Category: Culture

  • Truth vs. risk management: How to move forward

    Truth vs. risk management: How to move forward

    Key points:

    In the world of K-12 education, teachers are constantly making decisions that affect their students and families. In contrast, administrators are tasked with something even bigger: making decisions that also involve adults (parents, staff culture, etc.) and preventing conflicts from spiraling into formal complaints or legal issues. Therefore, decisions and actions often have to balance two competing values: truth and risk management.

    Some individuals, such as teachers, are very truth-oriented. They document interactions, clarify misunderstandings, and push for accuracy, recognizing that a single misrepresentation can erode trust with families, damage credibility in front of students, or most importantly, remove them from the good graces of administrators they respect and admire. Truth is not an abstract concept–it is paramount to professionalism and reputation. If a student states that they are earning a low grade because “the teacher doesn’t like me,” the teacher will go through their grade-book. If a parent claims that a teacher did not address an incident in the classroom, the teacher may respond by clarifying the inaccuracy via summarizing documentation of student statements, anecdotal evidence of student conversations, reflective activities, etc.

    De-escalation and appeasement

    In contrast, administrators are tasked with something even bigger. They have to view scenarios from the lens of risk management. Their role requires them to deescalate and appease. Administrators must protect the school’s reputation and prevent conflicts or disagreements from spiraling into formal complaints or legal issues. Through that lens, the truth sometimes takes a back seat to ostensibly achieve a quick resolution.

    When a house catches on fire, firefighters point the hose, put out the flames, and move on to their next emergency. They don’t care if the kitchen was recently remodeled; they don’t have the time or desire to figure out a plan to put out the fire by aiming at just the living room, bedrooms, and bathrooms. Administrators can be the same way–they just want the proverbial “fire” contained. They do not care about their employees’ feelings; they just care about smooth sailing and usually softly characterize matters as misunderstandings.

    To a classroom teacher who has carefully documented the truth, this injustice can feel like a bow tied around a bag of garbage. Administrators usually err on the side of appeasing the irrational, volatile, and dangerous employee, which risks the calmer employee feeling like they were overlooked because they are “weaker.” In reality, their integrity, professionalism, and level-headedness lead administrators to trust the employee will do right, know better, maintain appropriate decorum, rise above, and not foolishly escalate. This notion aligns to the scripture “To whom much is given, much is required” (Luke 12:48). Those with great abilities are judged at a higher bar.

    In essence, administrators do not care about feelings, because they have a job to do. The employee with higher integrity is not the easier target but is easier to redirect because they are the safer, principled, and ethical employee. This is not a weakness but a strength in the eyes of the administration and that is what they prefer (albeit the employee may be dismissed, confused, and their feelings may be hurt, but that is not the administration’s focus at all).

    Finding common ground

    Neither perspective (truth or risk management) is wrong. Risk management matters. Without it, schools would be replete with endless investigations and finger-pointing. Although, when risk management consistently overrides truth, the system teaches teachers that appearances matter more than accountability, which does not meet the needs of validation and can thus truly hurt on a personal level. However, in the work environment, finding common ground and moving forward is more important than finger-pointing because the priority has to be the children having an optimal learning environment.

    We must balance the two. Perhaps, administrators should communicate openly, privately, and directly to educators who may not always understand the “game.” Support and transparency are beneficial. Explaining the “why” behind a decision can go a long way in building staff trust, morale, and intelligence. Further, when teachers feel supported in their honesty, they are less likely to disengage because transparency, accuracy, and an explanation of risk management can actually prevent fires from igniting in the first place. Additionally, teachers and administrators should explore conflict resolution strategies that honor truth while still mitigating risk. This can assist in modelling for students what it means to live with integrity in complex situations. Kids deserve nothing less.

    Lastly, teachers need to be empathetic to the demands on their administrators. “If someone falls into sin, forgivingly restore him, saving your critical comments for yourself. You might be needing forgiveness before the day’s out. Stoop down and reach out to those who are oppressed. Share their burdens, and so complete Christ’s law. If you think you are too good for that, you are badly deceived” (Galatians 6:1-3). This scripture means that teachers should focus less on criticizing or “keeping score” (irrespective of the truth and the facts, and even if false-facts are generated to manage risk), but should work collaboratively while also remembering and recognizing that our colleagues (and even administrators) can benefit from the simple support of our grace and understanding. Newer colleagues and administrators are often in survival mode.

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  • When young girls pay the cost of climate change

    When young girls pay the cost of climate change

    Jaffarabad, Balochistan: When floodwaters swept through Shaista’s village in 2022, they didn’t just take her family’s home and farmland, they also took away her childhood. Just 14 years old, Shaista was married off to a man twice her age in exchange for a small dowry. 

    Her father, a daily wage laborer, said it was the most painful decision he has ever made.

    “I didn’t want to do it,” he said, his eyes fixed on the cracked earth where his fields used to be. “But I have four other children to feed and no land to farm. We lost everything.”

    Stories like Shaista’s are becoming increasingly common across Balochistan, Pakistan’s poorest province. In 2022, devastating floods there driven by record-breaking monsoon rains and accelerated glacial melt linked to climate change, displaced over 1.5 million people.

    There is worldwide recognition that extreme weather events — not just floods, but drought, heatwaves, tornados and hurricanes — are becoming more frequent and less predictable as the planet warms. These events have devastating and long-term consequences for people in poor regions. 

