary like evaporate and evaporation and gives children sentence stems to support their explanations. Alongside the science objective, sits a clear language objective. Children now have the words and sentence structures they need to explain their thinking clearly.
Strengthening Learning Through Cultural and Linguistic Connection
Multilingual children bring a wealth of cultural and linguistic knowledge into the classroom. When educators recognise and build on this, learning becomes more meaningful and inclusive.
Schools that invest in understanding children’s linguistic backgrounds are better placed to design teaching that connects new learning to what children already know.
In practice, this means:
- Gathering information about a child’s home language/s and experiences
- Using this knowledge to make lessons more relevant and accessible
Classroom example: Year 5 science (States of Matter)
The Educator invites children to share where they see evaporation at home: drying clothes, steaming dumplings, or burning incense. Then explicitly links these examples back to the scientific explanation.
By connecting the abstract concept of ‘evaporation’ to something tangible like ‘incense’ or ‘steaming,’ the child is able to relate to it.
Deepening Understanding by Harnessing Home Languages
Research and classroom practice both show that strong first-language skills are crucial for developing English proficiency and achieving academic success.
“The idea that a multilingual classroom is not only beneficial to EAL students but to non-EAL students (suggests) the need for a strategic whole-school approach to language teaching and integration.” (Arnot et al., 2014,p.7)
In practice, schools should:
- Encourage translanguaging as a learning strategy. Translanguaging enables children to first process complex cognitive tasks in their strongest language, before expressing them in English.
- Encourage families to use first languages to support key topics and concepts
Classroom example: Year 5 science (States of Matter)
The children use their first language to clarify why the change is happening. Once they have secured the concept, they then describe it in English.
The child is not cognitively overloaded. They use their first language to handle the heavy lifting of thinking, and only then move on to using English to demonstrate their understanding.
Final Thoughts…
Closing the gap for multilingual children requires a clear understanding of how language underpins attainment, a commitment to evidence-informed practice and a shared vision that places language at the heart of curriculum design.
When leaders get this right, the impact is profound – not only for multilingual children, but for all learners. Prioritising language isn’t just an inclusion strategy; it’s a school improvement strategy.
References
Arnot, M., Schneider, C. and Welply, O. (2014) School approaches to the education of EAL students. Cambridge: The Bell Foundation.
Cummins, J. (2000) Language, Power and Pedagogy: Bilingual Children in the Crossfire. Clevedon: Multilingual Matters.
When teacher recruitment celebrates bias
Written by Neil Lithgo
Neil Lithgo is an experienced international Physics educator with over 20 years’ teaching IB, A-Level, and IGCSE courses. He is interested in evidence-informed pedagogy, STEAM education, and inclusive practices that support neurodivergent learners and teachers. He is the creator of SimpliPhys.com.
I’ve spent some time recently reading teaching job adverts and I started to notice an interesting pattern in the language we use to describe the “ideal” candidate.
Words like “enthusiastic”, “passionate” and “dynamic” appear repeatedly, often far more frequently than descriptors related to reflection, creativity or professional deliberation. That in itself isn’t a problem but it raises some important questions about what our recruitment processes may be unintentionally filtering for and what it may be filtering out.
“Seeking an enthusiastic, passionate and dynamic teacher to join our school.”
There is nothing inherently wrong with this. Who wouldn’t want a teacher who loves their subject and can convey that enthusiasm to students?
However, language like this hides a common and largely unexamined bias in teacher recruitment. One that directly affects hiring outcomes.
For decades, research has shown that recruitment processes are vulnerable to bias, even when intent is fair. A landmark 2004 study by Bertrand and Mullainathan demonstrated that identical CVs received significantly different call-back rates based solely on whether the applicant’s name was perceived as ‘White’ or ‘Black’. Similar findings exist for gender bias, prompting widespread reforms such as anonymised applications and structured scoring.
What did not happen was the normalisation of bias once it was identified. Organisations did not respond by saying, “Sorry, you just sounded too Black” or “You weren’t masculine enough.” Instead, they changed the system.
Yet in teacher recruitment, a parallel bias remains visible and largely unchallenged.
