But, This Is The Job...

There’s a shift happening in education right now, often framed as a return to “back to basics.” On the surface, that sounds reasonable—necessary, even. Literacy, numeracy, order, and structure are foundational to good schooling, and few would argue against the importance of calm, focused classrooms where learning can occur.

What is less often acknowledged, however, is what is sitting just beneath that language. Increasingly, there is a quiet but growing belief that some students simply do not belong in those spaces.

More specifically, the students being pushed to the margins are not those with identified learning disabilities, medical needs, or cognitive delays. As a profession, we have made meaningful strides in supporting those learners. The students we continue to struggle with are those whose challenges present behaviorally—students who are defiant, dysregulated, non-compliant, or, at times, aggressive. These are the students who disrupt classrooms and, in doing so, disrupt the expectations teachers have for what teaching should feel like.

The response, whether explicit or implied, is becoming more common: remove the child.

It is easy to interpret this trend as a lack of care or compassion. I don’t believe that’s the case. A more honest—and more uncomfortable—truth is that many educators do not feel adequately prepared to support these students effectively. Rather than addressing that gap in capacity, we have begun to redefine the problem itself. Exclusion becomes “structure.” Removal becomes “rigor.” Avoidance becomes “back to basics.”

Teaching Human Beings, Not “Students”

Years ago, I attended a session led by Phyllis Cardinal at Samson Elementary School, and her message has stayed with me ever since. She reminded us that children who are hungry, angry, lonely, or tired are not ready to learn, and that our role is not to teach abstract “students,” but to teach human beings.

That distinction matters. When we think in terms of “students,” it becomes easier to define success in terms of compliance, productivity, and performance. When we recognize that we are working with human beings, we are forced to consider the broader context each child brings into the classroom. Their behaviour is not random; it reflects their experiences, their needs, and the conclusions they have drawn about themselves, others, and the world around them.

Where Our Thinking Breaks Down

What is striking is that we already know how to respond to difficulty—just not consistently.

When a child struggles with reading, we do not assume intent. We do not interpret the difficulty as defiance or laziness. Instead, we assess the situation, analyze the underlying issue, and adjust our instructional approach. We treat the struggle as information, and we respond with thoughtful, intentional design.

That same logic rarely carries over to behaviour.

When a child struggles to regulate emotion, follow directions, or engage appropriately with peers, the response often shifts from curiosity to judgment. The question changes from “What skill is missing?” to “What is wrong with this child?” In that shift, the systems thinking we rely on in academic contexts disappears.

Design Thinking as the Missing Link

This is where Ross Greene's work becomes critical. Through his Collaborative and Proactive Solutions (CPS) model, advanced through Lives in the Balance, Greene challenges a deeply embedded assumption in education. His premise is simple but profound: kids do well if they can.

If a child is not doing well, it is not a matter of will—it is a matter of skill. More specifically, it is a matter of lagging skills and unresolved problems.

This is entirely consistent with how we approach academic learning. When a child cannot decode text, we identify the gap and intervene. When a child cannot manage frustration or navigate social situations, however, we are far more likely to interpret the behavior as intentional and respond with a consequence rather than instruction.

The inconsistency is difficult to justify. In one context, we see struggle as a call to teach. In another, we see it as a reason to remove.

What We Actually Control

An important reality often gets lost in these conversations: we cannot control the child, but we have significant control over the environment in which that child is expected to learn.

That environment includes expectations, structures, relationships, instructional approaches, and the ways adults respond in moments of difficulty. In other words, it includes the very conditions that shape whether a student is successful.

Systems thinking helps us recognize patterns and understand how different elements interact. On its own, however, it is not enough. Without corresponding design thinking—without a willingness to adjust the environment in response to what we are seeing—systems thinking becomes little more than observation.

If behavior is information, then it is also an opportunity. It tells us something about the fit between the learner and the environment. Our responsibility is to respond to that information in ways that improve that fit.

This aligns closely with the perspective I explored in an earlier piece on redefining failure. When viewed through a systems lens, failure is not simply a student falling short of a standard; it is an indication that something within the system is not functioning as intended, and therefore requires reflection and adjustment.

Trust and the Conditions for Learning

The importance of relationships in this work cannot be overstated. In The Five Dysfunctions of a Team, Patrick Lencioni identifies the absence of trust as the foundational issue in ineffective teams. The same principle applies in classrooms.

As Nel Noddings reminds us, children will do remarkably complex and even unexpected things, like adding fractions, for adults they trust. Without that trust, the conditions for learning are significantly diminished.

A Necessary Confrontation

This leads to a tension that is not often addressed directly. As educators, we regularly assert that we care about all students. At the same time, our actions can suggest that our care is conditional—extended more readily to students who are compliant, regulated, and easy to teach.