    Young girls as assets 

    In districts like Jaffarabad and Chowki Jamali, the aftermath of the disaster has left families grappling with deepening poverty, food insecurity and crushing debt. For many, marrying off their young daughters is no longer just a tradition, it’s a form of survival.

    A 2023 survey by the Provincial Disaster Management Authority reported a 15% spike in underage marriages in flood-affected regions. Child rights activists warn that these numbers likely underestimate the scale of the crisis, as most cases go unreported.

    “In flood-hit areas, families are exchanging their daughters to repay loans, buy food or simply reduce the number of mouths to feed,” said Maryam Jamali, a social worker with the Madad Community organization. “We’ve documented girls as young as 12 being married to men in their forties or fifties. This isn’t about tradition anymore, it’s desperation.”

    Bride prices, once a source of negotiation and family prestige, have plummeted due to the economic collapse. Activists report instances where girls are married for as little as 100,000 Pakistani rupees (roughly US$360), or in some cases, simply traded for livestock or debt forgiveness.

    “There are villages where girls are married off like assets being liquidated,” said Sikander Bizenjo, a co-founder of the Balochistan Youth Action Committee. “It’s not just a violation of rights, it’s a systemic failure rooted in climate vulnerability, poverty and legal gaps.”

    Marriage as debt payment

    In Usta Muhammad, another flood-ravaged district, 13-year-old Sumaira (name changed) was married off just weeks after her family’s mud house collapsed. Her parents received 300,000 rupees (a little over $1,000) from the groom’s family, which they used to rebuild their shelter and repay moneylenders. 

    Now pregnant, Sumaira, has dropped out of school and rarely leaves her husband’s house.

    “I miss my friends and school,” she told us softly. “I wanted to become a teacher. But my parents said there was no other way.”

    Child marriages like Shaista’s and Sumaira’s carry lasting consequences: early pregnancies that endanger both mother and child, disrupted education, psychological trauma and lifetime economic dependence. 

    A study following the 2010 floods found maternal mortality rates in some affected regions were as high as 381 per 100,000 live births, one of the highest in the world.

    “These girls are thrust into adult roles before they’re ready,” said Dr. Sameena Khan, a gynecologist in Quetta. “They face dangerous pregnancies, and many have no access to medical care. Their childhood ends the moment they say ‘yes’ or are forced to.”

    Giving girls an alternative to marriage

    The crisis unfolding in Balochistan is not unique. Across the world, climate shocks and civil strife are causing displacement that intensifies the risk of child marriage. 

    In 2024, News Decoder correspondent Katherine Lake Berz interviewed 14-year-old Ola, who nearly became a child bride after her Syrian family, displaced by war and facing severe poverty, began arranging her marriage to an older man. But before that coil happen, Ola was able to enroll in Alsama, a non-governmental organization that provides secondary education to refugee girls. In less than a year, she was reading English at A2 level.

    Alsama, which has more than 900 students across four schools and a waiting list of hundreds, has been able to show girls and their parents that education can offer an alternative path to security and dignity.

    In Balochistan, the absence of legal safeguards compounds the crisis. The Sindh province banned child marriage in 2013 under the Sindh Child Marriage Restraint Act which set the legal age at 18 for both girls and boys. But Balochistan has yet to enact a comparable law. 

    Nationally, Pakistan remains bound by the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child, which requires nations to end child marriage but enforcement remains patchy. And Pakistan is not one of the 16 countries that have also signed onto the Convention on Consent to Marriage, Minimum Age for Marriage and Registration of Marriages, which forbids marriage before a girl reaches puberty and requires complete freedom in the choice of a spouse. 

    Pakistan needs to reform its laws, said human rights lawyer Ali Dayan Hasan. “Without a clear provincial law and mechanisms to enforce it, girls are at the mercy of social pressure and economic collapse,” Hasan said. “We need legal reform that matches the urgency of the climate and humanitarian crises we are facing.”

    Attempts to introduce child marriage laws in Balochistan have repeatedly stalled amid political resistance and lack of awareness. Religious and tribal leaders argue that such laws interfere with cultural norms, while government officials cite limited administrative capacity in rural areas.

    Bringing an end to child marriages

    The solution, experts agree, is multi-pronged: legal reform, economic recovery and access to education.

    “We can’t end child marriage without rebuilding livelihoods,” said Bizenjo. “Families need food, land, healthcare and hope. If they can’t survive, they’ll continue to sacrifice their daughters.”

    Grassroots organizations like Madad and Sujag Sansar provide vocational training, safe shelters and legal awareness sessions in flood-affected areas. In one case, Sujag Sansar intervened to stop the marriage of 10-year-old Mehtab in Sindh, enrolling her in a sewing workshop instead.

    UNICEF estimates that child marriages could increase by 18% in Pakistan due to the 2022 floods, potentially reversing years of progress. The agency is urging governments to integrate child protection into climate adaptation and disaster relief programs.

    “Girls must not be forgotten in climate response plans,” said UNICEF Pakistan’s representative Abdullah Fadil. “Their future cannot be the cost of every flood, every drought, every crisis.”

    Back in Jaffarabad, Shaista now lives with her husband’s family in a two-room house. Her dreams of becoming a doctor have faded, replaced by household chores and looming motherhood. “I wanted to study more,” she said. “But now I have to take care of others.”

    Questions to consider:

    1. How does the marriage of young girls connect to climate change?

    2. How can societies end the practice of child marriage?

    3. Why do you think only 16 countries have signed the UN treaty that requires consent for marriages?

     

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  • Art as success? That’s genius!