I recently analysed 30 randomly selected teaching job adverts on TES. The most common candidate descriptors were ‘enthusiastic’ (50%), ‘passionate’ (43%), and ‘dynamic’ (37%). By contrast, descriptors associated with reflection, collaboration, or professional deliberation appeared far less frequently (‘reflective’: 7%; ‘imaginative’: 3%).
This is not presented as definitive research but even in a small sample, the pattern is striking.
Schools consistently foreground affective qualities alongside and sometimes above technical competence. These terms are not niche; they are core elements of person specifications. Importantly, they function not as baseline expectations but as comparative qualifiers. Candidates who can visibly perform enthusiasm gain an advantage over those whose motivation is quieter, more internal or expressed through depth rather than display.
More troublingly, this bias is often explicitly reinforced in feedback to unsuccessful candidates: “The other candidate showed more enthusiasm for the school” or “Others appeared more dynamic in the interview.”
This becomes a serious equity issue when viewed through the lens of neurodiversity.
Every day, schools seek teachers who are innovative, committed and deeply invested in student success. Yet the primary tool used to identify them, the traditional interview, often functions less as a window into teaching ability and more as a test of social performance. This system is built on neurotypical norms of communication and disadvantages neurodivergent candidates, particularly those with ADHD and autism.
Commonly, the ADHD child is frequently corrected for being too lively, too chatty, too enthusiastic, for interrupting, oversharing, for just generally being ‘too much.’ This lifelong social feedback often forces the development of a carefully constructed mask. A reserved, calm and controlled exterior designed to pass in neurotypical spaces. Then, as an adult in a job interview, the same individual is evaluated against a checklist that prizes the very “enthusiasm” and “dynamism” they were trained to suppress. The system first punishes the trait, then demands its performance.
For these candidates, the interview is not merely stressful; it is also structurally mismatched. Neuroscience research shows that the ADHD brain is interest-based, thriving on stimulation, immediacy, and interaction, precisely the conditions of a dynamic classroom. By contrast, a static, high-pressure interview environment triggers inhibition, not engagement. Traits such as Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria can flatten affect, while the cognitive load of recalling polished examples under pressure can consume all available executive resources.
The result is a paradox: the candidate who appears subdued in an interview may be the same teacher who energises a project-based classroom.
Recent empirical evidence supports this bias. A 2021 study by Flower et al. found that autistic candidates were rated significantly lower than neurotypical candidates in live interviews. When the same responses were evaluated via written transcript, the gap largely disappeared. The bias was not in what candidates said, but in how they said it, tone, eye contact, rhythm, neurotypical social signals that are wrongly coded as indicators of professionalism or enthusiasm.
In both ADHD and autism, the system mistakes a difference in social cognition for a deficit in employment potential.
Crucially, past recruitment reforms share a core principle: change the system, not the candidate. Blinded applications, structured scoring and evidence-based criteria reduce reliance on subjective cues. Yet these principles have largely stopped at the edge of neurotypicality.
Creating equity means moving beyond accommodations offered only on request toward universally better design. The goal is not to train neurodivergent candidates to perform neurotypically. It is to build recruitment processes sophisticated enough to recognise genuine teaching potential across different cognitive styles.
By applying the same structural thinking used to combat racial and gender bias, focusing on demonstrable skills rather than ‘charisma’, we can dismantle the enthusiasm trap. We can stop conflating the performance of passion with the substance of it.
We can continue to celebrate a narrow, performative ideal of passion and systematically lose a reservoir of talented, dedicated and innovative educators. Or, we can apply the lessons learned from fighting other biases. We can redesign our adverts, de-centre the social audition and structure assessments that look for evidence of practice over performance. By doing so, we won’t just make hiring fairer; we will build stronger, more diverse teams capable of reaching every student.
The passionate teacher is already there. We should be able to create a process that allows the presentation of their enthusiasm to be correctly understood.
Disclaimer:
This piece is about patterns in recruitment culture over time and across institutions, not about any one school or individual process.
References:
Flower RL, Dickens LM, Hedley D. Barriers to Employment: Raters’ Perceptions of Male Autistic and Non-Autistic Candidates During a Simulated Job Interview and the Impact of Diagnostic Disclosure. Autism Adulthood. 2021 Dec 1;3(4):300-309. doi: 10.1089/aut.2020.0075. Epub 2021 Dec 7. PMID: 36601643; PMCID: PMC8992918.
