Trump is on the TV screen again and, as expected, it’s amidst chaos, displacement, and state‑sanctioned cruelty that children are absorbing whether we want them to or not.
Some of them have been hearing about Gaza and seeing images of families pulled from rubble. They might know that in Sudan entire communities are being erased while the world looks away. Or that children and their grownups are dying in the DRC so we can have new phones and electric cars. They might be watching ICE terrorize families. Maybe they just heard about shootings at Bondi Beach, Brown University, or on their own block. And the school year marches on.
Too many children are afraid. And we know feeling safe is critical for learning.
So what do we do in our classrooms when we know that, in the face of violence, silence is complicity?
Here are some thoughts (Scroll to the bottom for a TL;DR version):
Say something when kids say something
When kids say things like, “I love all the colors in the world! Except black and brown,” address it—gently, clearly, and without shaming. Children don’t yet see the full picture, but that doesn’t mean we let harm slide.
You don’t have to call a child out, but you do need to respond. Let kids know—explicitly—that Black and brown are beautiful. In my class, my co‑teacher and I told kids frequently that brown and black were our favorite colors. (Also that 15 and 16 were our favorite numbers, because some kindergartners really think they're the same number.
Talk about race (and other aspects of identity)
Please don’t say “we don’t see color.” Kids know you do—and what they learn from that statement is that noticing race is bad or dangerous. And worse, they might be thinking that being Black or brown or non-white is something that's so bad, we don't even talk about it.
Colorblindness erases lived experience and makes it harder for children to talk about injustice when they see it. If this feels confusing, it’s worth doing the reading and the unlearning. Our students deserve better than half‑truths that make adults more comfortable. And while we're on this one, talking about disability falls into the same category.
Build a library that reflects your community—and the world
Your classroom library should reflect your students in many ways: race, culture, language, disability, family structure, faith, migration stories, and joy.
Ask families what identities they’d like to see reflected. One of my favorite requests came from a kindergarten family connected to Black cowboys, which led us to Black Cowboys, this little board book with the most remarkable diversity of Black cowboys! Some grownups will struggle to answer questions about their family's identities because they’ve been taught to see themselves as “just normal.” Yes. Families have actually said that before. That’s information. It tells you where learning must begin for them and their children.
I couldn’t find picture books about Sudan that didn’t center war and suffering—so I wrote Kadisa كديسة. Writing class books is a powerful way to fill gaps when publishing hasn’t caught up with our students’ realities. And my next title is Uncommonly Curious, Eternally Autistic: A Book About Autism. It's a book I wish I'd had decades ago and it's part of a collection of own-voice disability books for kids.
Make your classroom a privilege‑free zone
One of the teaching moments I still carry guilt about wasn’t really about children at all.
A white father interrupted our morning to demand my attention. I left an upset child crying about a scary nightmare to wait for me while I spoke with him. It wasn’t an emergency. He was angry about a common kindergarten interaction and labeled a Black five‑year‑old girl in my class a “bully.” He put his finger in my face and demanded action.
I should have shut him down immediately. I didn’t. I was stunned.
Never again will I brush off a child who needs me in order to acquiesce to an adult’s sense of entitlement. Since then—and especially as an autistic educator who relies on scripting—I’ve developed clear scripts for moments like this. Children come first.
Share airtime on purpose
Call on girls, nonbinary kids, and brown kids first—and often. And before someone says “that’s racist” or “that’s sexist,” collect data.
Record who gets called on. Record what kinds of questions they’re asked. For most children, school airtime is not equitable. You have the power to change that for at least a school year.
If certain children dominate conversations, help them notice how much space they take and who they are silencing. Teach ASL to give more children an opportunity to contribute to whole class meetings in ways that reduce pressure or cognitive demand or verbal language to share all of their thoughts.
Teach listening, not just hand‑raising
Teach a calm, quiet wait signal instead of frantic hand‑waving. Then actually wait. Count to ten if you need to.
Teach children that thinking takes time and that everyone has something to share worth learning. Introduce respectful ways to agree, disagree, and add on—but center listening as the skill that makes community possible.
Sing freedom songs
Teach songs about justice, equity, and community. Music gives children language. For many kids, songs can offer literal scripts and teach words in a medium that supports their engagement and retention.
Some favorites: Ain’t Gonna Let Nobody Turn Me Around; We Shall Not Be Moved/No Nos Moverán; Redemption Song; All I Really Need; What Can One Little Person Do; One Love; The Union Team (and just about everything by Ella Jenkins); Ella's Song (We Who Believe in Freedom)
When children sing words, they might begin to live them out, making the world better, exponentially, for the rest of their lives. They might not even realize it, but their brains are still singing: “one can help another one, and together we can get the job done.”
Rethink family involvement
The same families often show up for class events and support—the ones with flexible jobs, transportation, childcare, financial bandwidth, and emotional capacity. That’s not a moral failing; it’s structural reality.
Our job is to change the structure.
When Serenity’s mom came in to do graffiti art, and when Zakeria and Zakeria’s moms - recent immigrants from Somalia - made sambuksa during Ramadan, every child benefited—especially the kids who saw grownups who looked like them centered in our classroom. Home visits, flexible scheduling, and reimagining what “participation” looks like can have long term positive impact—for families who are able to connect, and for students who get to learn from one another’s communities. Belonging is critical to learning.
Talk about the hard things
Kids are already talking about elections, war, police, borders, guns, climate change, and hate. The question is whether educators will be part of those conversations.
When our first graders started talking about Trump at lunch, we created space for daily conversations about the news. That evolved into a unit on activists and the many ways people change the world—through art, music, writing, research, organizing, and care.
As my former co‑teacher Madeleine put it: Kids are already making meaning. We can either help guide it—or leave them alone with it.
Teach about change‑makers
Read about activists so children can imagine how they might make the world better. Share stories of people like Claudette Colvin, Rachel Carson, César Chávez, Dolores Huerta, Wangari Maathai, Temple Grandin, Malcolm X, and activists from your own community.
Invite local organizers, artists, and elders into your classroom. Paula Rogovin’s book, Classroom Interviews is a beautiful starting point.
Let children take action
Encourage kids to help themselves and each other. Teach problem‑solving that benefits the class and, when possible, the wider community.
After the 2016 election, our first graders wrote and distributed a book about kindness. It mattered—not because it fixed everything, but because it taught children that they are not powerless. I even wrote a book—a true story called Hello, Beech Tree!—so other classes can read about how our class took action.