When students challenge those conditions, our willingness to include them is often tested.

It is not uncommon to hear the assertion that addressing behavioral complexity is not the teacher’s role. This raises an important question: if teaching is not about responding to the full range of human needs present in a classroom, then what exactly is the role?

If we define teaching narrowly as content delivery, then the argument for exclusion becomes easier to make. If, however, we understand teaching as the development of human beings within a learning community, then the students who challenge us most are not peripheral to the work—they are central to it.

The Moral Imperative

Michael Fullan describes this as the moral imperative of education. It is not limited to improving academic outcomes; it extends to improving lives. It requires educators to shape environments that support both learning and human development, even when doing so is complex and demanding.

This is not a standard that can be adjusted for convenience. Difficulty does not reduce responsibility.

Rethinking “Back to Basics”

If the profession is genuinely interested in returning to foundational principles, it is worth reconsidering what those principles actually are. They are not limited to content coverage or classroom order. They include the conditions that make learning possible in the first place: connection, trust, understanding, and thoughtful design.

We’re Getting Louder, Not Smarter

How performative outrage and groupthink are reshaping education—and why it matters.

There’s a shift happening in education right now—and it’s not a good one.

What used to be professional frustration has started to harden into something else entirely.

Identity.

Spend any time in online education spaces, and you’ll see it unfold in real time:

• Teachers positioning themselves as the only ones who understand what’s happening in classrooms
• Administrators are painted as disconnected, performative, or incompetent
• System-level decisions reduced to sound bites and outrage
• Complex realities flattened into “common sense” solutions

It’s not just venting anymore.

It’s groupthink.

And it’s being rewarded.

The rise of performative outrage

There’s a new currency in education discourse:

Say something sharp. Make it simple. Make it emotional. Pick a side.

And watch it spread.

The more absolute the take, the more traction it gets.

“Bring back consequences.”
“Ban technology.”
“Go back to basics.”
“Teachers aren’t being listened to.”

These statements feel powerful. But they’re not analysis, they’re reactions, and reactions—especially when amplified at scale—have a way of becoming belief systems.

The lie that’s gaining traction

Let’s say it plainly:

The “admin bad / teacher good” narrative is intellectually lazy.

It collapses an entire profession into opposing camps for the sake of emotional clarity, and it ignores a fundamental truth:

The system being criticized is made up of educators.

Principals are teachers.
Consultants are teachers.
Curriculum leads are teachers.
Student services teams are made up of teachers.

Different roles don’t mean different values; they mean different vantage points.

When we pretend otherwise, we stop engaging professionally—and start reacting tribally.

Consultation is not a democratic free-for-all

Another idea gaining traction:

“If teachers weren’t consulted, the decision is flawed.”

That sounds fair, but it’s also unrealistic.

Public education is not a flat structure. It can’t be. There are layers of responsibility, timelines, legal obligations, and system-wide considerations that require decisions to be made without full consensus every time.

That’s not disrespect. That’s reality.

And when every decision that doesn’t include full consultation is framed as a failure, we create a system where trust erodes faster than any initiative can succeed.

Nostalgia is not pedagogy

“Back to basics” is trending again. It always does when things feel hard, but let’s be honest about what’s being implied:

• More punishment (rebranded as “accountability”)
• Less flexibility
• Less responsiveness to individual needs
• A return to a system that worked better for adults than it did for many kids

Here’s the problem:

None of this is grounded in current, peer-reviewed research as a universal solution. It’s grounded in memory, and memory has a way of editing out the students who didn’t thrive under those conditions.

We know better—and that matters

Modern research hasn’t made education softer. It’s made it more precise.

Frameworks like the Neurosequential Model have helped us understand something critical:

You can’t expect skills from students who haven’t developed the capacity for them yet.

This isn’t theory. It’s neuroscience.

• Regulation precedes cognition
• Development drives behaviour
• Stress impacts access to learning

So when a student struggles, the response isn’t:

How do we tighten control?

It’s:

What’s missing, and how do we build it?

That’s harder work.

It’s also the only work that actually moves the needle.

The real risk: when frustration replaces thinking

This becomes dangerous when enough people repeat the same emotionally charged ideas; they start to feel like the truth.

Not because they’ve been tested, but because they’ve been echoed. That’s how groupthink works. In a profession that should be grounded in evidence, that’s a problem.

Because once frustration becomes identity, you stop questioning it.

You defend it.

This isn’t about silencing teachers

Let’s be clear:

Teachers should speak.
Teachers should advocate.
Teachers should challenge systems.

That’s part of a healthy profession, but advocacy without grounding becomes noise. Noise doesn’t build better schools.