    Art as success? That’s genius!

    The MacArthur Foundation selects a diverse group of people for an award dubbed the “genius grants”. In doing so they help us redefine our measure of success.

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  • East Africa’s Queer communities show progress and hope

    East Africa’s Queer communities show progress and hope

    Around the world, Queer rights are being challenged, attacked and denied. Governments are cutting budgets for important health and other programmes. 

    But in parts of Africa, there are distinct signs of progress. Organizations that serve and advocate for Queer communities in Eastern Africa now see hope for the future. That’s the case even in Uganda where “aggravated homosexuality” has carried the death penalty since 2023.

    “It is still a very hard environment but we are doing much better than a lot of people think,” said Brian Aliganyira, founder and executive director of the Ark Wellness Hub, an organization based in Kampala, Uganda, that helps LGBT community members who have difficulty accessing health services in public hospitals due to both anti-Queer laws and ongoing community stigma and discrimination.

    “We are doing better in terms of fighting back and supporting communities, not necessarily better in terms of protection, rights and freedoms,” Aliganyira said. 

    In Kenya, homosexual acts are illegal. Rodney Otieno, who is the co-founder and policy director for the Queer & Allied Chamber of Commerce Africa of Nairobi (QACC), described the creation of a “Queer ecosystem” that mobilises resources, builds social enterprises, creates sustainable economic pathways for people of the Queer community and attracts impact investments – using money for good causes even as it generates wealth. The QACC now boasts over 3,000 members in Kenya, plus others across Africa.

    Language and discrimination

    Otieno and the four other East African community leaders interviewed for this article generally prefer to use the more fluid term “Queer” rather than “LGBTQ” or any of its many variations. 

    Kevin Ngabo, a Queer activist and social justice advocate, said that local languages often lack positive or even neutral words to describe queer identities — only stigmatizing ones.

    “‘Queer’ gives us an umbrella that feels both flexible and affirming, allowing people to belong without being boxed in by rigid categories,” Ngabo said. “It’s a way of saying: I am different and that difference is valid.”,

    Ngabo was born and raised in Rwanda before moving to Nairobi, Kenya late last year.

    In Rwanda, there are no anti-discrimination laws but the government does not recognize same-sex marriages. 

    Pride in one’s identity

    A Queer rights activist in Kigali, who asked not to be identified, said that young people are feeling more comfortable with their identities. “GenZers are taking up more space as their authentic selves,” the activist said. “They are even getting more understanding and affection from their families. It is not ‘weird’ anymore. This will become the norm.”

    The Kigali activist has recently been involved in both a Pride Party and a Queer film festival, which attracted over 600 paying participants from around the region. 

    Queer community leaders point out different elements of both recent progress and hopes for sustainable success in the future beyond the constant imperative to keep community members safe and to try to get discriminatory laws repealed.

    “We need to continue to work together, make good use of our limited resources, be clear about what we are doing, raise awareness and be diplomatic when dealing with the authorities” says another anonymous Queer activist and feminist in Rwanda.

    Ngabo in Nairobi believes that Queer people across the region need to develop a strong sense of community and be “stubborn when they are told they can’t do something, and take space and stand up for what they believe in.”

    Finding allies to your cause

    Aliganyira in Kampala agrees that people should not run away from their ongoing challenges with safety, respect and equal opportunity and instead continue to show courage, resilience and perseverance to defend their current rights and expand them in future.

    A Queer activist in Rwanda stressed the need to work with allies and others to create more education and training to promote awareness, understanding and empathy.

    Ngabo shared some advice: “Start small and start where you are,” he said. “Speak up when you hear harmful stereotypes. Make space for people to share their stories without fear. Support Queer-led groups, attend events, or even just show up for your friends when they need someone safe to lean on.”

    Allyship isn’t always grand, he said. “It’s often in the quiet, consistent choices to affirm someone’s humanity,” he said.

    Queer community leaders say they are generally optimistic about the future.

    “In five to 10 years’ time, the narrative will change completely,” said Otieno in Nairobi.

    Changing people’s perceptions

    Young queer activists are being empowered and learning how to take on leadership roles in government and in other decision-making spaces, said one Rwandan activist.

    Another Rwandan activist envisions a future where same sex couples will be able to get married, adopt kids and access medical services freely.  

    “Things will improve if we are smart,” the activist said. “I hope we will see more safe spaces, more affirming healthcare (especially in mental health), more economic inclusion, and more media and policy-making representation. In the end though, dignity is more important than law changes.”

    Ngabo in Nairobi agrees: “We want respect,” he said. “We want to feel safe. We don’t want equality. We want equal opportunities. We want to thrive.”

    Real progress means being able to live authentically without having to conform, he said. “Stronger protections under the law, safe spaces to gather, visibility in public life, and most importantly, Queer people leading the narrative about our own lives,” Ngabo said. “These are what a brighter future looks like to me.”

    Even in Uganda, Aliganyira believes things can still change for the better.

    Uganda was once considered the safest place for Queer people in East Africa before the 1990s, he said.

    “Uganda can undo what it has done and get beyond fear and uncertainty,” he said. “It’s up to everyone to come together and overcome division.”

