When Learning Isn’t Safe: Addressing the Impact of Insecurity on Education

1. Introduction

Education is often spoken about as a child’s gateway to the future—a safe place where dreams are nurtured and minds are shaped. But for too many children across the world, especially in conflict-affected and insecure regions, that gateway is barricaded. The classroom, that’s supposed to be a symbol of hope, is now a danger zone. Teachers are in danger. Parents worry about their students. And students lose time they may never get back.

I’ve spent time with educators working in the toughest of circumstances—and I’ve learned this: insecurity doesn’t just shut school gates, it widens learning gaps that may never be bridged. In these communities, the conversation is not about test scores or ed-tech innovation. It’s about survival. It’s about whether a child can make it to school safely. Whether a teacher will show up even when their own family is under threat. Whether a girl will return to class after conflict forces her into hiding.

My recent conversation with Mr. Pelem, a teacher in rural Plateau State, Nigeria, reminded me just how high the stakes are. His students face constant disruption—not just from poverty, but from violence, trauma, and fear. And yet, like many educators in insecure areas, he remains committed. He tells stories to calm their minds. He adapts his teaching methods to re-engage those who have been absent for weeks. He collaborates with parents, local security, and civil defense teams—because for him, education is not just a job. It’s a calling.

But it shouldn't be this hard.

Too often, global conversations around education in emergencies happen without listening to voices like Mr. Pelem’s. We talk about global education goals, but we don’t invest enough in community resilience. We champion innovation, yet fail to support the basics—school safety, emotional healing, and teacher training in crisis zones.

Insecurity in education is not just about armed conflict or terrorism. It’s also about neglect. It's about forgotten classrooms, unsupported teachers, and children who disappear from learning because we didn't make it possible for them to stay.

2. Way Forward

So what do we do when school isn’t safe, but learning must continue?

In conversations with educators like Mr. Pelem, and through my own work, a few things have become clear:

• We need to build for disruption. That means accelerated learning programs, flexible calendars, and learning materials students can use independently, at home, in shelters, or wherever they may be.

• We need to support teachers beyond the classroom. Training them in trauma-informed instruction, connecting them with peer support, and equipping them with low-tech tools like radios, printed packets, and solar-powered devices.

• We need to engage parents and communities. In many places, it’s the PTA or local faith group that organizes safe passage to school, not the government. We must fund and formalize these grassroots solutions.

• We need to redefine access. It’s not enough to say a school is open if students are too afraid to attend, or if teachers have no resources to teach. True access includes safety, dignity, and continuity.

• And most of all, we need to listen. To the voices of rural teachers, to families displaced by violence, to the students who know what it's like to study in silence while the world outside rages.

3. Conclusion

Class Dismissed was never just about stories—it’s about surfacing the truths we avoid because they’re hard to hear. And the truth is this: insecurity has stolen years of learning from children who need it the most. But we can do something. We can act locally and think globally. We can protect the right to learn, not just with policy, but with presence—with real investment, real listening, and real support.

Education must be resilient because our children and teachers are.

And the conversation to make that happen?

It starts here.