It just makes it harder to hear what actually works.

At eduKARE, the work is not about ideology.

It’s about alignment with what actually helps kids learn and grow:

• Relationship before compliance
• Regulation before expectation
• Skill-building over punishment
• Precision over generalization

Not because it sounds good.

Because it works.

A necessary gut-check

Before we post, share, or double down on the latest viral take, there are questions worth asking-

Is this grounded in evidence?
Or is this just how I feel right now?

Because those are not the same thing. Right now, education doesn’t need louder voices.

It needs clearer thinking.

Frustration without evidence is just noise.

Cultural tales...

It is often said that we should learn from our mistakes. It stands to reason, then, that we should also learn from our successes. Both failure and success carry lessons, but those lessons rarely exist in isolation. They come alive when they are shared.

When we tell our stories of what went wrong, what went right, and of what surprised us along the way, we create vessels for learning that extend far beyond ourselves. Stories allow experience to travel. They give us insight to be carried from one life to another, from one generation to the next. This is what makes storytelling so powerful and so essential. If we became better at telling our stories, and just as importantly, better at listening to them, entirely new possibilities would emerge.

Human history, in all its brilliance and brutality, is built on story. Every act of compassion and every act of harm, every innovation and every collapse, has been shaped by the stories we tell ourselves about who we are, what we belong to, and what matters. Our stories are not history accessories—they are history. To move forward wisely, we must reconnect meaningfully and purposefully with what might be called our “long now” history: an understanding of the past that informs the present and shapes the future with intention.

This requires us to think carefully about how we contextualize our experiences across time. How do we frame our past without being trapped by it? How do we live fully in the present without losing perspective and imagine a future that is informed by wisdom rather than reaction? These are not abstract questions; they are deeply human ones.

Yet, amid the pace of modern life and the relentless pressure to get ahead, many of us have lost touch with our own cultural roots—and with the cultural stories of others. A curious irony emerges here. We are more connected than ever before. Technology places us in constant proximity—physically, socially, and communicatively. We see more of one another, hear more from one another, and have unprecedented access to global perspectives.

And yet, we are simultaneously more distant than ever.

In our quest to define ourselves, to protect our identities, or to carve out a sense of certainty in an increasingly complex world, we have built silos. We curate our circles, filter our feeds, and retreat into spaces that feel familiar and affirming. While this can offer comfort, it also narrows our understanding of the environments in which we find ourselves. Proximity without connection is not the same as a relationship. Exposure without curiosity does not lead to understanding.

In Canada, we often celebrate our multiculturalism—and rightly so. Diversity has long been, and continues to be, a defining strength of our society. But in a globalized world, multiculturalism alone is no longer enough. Different people have always coexisted on this planet. What is required now is a shift toward interculturalism.

Interculturalism moves beyond the idea of simply existing alongside one another. It calls us to engage. Our race, religion, gender, sexual orientation, style, emotional expression, ways of thinking, and lived experiences all contribute to our personal cultures. These elements shape how we see the world and how the world sees us. They connect us to groups while also helping us to be uniquely ourselves.

Agreement is not the prerequisite for understanding. Whether we share the beliefs or perspectives of others is far less important than whether we are willing to learn about them. Tolerance is passive. Acceptance is a starting point. Understanding, however, requires effort, humility, and the right amount of time.

And there is no better way to build understanding than through story.

Stories humanize what might otherwise feel abstract or distant. They invite empathy where judgment might otherwise take hold. When we truly listen to someone’s story, we are reminded that behind every perspective lies a person shaped by their experiences, context, and meaning. In doing so, we learn about others and deepen our understanding of ourselves.

If we are serious about building more connected, compassionate, and resilient communities, we must reclaim storytelling as a shared responsibility. We must make space for unheard voices, histories that have been overlooked, and experiences that challenge our assumptions. Only then can we begin to bridge the distance that modern life has created.

Our stories are not just reflections of who we are. They are tools for who we might become.

Hope in the Hard Places.

HOPE in Action: The Roots of KARE Givers

This is the post that should have come first—because at the heart of KARE Givers is a life lived, a struggle faced, and a decision made: to choose hope not as an idea, but as a commitment to action.

I grew up in a home marked by hardship that most children should never experience. There was violence, addiction, and emotional chaos. And yet, somehow, amid all of it, there were also moments of love—small, fleeting, but powerful enough to plant the seed of something I couldn’t yet name: hope.

A warm hug from my mom, even when everything around us was broken. A quiet nod of approval from my dad after I cleared the driveway of snow just the way he liked. The sunshine on my walk home from school, the smell of summer grass, and the illusion—for a moment—that everything was okay.