The Power of Storytelling for Change
Written by Orla McKeating
Entrepreneur, coach and motivational speaker
In Irish tradition, “the gift of the gab” is more than being good with words. It reflects a long-held belief that speech itself is a kind of gift, one with the power to connect, heal and shape the world around us. It’s also a friendly, light-hearted way of saying someone talks a lot and tells stories. Something I’ve been told I have many times throughout my life.
Historically, storytellers and poets held significant social power. Words had the power to heal, inspire, unite, and drive meaningful change. Using our words was not merely a skill, but a responsibility. Culturally, this reflects the role of storytelling as social glue – a tool for connection, a means of using our voices with purpose and power. In the world we live in today, this beautiful, free and powerful tool is needed more than ever to create change.
In my years of working in inclusion, I have been using stories for social change the short-term impact has been huge. The girl in the hijab in an online story session whose face lit up when she saw someone like her in The Proudest Blue by Ibtihaj Muhammad. She lit up, bounced out of the room full of excitement and energy, and brought her mother into the room to show her. Or the deaf girl in a mainstream school who had never once spoke about her disability to her classmates and after a story in sign session, she skipped into school the following day with more books about the deaf experience, so proud of her identity. Representation matters and these tiny shifts in how we share our stories in learning spaces can literally change lives.
Why does Storytelling Matter?
1.Storytelling Builds Connection
Stories can create an emotional bridge, it can build empathy and helps people feel. When we connect emotionally to a topic, we can become more curious, open and engaged. It opens a tool for conversations, especially difficult ones, and it can turn something abstract – like identity, justice or belonging – into something real.
2. Stories help children see themselves and others
Representation matters deeply in education. The concept of mirrors, windows and sliding doors by Dr Rudine Bishop allows children to see their lives, cultures and experiences reflected to them affirming identity and self-worth. Mirrors reflect children’s own lives and identities back to them, helping them feel seen, valued and affirmed. Windows invite children into others’ lives helping them develop empathy, challenge stereotypes and understand perspectives beyond their own. And sliding doors invite children to step into another world, to imagine themselves in different contexts, perspectives and possibilities.
3. Storytelling makes Complex Topics Accessible
Uncomfortable or difficult topics like race, immigration, disability or big emotions can be challenging to navigate. Stories can offer a gentle and powerful entry point to this. Through characters, narratives and lived experiences, children can explore these topics gently, engage in important discussions and critical thinking in an accessible and sustainable way.
4. Storytelling invites Participation not Perfection
Stories open space for conversation as opposed to ‘correct answers. They encourage reflection, questioning and conversation. Through stories we can encourage children to learn that their voices matter, they can disagree and still be friends and that learning is something we do together.
5. Stories can change lives
Every one of us has a story that they heard that changed their lives. Whether it’s a book, a film, history or a family anecdote. Stories create memorable, meaningful and long-lasting change. And we all have a story to tell.
If stories shape how children see themselves and the world, the stories we choose, and how we hold space for them, really matter. How can we build storytelling as a tool into our learning spaces? Whose voices are centred? Whose voices are missing? What stories do we tell ourselves? And how can we use our gift of the gab to ensure that all voices are seen, heard, valued and celebrated?
Still I Rise Stories is a space for adults, educators, teachers and any person who are using stories to open conversations about identity, belonging and justice. If this work resonates, join our community here – a space to reflect, learn and grow through story.
When 'Belonging' Replaces 'Equity': The Silence of White Male Educators
Written by Hannah Wilson
Founder and Director of the Belonging Effect (formerly Diverse Educators).
Across schools, colleges and trusts, a quiet linguistic shift has taken root. Many white male educators – often in leadership roles, often well-meaning – are talking less about diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI) and more about belonging. At first, it sounds like progress. Who could possibly argue with belonging? It’s warm, inclusive, even healing.
But beneath that linguistic comfort lies something more complicated. When white male educators embrace “belonging” while sidestepping conversations about diversity, equity and inclusion, they risk participating in a subtle but powerful form of avoidance – one that centres comfort over accountability, and cohesion over justice.