    Questions to consider:

    1. Why do LGBTQIA+ community members in East Africa prefer to call themselves “Queer”?

    2. What are the key elements of a brighter future for the East African Queer communities?

    3. What can you do yourself to stand up for human rights as an ally or a member of a Queer community where you live?

     

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  • Celebrating heritage means honoring students’ languages

    Celebrating heritage means honoring students’ languages

    Key points:

    Every year, Hispanic Heritage Month offers the United States a chance to honor the profound and varied contributions of Latino communities. We celebrate scientists like Ellen Ochoa, the first Latina woman in space, and activists like Dolores Huerta, who fought tirelessly for workers’ rights. We use this month to recognize the cultural richness that Spanish-speaking families bring to our communities, including everything from vibrant festivals to innovative businesses that strengthen our local economies.

    But there’s a paradox at play.

    While we spotlight Hispanic heritage in public spaces, many classrooms across the country require Spanish-speaking students to set aside the very heart of their cultural identity: their language.

    This contradiction is especially personal for me. I moved from Puerto Rico to the mainland United States as an adult in hopes of building a better future for myself and my family. The transition was far from easy. My accent often became a challenge in ways I never expected, because people judged my intelligence or questioned my education based solely on how I spoke. I could communicate effectively, yet my words were filtered through stereotypes.

    Over time, I found deep fulfillment working in a state that recognizes the value of bilingual education. Texas, where I now live, continues to expand biliteracy pathways for students. This commitment honors both home languages and English, opening global opportunities for children while preserving ties to their history, family, and identity.

    That commitment to expanding pathways for English Learners (EL) is urgently needed. Texas is home to more than 1.3 million ELs, which is nearly a quarter of all students in the state, the highest share in the nation. Nationwide, there are more than 5 million ELs comprising nearly 11 percent of the U.S. public school students; about 76 percent of ELs are Spanish speakers. Those figures represent millions of children who walk into classrooms every day carrying the gift of another language. If we are serious about celebrating Hispanic Heritage Month, we must be serious about honoring and cultivating that gift.

    A true celebration of Hispanic heritage requires more than flags and food. It requires acknowledging that students’ home languages are essential to their academic success, not obstacles to overcome. Research consistently shows that bilingualism is a cognitive asset. Those who are exposed to two languages at an early age outperform their monolingual peers on tests of cognitive function in adolescence and adulthood. Students who maintain and develop their native language while learning English perform better academically, not worse. Yet too often, our educational systems operate as if English is the only language that matters.

    One powerful way to shift this mindset is rethinking the materials students encounter every day. High-quality instructional materials should act as both mirrors and windows–mirrors in which students see themselves reflected, and windows through which they explore new perspectives and possibilities. Meeting state academic standards is only part of the equation: Materials must also align with language development standards and reflect the cultural and linguistic diversity of our communities.

    So, what should instructional materials look like if we truly want to honor language as culture?

    • Instructional materials should meet students at varying levels of language proficiency while never lowering expectations for academic rigor.
    • Effective materials include strategies for vocabulary development, visuals that scaffold comprehension, bilingual glossaries, and structured opportunities for academic discourse.
    • Literature and history selections should incorporate and reflect Latino voices and perspectives, not as “add-ons” during heritage month, but as integral elements of the curriculum throughout the year.

    But materials alone are not enough. The process by which schools and districts choose them matters just as much. Curriculum teams and administrators must center EL experiences in every adoption decision. That means intentionally including the voices of bilingual educators, EL specialists, and, especially, parents and families. Their life experiences offer insights into the most effective ways to support students.

    Everyone has a role to play. Teachers should feel empowered to advocate for materials that support bilingual learners; policymakers must ensure funding and policies that prioritize high-quality, linguistically supportive instructional resources; and communities should demand that investments in education align with the linguistic realities of our students.

    Because here is the truth: When we honor students’ languages, we are not only affirming their culture; we are investing in their future. A child who is able to read, write, and think in two languages has an advantage that will serve them for life. They will be better prepared to navigate an interconnected world, and they carry with them the ability to bridge communities.

    This year, let’s move beyond celebrating what Latino communities have already contributed to America and start investing in what they can become when we truly support and honor them year-round. That begins with valuing language as culture–and making sure our classrooms do the same.

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  • Generic AI cannot capture higher education’s unwritten rules

    Generic AI cannot capture higher education’s unwritten rules

    Some years ago, I came across Walter Moberley’s The Crisis in the University. In the years after the Second World War, universities faced a perfect storm: financial strain, shifting student demographics, and a society wrestling with lost values. Every generation has its reckoning. Universities don’t just mirror the societies they serve – they help define what those societies might become.

    Today’s crisis looks very different. It isn’t about reconstruction or mass expansion. It’s about knowledge itself – how it is mediated and shaped in a world of artificial intelligence. The question is whether universities can hold on to their cultural distinctiveness once LLM-enabled workflows start to drive their daily operations.

    The unwritten rules

    Let’s be clear: universities are complicated beasts. Policies, frameworks and benchmarks provide a skeleton. But the flesh and blood of higher education live elsewhere – in the unwritten rules of culture.

    Anyone who has sat through a validation panel, squinted at the spreadsheets for a TEF submission, or tried to navigate an approval workflow knows what I mean. Institutions don’t just run on paperwork; they run on tacit understandings, corridor conversations and half-spoken agreements.

    These practices rarely make it into a handbook – nor should they – but they shape everything from governance to the student experience. And here’s the rub: large language models, however clever, can’t see what isn’t codified. Which means they can’t capture the very rules that make one university distinctive from another.

