We are entering a third academic year while what many international organisations, legal experts and human rights officials are now calling a genocide in Gaza continues, resulting in the worst manmade systematic starvation of people. I find myself asking: will more teachers finally engage in honest discussions about this conflict? Will we find the courage to teach about it in our schools?
I wonder if our children and young people will have more questions about what is going on, how we’ve got here, why nobody is able to stop it? Have they already become so desensitised to the horror, with the images of death, destruction and famine as just an everyday occurrence to scroll past on their phones?
The purpose of education, not just schooling
Too often, we claim to uphold the values of social justice while denying injustice when it affects certain communities. We promote learning about sustainability and climate change, yet deny the link between colonisation, climate justice and famine.
The purpose of education differs according to who you ask. Governments and ministers often prefer it as a tool to secure the future economy, with a focus on workers for the future; parents and carers may see it as ensuring security and stability for their young person. For teachers and educators, it is about these goals, but also about shaping the future of society itself.
Education is never neutral, as Paulo Freire reminded us in Pedagogy of the Oppressed (1970). Every choice we make, from what to teach and what to omit, to how we respond to difficult questions, reflects our values, as well as the political alignment and priorities of the systems we teach in. It either reinforces the status quo or opens the door to critical thinking, empathy, and change.
To remain silent in the face of injustice is not neutral; it is a conscious position. As Desmond Tutu wrote in his book, Hope and Suffering, in 1984: “If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor.”
Being a teacher in Scotland
The General Teaching Council for Scotland’s (GTCS) Professional Standards require educators to uphold values of social justice, integrity, trust, and respect. Indeed, we are required to “understand and reflect on the social and political dimensions of education” and thus help learners critically engage with current events.
These aren’t optional extras or vague ideals; they are foundational to our practice and enshrined in our professional code. But we cannot pick and choose which aspects of social justice we support based on personal comfort or public mood.
We’ve seen how inconsistently this plays out. Many schools quite rightly supported pupils and communities in response to the war in Ukraine, organising events, displaying Ukrainian flags, painting banners in solidarity. Yet, just over a year later, pupils expressing grief, rage or solidarity over Gaza have had flags confiscated, badges removed or doctored out of photos, and scarves banned. Discussions have been shut down across educational establishments rather than guided.
This double standard is not lost on students. For many, especially Muslim pupils, it has reinforced a sense of alienation, injustice, and unequal worth. It has prompted accusations of Islamophobia and racism in how schools and universities have responded to expressions of solidarity and student voice, principles we claim to value. The Tell MAMA monitoring group documented a record number of anti-Muslim hate incidents across Britain in 2024, a surge directly tied to the Gaza war.
The price of upholding values of social justice
And yet we cannot ignore the growing fear among educators; the very real, chilling effect of intimidation, harassment, and professional risk faced by those who try to uphold these values. Teachers who speak up about human rights, settler colonialism, or state violence are too often met with targeted abuse, complaints, and threats to their jobs.
This silencing is strategic. It aims to make examples of the few to discourage the many, despite the fact that educators according to the United Nations have a right to freedom of expression when upholding the values of rights and justice.
But we must not let fear dictate our practice. Our role as educators is not to indoctrinate, but to illuminate; to help young people understand the world they live in, along with its complexity, histories, and systems of power, and to equip them to imagine and build something better. That’s not activism. That’s education at its best.
There is much to do, but it begins with honesty, reflection, and the courage to move beyond tokenism towards genuine, justice-oriented practice. We carry a tremendous responsibility in shaping the future of our societies. Let’s not squander it with silence.
More on education.