The Appeal of ‘Belonging’
There’s no denying the emotional resonance of belonging. Everyone wants to feel seen, valued, and part of a community. The word signals care and connection – qualities deeply needed in our schools.
Yet belonging, in its current popular use, carries a kind of neutrality that makes it especially attractive to those uncomfortable with conversations about race, power, and privilege. It sounds universal and non-political. It doesn’t demand that we ask who has been excluded, whose histories have been erased, or whose comfort is prioritized.
For many white male educators, “belonging” feels like safer ground. It lets them express empathy without stepping into the uneasy territory of systemic inequity. It invites community-building without requiring structural change.
But that safety is precisely the problem.
What Gets Lost When We Skip DEI
Belonging, when untethered from the work of diversity, equity, and inclusion, risks becoming a hollow promise. It shifts the focus from systems to feelings – from justice to comfort.
- Diversity asks: Who is here? Who is missing?
- Equity asks: Who has access to opportunity and resources? Who are the gatekeepers?
- Inclusion asks: Whose voices shape our culture and decisions? Who is being silenced?
- Belonging, in its best form, should ask: How do we ensure everyone feels valued within equitable systems?
But too often, belonging is invoked instead of those questions, not because of them. It becomes a way to soothe rather than to solve – a way to look caring without confronting the root causes of exclusion.
In that sense, “belonging” can function as the linguistic comfort food of educational leadership: it fills us up emotionally but leaves the deeper hunger for justice untouched. In other words, it is a plaster on a problem, the problem just becomes hidden.
The Silence of Power
Language choices are never neutral, especially when made by those in positions of authority. White male educators still hold disproportionate power in most educational spaces – whether as principals, governors, professors, or thought leaders. Their voices shape what counts as acceptable discourse.
When those voices go quiet around diversity, equity, and inclusion, the silence speaks volumes. It signals to colleagues and students that DEI is passé, divisive, or optional. It allows institutions to drift away from equity work under the comforting banner of belonging.
And when belonging becomes the new vocabulary of leadership, it risks recentring white male experience – transforming a call for justice into a call for harmony, where discomfort is avoided rather than embraced as part of growth.
This silence doesn’t just maintain the status quo; it legitimises it. It says, “We care, but not enough to change.”
The Cost of Comfort
The consequences of this linguistic shift are real.
- DEI initiatives lose funding or visibility because “we’re focusing on belonging now.”
- Educators of colour are asked to “bring everyone together” instead of naming inequity.
- Students from marginalised backgrounds hear that they “belong,” but still experience microaggressions, biased pedagogy, and uneven discipline.
The rhetoric of belonging, when detached from diversity and equity, offers inclusion without transformation. It becomes a story we tell ourselves about progress, even as the systems of inequity remain intact.
True belonging is not created through slogans, surveys, or drop down days. It grows when power is redistributed, voices long ignored are amplified, and systems are redesigned to ensure fairness. Without that foundation, belonging is little more than an emotional gloss over structural inequity (or some pretty icing on some stale cake).
A Call Back to Courage
None of this is to say that belonging doesn’t matter. It matters deeply. But belonging must be built on top of equity, not in place of it.
White male educators, in particular, have a responsibility to stay in the discomfort – to speak not just about togetherness, but about justice. Silence is not neutrality; it is complicity. And shifting the language without shifting the practice is not progress – it’s retreat.
Belonging that is worth having will always be born from honesty, from the willingness to look directly at inequity and to act against it. It requires courage, humility, and a refusal to choose comfort over truth.
A Final Thought
If we are serious about belonging, then we must be serious about diversity, equity, and inclusion. Because real belonging does not come from soft language – it comes from hard work.
Belonging without equity is not inclusion.
It’s avoidance dressed as empathy.
The challenge for white male educators – and indeed, for all of us – is to ensure that our words do not outpace our courage.
Thus, we must become more conscious of who we are when we are doing DEIB work, we must be confident we are tackling problems and not causing further harm, we must be competent in navigating each layer of our workplace culture as belonging is only surfaced when diversity, equity and inclusion are established and embedded in the foundations.
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?