    The limits of generic AI

    AI is already embedded in the sector. We see it in student support chatbots, plagiarism detection, learning platforms, and back-office systems. But these tools are built on vast, generic datasets. They flatten nuance, reproduce bias and assume a one-size-fits-all worldview.

    Drop them straight into higher education and the risk is obvious: universities start to look interchangeable. An algorithm might churn out a compliant REF impact statement. But it won’t explain why Institution A counts one case study as transformative while Institution B insists on another, or why quality assurance at one university winds its way through a labyrinth of committees while at another it barely leaves the Dean’s desk. This isn’t just a technical glitch. It’s a governance risk. Allow external platforms to hard-code the rules of engagement and higher education loses more than efficiency – it loses identity, and with it agency.

    The temptation to automate is real. Universities are drowning in compliance. Office for Students returns, REF, KEF and TEF submissions, equality reporting, Freedom of Information requests, the Race Equality Charter, endless templates – the bureaucracy multiplies every year.

    Staff are exhausted. Worse, these demands eat into time meant for teaching, research and supporting students. Ministers talk about “cutting red tape,” but in practice the load only increases. Automation looks like salvation. Drafting policies, preparing reports, filling forms – AI can do all this faster and more cheaply.

    But higher education isn’t just about efficiency. It’s also about identity and purpose. If efficiency is pursued at the expense of culture, universities risk hollowing out the very things that make them distinctive.

    Institutional memory matters

    Universities are among the UK’s most enduring civic institutions, each with a long memory shaped by place. A faculty’s interpretation of QAA benchmarks, the way a board debates grade boundaries, the precedents that guide how policies are applied – all of this is institutional knowledge.

    Very little of it is codified. Sit in a Senate meeting or a Council away-day and you quickly see how much depends on inherited understanding. When senior staff leave or processes shift, that memory can vanish – which is why universities so often feel like they are reinventing the wheel.

    Here, human-assistive AI could play a role. Not by replacing people, but by capturing and transmitting tacit practices alongside the formal rulebook. Done well, that kind of LLM could preserve memory without erasing culture.

    So, what does “different” look like? The Turing Institute recently urged the academy to think about AI in relation to the humanities, not just engineering. My own experiments – from the Bernie Grant Archive LLM to a Business Case LLM and a Curriculum Innovation LLM – point in the same direction.

    The principles are clear. Systems should be co-designed with staff, reflecting how people actually work rather than imposing abstract process maps. They must be assistive, not directive – capable of producing drafts and suggestions but always requiring human oversight.

    They need to embed cultural nuance: keeping tone, tradition and tacit practice alive alongside compliance. That way outputs reflect the character of the institution, reinforcing its USP rather than erasing it. They should preserve institutional knowledge by drawing on archives and precedents to create a living record of decision-making. And they must build in error prevention, using human feedback loops to catch hallucinations and conceptual drift.

    Done this way, AI lightens the bureaucratic load without stripping out the culture and identity that make universities what they are.

    The sector’s inflection point

    So back to the existential question. It’s not whether to adopt AI – that ship has already sailed. The real issue is whether universities will let generic platforms reshape them in their image, or whether the sector can design tools that reflect its own values.

    And the timing matters. We’re heading into a decade of constrained funding, student number caps, and rising ministerial scrutiny. Decisions about AI won’t just be about efficiency – they will go to the heart of what kind of universities survive and thrive in this environment.

    If institutions want to preserve their distinctiveness, they cannot outsource AI wholesale. They must build and shape models that reflect their own ways of working – and collaborate across the sector to do so. Otherwise, the invisible knowledge that makes one university different from another will be drained away by automation.

    That means getting specific. Is AI in higher education infrastructure, pedagogy, or governance? How do we balance efficiency with the preservation of tacit knowledge? Who owns institutional memory once it’s embedded in AI – the supplier, or the university? Caveat emptor matters here. And what happens if we automate quality assurance without accounting for cultural nuance?

    These aren’t questions that can be answered in a single policy cycle. But they can’t be ducked either. The design choices being made now will shape not just efficiency, but the very fabric of universities for decades to come.

    The zeitgeist of responsibility

    Every wave of technology promises efficiency. Few pay attention to culture. Unless the sector intervenes, large language models will be no different.

    This is, in short, a moment of responsibility. Universities can co-design AI that reflects their values, reduces bureaucracy and preserves identity. Or they can sit back and watch as generic platforms erode the lifeblood of the sector, automating away the subtle rules that make higher education what it is.

    In 1989, at the start of my BBC career, I stood on the Berlin Wall and watched the world change before my eyes. Today, higher education faces a moment of similar magnitude. The choice is stark: be shapers and leaders, or followers and losers.

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  • The art of communicating across borders

    The art of communicating across borders

    As communications manager, I quickly learned that translation is never just about swapping words. It’s about tone, style, even design. A press release that sounded professional in Paris could feel cold in Rome. A social media graphic that looked fresh in Madrid felt too flashy in Berlin.

    The solution was to build a common identity and then let each country adapt it. Slower, yes. But the result felt more authentic, and audiences responded.

    These challenges are not unique to communication teams; they are central to journalism itself. The biggest stories today — migration, climate change, political unrest — rarely stop at national frontiers. To cover them well, reporters must collaborate across borders.

    Translation beyond words

    That type of collaboration is messy. Sources are harder to coordinate. Legal and cultural differences can complicate investigations. And readers, or listeners, may have very different expectations depending on their nationality or where they live.