These memories weren’t grand, but they were grounding. They gave me a sense of safety, connection, and calm. That’s where hope lived—not as a promise, but as a possibility.

Hope Is More Than a Feeling. It's a Framework.

Today, after more than three decades in education, I can clearly name what I couldn’t back then. HOPE is what sustained me. And it’s what I now work every day to give to others—not just in spirit, but in action. HOPE, for me, stands for:

• Health – Physical, emotional, and relational wellness. Healing from harm and building the strength to move forward.

• Opportunity – Access to spaces where people can grow, discover, and dream again.

• Privilege – Not in the inherited sense, but in the chosen one: the privilege to listen, support, and uplift others with empathy and care.

• Education – Lifelong learning that equips people to understand their past, reclaim their power, and build a better future.

At KARE Givers, hope isn’t passive. It’s a practice. It’s the phone call you make. The lunch you share. The gentle word you offer when someone’s world is falling apart. It’s helping people take their next step, however small, toward stability, healing, and meaning.

Everyone has a Story. Everyone Deserves HOPE.

I can’t rewrite the story I lived. But I can help shape what happens next—for myself and for others. That’s what KARE Givers is for. It’s the living embodiment of hope built from pain. It’s about turning our lived experience into a beacon of hope for someone else who feels lost.

I carry deep empathy for the people in my past. But more than anything, I assume a responsibility moving forward—to take the love I was shown, even imperfectly, and amplify it for others.

If you’re reading this and your story feels heavy or unresolved, know this: HOPE is not beyond you. It is within you, and it can be built through small acts of courage, care, and connection.

KARE Givers exists to help you take action toward hope—every day.

With gratitude,
Sean

Free Will Is Far From Free

"Free Will" (CC BY-NC-ND 2.0) by Headphonaught

“Free will” is a misleading term. We can take action to self-actualize, but detractors and restrictors always impact our decisions and efforts. Everything about us is influenced by the external environment including the interactions we experience with others. Character is something we display on our terms, but the choice is impacted by the sum total of how we think, and those thoughts are based on our experiences. We can't completely manipulate the influences in our lives that control our perspectives and outcomes.

This Next Big Idea podcast, "Free Will: Are We Better Off Without It?" is very thought-provoking regarding who we are and how much that’s determined by our personal desire to be “ourselves”. In his exploration of free will, Robert Sapolsky's work offers a compelling challenge to "personal autonomy". From his teenage years, Sapolsky was captivated by the concept of free will, ultimately concluding that it doesn’t exist. His conclusion is rooted in his background as a biologist, neurologist, and neurosurgeon, where he argues that human behaviour is influenced by a complex web of biological, genetic, and environmental factors, rather than by an independent, autonomous will.

"The world is really screwed up and made much, much more unfair by the fact that we reward people and punish people for things they have no control over  -Robert Sapolsky 

Sapolsky’s stance is not just a theoretical perspective; it’s one that he builds on extensively in his book Determined. He delves into mechanisms like brain chemistry and genetic predispositions, that shape our actions, decisions, and thoughts. According to Sapolsky, the illusion of free will is a product of our brains processing information in a way that makes us feel in control, but, in reality, is created by neural activity.

Moreover, Sapolsky goes beyond the mere negation of free will; he also proposes that recognizing the lack of free will can have profound, positive implications. Understanding that people are shaped by factors beyond their control could lead to a more compassionate and humane society where individuals are judged less harshly for their actions and treated more empathetically when they struggle with behaviours often attributed to "choices."

His perspective ties into larger philosophical and ethical debates about responsibility, punishment, and the nature of consciousness. If we accept that we are not truly in control, Sapolsky suggests, we might build systems more focused on rehabilitation, understanding, and social support, rather than retribution. Considering this, a significant possibility emerges to improve how we approach support for kids in school.

A school of thought is emerging in education and social services prioritizing awareness of the lived experiences of the student, or client. Whether working through trauma-based care in Dr. Bruce Perry's Neurosequential Model, Dr. Ross Greene's Collaborative and Proactive Solutions Model, or my own HOPE Wheel Model; the awareness that we can't effectively support another person without consideration for the environmental influences they've endured is fundamental. Limiting ourselves to the person in front of us and the private logic they express without knowing the story behind their story puts us at a significant disadvantage in helping them at all. We have will, but it's not free from the barriers and determiners of our past. 

Ultimately, Sapolsky’s argument against free will challenges long-standing views on autonomy and moral responsibility and offers a framework for rethinking how we structure society and deal with issues like crime, mental health, and personal development. By recognizing the biological and environmental factors driving behaviour, we can foster a society emphasizing empathy and compassion over judgment and punishment.