    But when it works, it is powerful. Our podcasts carried voices across Europe, letting audiences in one country hear accents, pauses and perspectives from another. It turned abstract debates into human stories.

    Working across cultures also reminded me that projects are not just tasks — they are people. Some partners preferred long memos, others quick calls. Some valued hierarchy, others wanted open debate. I learned to leave space for informal chat, to ask how colleagues were doing before diving into deadlines.

    Those small gestures built trust, and trust kept the project moving.

    For young journalists and students, the lesson is simple: cross-border work can feel messy, but it’s worth it. Don’t be discouraged by misunderstandings; they often lead to clearer understanding. Pay attention not only to language, but to culture. And above all, listen.

    My two years with WePod taught me that communication is less about perfect phrasing and more about building bridges. In the end, that is what journalism itself is meant to do: connect people across borders, cultures and languages.

     

    Questions to consider:

    1. What does the author mean by translating is more than swapping out words?

    2. How can people from different countries and cultures find a common identity?

    3. How would you communicate with someone who speaks a different language?

     

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  • 3 steps to build belonging in the classroom

    3 steps to build belonging in the classroom

    Key points:

    The first few weeks of school are more than a fresh start–they’re a powerful opportunity to lay the foundation for the relationships, habits, and learning that will define the rest of the year. During this time, students begin to decide whether they feel safe, valued, and connected in your classroom.

    The stakes are high. According to the 2023 Youth Risk Behavior Survey, only 55 percent of students reported feeling connected to their school. That gap matters: Research consistently shows that a lack of belonging can harm grades, attendance, and classroom behavior. Conversely, a strong sense of belonging not only boosts academic self-efficacy but also supports physical and mental well-being.

    In my work helping hundreds of districts and schools implement character development and future-ready skills programs, I’ve seen how intentionally fostering belonging from day one sets students–and educators–up for success. Patterns from schools that do this well have emerged, and these practices are worth replicating.

    Here are three proven steps to build belonging right from the start.

    1. Break the ice with purpose

    Icebreakers might sound like old news, but the reality is that they work. Research shows these activities can significantly increase engagement and participation while fostering a greater sense of community. Students often describe improved classroom atmosphere, more willingness to speak up, and deeper peer connections after just a few sessions.

    Some educators may worry that playful activities detract from a serious academic tone. In practice, they do the opposite. By helping students break down communication barriers, icebreakers pave the way for risk-taking, collaboration, and honest reflection–skills essential for deep learning.

    Consider starting with activities that combine movement, play, and social awareness:

    • Quick-think challenges: Build energy and self-awareness by rewarding quick and accurate responses.
    • Collaborative missions: Engage students working toward a shared goal that demands communication and teamwork.
    • Listen + act games: Help students develop adaptability through lighthearted games that involve following changing instructions in real time.

    These activities are more than “fun warm-ups.” They set a tone that learning here will be active, cooperative, and inclusive.

    2. Strengthen executive functioning for individual and collective success

    When we talk about belonging, executive functioning skills–like planning, prioritizing, and self-monitoring–may not be the first thing we think of. Yet they’re deeply connected. Students who can organize their work, set goals, and regulate their emotions are better prepared to contribute positively to the class community.

    Research backs this up. In a study of sixth graders, explicit instruction in executive functioning improved academics, social competence, and self-regulation. For educators, building these skills benefits both the individual and the group.

    Here are a few ways to embed executive functioning into the early weeks:

    • Task prioritization exercise: Help students identify and rank their tasks, building awareness of time and focus.
    • Strengths + goals mapping: Guide students to recognize their strengths and set values-aligned goals, fostering agency.
    • Mindful check-ins: Support holistic well-being by teaching students to name their emotions and practice stress-relief strategies.

    One especially powerful approach is co-creating class norms. When students help define what a supportive, productive classroom looks like, they feel ownership over the space. They’re more invested in maintaining it, more likely to hold each other accountable, and better able to self-regulate toward the group’s shared vision.

    3. Go beyond the first week to build deeper connections

    Icebreakers are a great start, but true belonging comes from sustained, meaningful connection. It’s tempting to think that once names are learned and routines are set, the work is done–but the deeper benefits come from keeping this focus alive alongside academics.

    The payoff is significant. School connectedness has been shown to reduce violence, protect against risky behaviors, and support long-term health and success. In other words, connection is not a “nice to have”–it’s a protective factor with lasting impact.

    Here are some deeper connection strategies:

    • Shared values agreement: Similar to creating class norms, identify the behaviors that promote safety, kindness, and understanding.
    • Story swap: Have students share an experience or interest with a partner, then introduce each other to the class.
    • Promote empathy in action: Teach students to articulate needs, seek clarification, and advocate for themselves and others.

    These activities help students see one another as whole people, capable of compassion and understanding across differences. That human connection creates an environment where everyone can learn more effectively.

    Take it campus-wide

    These strategies aren’t limited to students. Adults on campus benefit from them, too. Professional development can start with icebreakers adapted for adults. Department or PLC meetings can incorporate goal-setting and reflective check-ins. Activities that build empathy and connection among staff help create a healthy, supportive adult culture that models the belonging we want students to experience.

    When teachers feel connected and supported, they are more able to foster the same in their classrooms. That ripple effect–staff to students, students to peers–creates a stronger, more resilient school community.

    Belonging isn’t a single event; it’s a practice. Start the year with purpose, keep connection alive alongside academic goals, and watch how it transforms your classroom and your campus culture. In doing so, you’ll give students more than a positive school year. You’ll give them tools and relationships they can carry for life.

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  • How consistent communication transformed our school culture

    How consistent communication transformed our school culture

    Key points:

    When I became principal of Grant Elementary a decade ago, I stepped into a school community that needed to come together. Family involvement was low, staff morale was uneven, and trust between school and home had to be rebuilt from the ground up.

    Early on, I realized the path forward couldn’t start and end in the classroom. We needed to look outward to families. Our goal wasn’t just to inform them. We needed to engage them consistently, with care and transparency.

    That meant changing how we communicated.

    A shift toward authentic partnership

    We made a schoolwide commitment to open up communication. That included using a digital platform to help our team connect with families more frequently, clearly, and consistently.

    With our platform, we could share classroom moments, highlight student growth, reinforce positive behavior, and build relationships, not just exchange information. Importantly, it also supported two-way communication, which was key to creating real partnership.

    The impact was visible right away. Families felt more connected. Teachers felt more supported. And students were proud to share their progress in ways that resonated beyond school walls.

    That foundation has become central to how we approach culture-building today.

    5 ways better communication deepened engagement

    A decade later, we’ve learned a lot about what it takes to build a strong school-home connection. Here are five strategies we’ve used to increase trust and engagement with our families:

    1. Strengthen student-teacher relationships
    Real communication depends on a two-way dialogue, not one-way blasts. It’s about building relationships. During the pandemic, for example, students submitted photos of artwork, short reflections, or voice notes through the platform we use. Even in isolation, they could stay connected to teachers and classmates and feel seen. That continuity gave them a sense of belonging when they needed it most.

    2. Reinforce positive behavior in real time
    Our school uses a digital point system tied to schoolwide expectations. Students can earn points and use them at our “Dojo Store,” a reward system named by our students themselves. From spirit week participation to classroom challenges, this approach helps students stay motivated while reinforcing a culture of positivity and pride.

    3. Build trust through direct, personal updates
    Many of our families speak different home languages or come from diverse cultural backgrounds, so building trust is something we focus on every day. One of the most impactful ways we’ve done that is by using ClassDojo, which is both direct and secure, while feeling personal–not formal or distant. When families receive messages in a language they understand, and know they’re coming straight from our school team, it helps them feel connected, informed, and valued.

    4. Share classroom stories, not just grades
    One of the most powerful changes we made was giving families a window into classroom life. Teachers regularly post photos, lesson highlights, and messages recognizing growth, not just achievement. Kids go home excited to show what was shared. And even those parents who can’t attend in-person events still feel part of the learning experience.

    5. Keep communication simple and accessible
    Ease of use matters. Even staff members hesitant about technology embraced our system once they saw how it strengthened connections. It became part of our school’s rhythm, like a digital bulletin board, messaging app, and family newsletter all in one. And because everything lives in one place, families aren’t scrambling to find information.

    What we gained

    This shift didn’t require an overhaul. We didn’t start from scratch or invest in a complex system. We just chose one easy-to-use platform families already loved, committed to using it consistently, and focused on relationships first.

    Today, that platform is still part of our daily practice. But the tool was never the end goal–we were trying to build connections.

    What we’ve gained is a more unified school community. We’ve seen more proactive family involvement, stronger student ownership, and a deeper sense of belonging across our campus.

    Families are informed. Teachers are supported. Students are celebrated.

    Looking ahead

    As we continue to evolve, we’ve learned that consistent, authentic communication isn’t a “nice to have.” It’s a foundational part of any school culture built on trust.

    If you’re leading a school or district and looking to increase family engagement, my biggest advice is this: Pick an accessible platform families are already familiar with and enjoy using. Use it consistently. And let families in–not just when it’s required, but when it matters.

    That’s where trust begins.

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  • Want to be a drummer? Grab a bucket.

    Want to be a drummer? Grab a bucket.

    The tent donated by the Mani Tese association swayed every 10 minutes. In May 2012, aftershocks from the Emilia earthquakes in Northern Italy shook the ground. But inside that precarious structure, dozens of people played music together as if nothing could stop them. 

    Oil buckets transformed into drums, pots hung from metal nets, plastic bins resonated like timpani. What might have seemed like an improvised concert was actually the birth of something revolutionary.

    “That was truly an unforgettable moment for all of us,” said Federico Alberghini, the head and founder of Banda Rulli Frulli. “We realized we had something huge in our hands, a project with such vision and energy that telling it now still moves me.”

    Founded in 2010, Banda Rulli Frulli is an inclusive and accessible music project that brings together young people of all abilities to build instruments from recycled materials and create music as a collective. Born as an educational experiment, it has grown into a community movement combining creativity, craftsmanship and social inclusion.

    In that tent, among young people who had lost their homes and families uprooted from their lives, an experiment was being born that today counts 2,400 participants in 12 bands spread across Italy, with the first international expansion planned for New York in autumn 2025.

    Hearing the beat of a different drum

    The story of Rulli Frulli begins long before the earthquake. Alberghini was just 11 years old when, accompanying his father to a vintage car show in the Modena area in the early 1990s, he noticed a door with the inscription, “Quale percussione?” or, “Which percussion?” Beyond that threshold awaited Luciano Bosi, a collector of percussion instruments and pioneer of construction workshops using recycled materials.

    “He was sitting on the floor,” Alberghini said. “He performed a solo for me with two sticks using four volumes of the [telephone book], without even greeting me first. When I saw all this I told myself that this was what I wanted to do when I grew up.”

    Bosi is now part of the Rulli Frulli staff and has donated his entire instrument collection to the project. His philosophy is simple: any object, even the most mundane, can be a musical instrument. In the 1970s he had been the first to bring workshops for building instruments from recycled materials to Italian schools.

    That encounter planted a seed that germinated years later. Alberghini, after pursuing a career as a drummer in various bands, became a music teacher at the Fondazione Scuola di Musica Carlo e Guglielmo Andreoli. It was then that he began experimenting in his grandmother’s garage with a small group of young people from the area. 

    “In 2009 I had to climb over the fence of the Finale Emilia dump because I couldn’t find anyone to give me a bucket to play,” Alberghini said. “Today we receive containers of buckets and bins to supply the more than 2,400 girls and boys who are part of the Rulli Frulli bands scattered across Italy.” 

    Among these bands is the one from Finale Emilia municipality. Rulli Frulli now has dozens of concerts to its name and has released six albums in collaboration with some of the biggest names from the Italian independent music scene.

    A generative method of inclusion

    What makes the Rulli Frulli project unique is not only the use of recycled materials, but its natural approach to inclusion for people with disabilities. “Any potential disabilities are never ‘announced,’” Alberghini said. 

    The result has attracted the attention of the Catholic University of Milan, which in 2022 conducted and published a scientific study on the so-called “generative method” of the band. The research revealed, among other things, how the group’s sound environment — dozens of people playing self-built percussion instruments at very high volume — can have unexpected therapeutic effects.

    A child with autism who cries at the noise of a vacuum at home can, in the context of the band, find comfort in equally loud, deafening sounds that might otherwise be overwhelming — sounds that become less disturbing when created in a group.

    “When you watch the Banda Rulli Frulli on stage today, you see 80 people engaged in a performance so solid, so impactful that it doesn’t even cross your mind to look for disability,” Alberghini said. “You don’t notice it because you’re overwhelmed by the impact of those who are playing.”

    From tent to national spotlight

    The turning point came in 2016, when the band was selected to participate in a May Day Concert in Rome. The scene that presented itself to the event’s historic sound engineer has become legendary: from a double-decker bus that arrived in Piazza San Giovanni, dozens of people poured out, all dressed in blue-and-white striped shirts, and invaded every space in the backstage area.

    “The sound engineer arrives, looks at me, consults a folder and says: ‘So, you are guitar, bass and drums, right?’” Alberghini said, reconstructing those moments. “‘No,’ I replied, ‘we are those over there,’ pointing to the sea of people in striped uniforms.”

    After that concert social media exploded, the band became known throughout Italy and received an invitation to appear on the prime-time national television program of pop star Mika. “When I watched the episode again, I saw 60 people moving as if there were 10: perfect, organized, like true professionals,” Alberghini said.

    Since 2018 the project has spread throughout Italy according to a structured three-year process: in the first year the educators from Finale Emilia go to the headquarters of the band that is being formed once a week; in the second year they go every two weeks; in the third once a month. From the fourth year, the new band is autonomous, but remains connected to the network through a collaboration contract that establishes common practices, including ethical policies on sponsorships.

    “We receive requests from individuals, from associations, from local institutions, from cooperatives,” Alberghini said. Among the most significant projects is “Marinai,” [Sailors] a band composed of 25 boys from the Ivory Coast seeking asylum in Reggio Emilia. “I remember the first rehearsal with them: we went there, we unloaded buckets, sticks, bins, etc. I turned around for a moment and, without me doing anything, a beautiful samba started.”

    From ruins to rebirth

    In May 2022, Italian President Sergio Mattarella inaugurated the Stazione Rulli Frulli, a multifunctional hub created from the former bus station of Finale Emilia. The renovation cost more than €1 million. Today the structure houses a rehearsal room, a radio station, a completely soundproofed construction laboratory, the Astronave Lab (a social carpentry workshop for young people with disabilities) and a restaurant open every day.

    “Every week our spaces are frequented by 700-800 young people and employ 25 people,” Alberghini said. “Our goal is not to do activities only with young people with disabilities, but to mix everything together: the Station must be a beautiful and welcoming place for anyone.”

    The success is tangible: reservations at the restaurant, where young people with disabilities also serve at tables, are so numerous that there is no space for months. “A parent kept telling me to forget about it, because he was afraid that our idea would scare the rest of the community,” Alberghini said. “Well, he was wrong.”

    What was born in a small town in Emilia after an immense catastrophe is transforming into a global model. Rulli Frulli will soon become a foundation, and there are plans for the first band on foreign territory at La Scuola d’Italia Guglielmo Marconi in New York City.

    “The goal is to export the Rulli Frulli model outside Italy as much as possible,” Alberghini said. “Because this is a big and new project, which we want to expand as much as possible in Europe and in the world.”

    The message coming from Finale Emilia is as simple as it is powerful: when a community faces difficulties together, transforming waste into opportunities and differences into wealth, it can build something that goes far beyond the sum of its parts. In an increasingly divided world, the sound of plastic buckets and pots could be exactly the symphony we need.

     

    Questions to consider

    1. How can a collective tragedy transform into an opportunity to create more inclusive and resilient communities?

    2. How does Rulli Frulli’s “natural” approach to inclusion differ from traditional methods of social integration?

    3. What kind of music could you make from things you find in your home?

     

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