"How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single moment before starting to improve the world"

“How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single moment before starting to improve the world,” wrote a young Anne Frank, at just 14 years old, during one of the darkest periods in modern history. Her words, penned during war, persecution and loss, continue to resonate today, reminding us that even in times of despair, we possess the power to bring about change—both within ourselves and the world around us.


As I reflect on the state of the world today, Anne’s message of hope and determination feels more urgent than ever. It is a call to action, a reminder that no matter the challenges, the possibility for change is always within reach. But what does this have to do with the right to education? In my view—everything.


Since it was founded in 2009 to honour Steve Sinnott’s legacy and lifetime of commitment to education for all, The Steve Sinnott Foundation has remained steadfast in its mission to advocate for the right to education for every child, everywhere. Through diverse global initiatives, the Foundation has provided access to quality learning in myriad forms. But at its heart lies a powerful belief: education is much more than simply acquiring literacy and numeracy. It is a lifelong process that fosters creativity, critical thinking, and a deep commitment to justice and equality. No child should ever be denied that opportunity.


Over the past two decades, significant progress has been made towards expanding access to education. The Millennium Development Goals (MDGs) and their successor, the Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs), have focused on increasing global enrolment and completion rates in primary and secondary education. Encouragingly, data shows these indicators are improving, signaling a positive trend. Numerous innovative initiatives are breaking down barriers to education, and it’s increasingly recognised that achieving one development goal cannot be done in isolation from others.


In my work in the field of reproductive health and rights, the interconnectedness of these challenges is evident. In Sub Saharan Africa, for example, a lack of access to contraception remains a major barrier to girls’ education. Each year, around 4 million girls drop out of school due to pregnancy. Without reproductive health services, many young women are forced to leave the classroom, setting off a cycle of lost opportunities that impacts not only their futures but also those of their communities.


Inadequate access to safe and clean sanitation facilities, including menstrual hygiene resources, means girls often miss school regularly. Global crises such as climate change and conflict have displaced millions of children, further disrupting their access to consistent education. The scope of these challenges is vast, but so are the efforts to address them. A growing number of inspirational individuals, organisations, and governments are coming together, recognising that complex problems cannot be solved in isolation. Education, health, gender equality, and access to technology are deeply intertwined, and collaborative solutions are needed, ones that reflect the complexity of lived experiences and ensure that no one is left behind.


This brings me back to where I began. The barriers to education must be broken because access to learning has the power to transform lives. It changes hearts and minds, creating spaces for dialogue, reconciliation, and collaboration. There are millions of children and young people who could make this world a better place if only they had the opportunity to realise their potential. Education is the cornerstone of a just and equal society. It enables the formation of ideas, empowers individuals to question the status quo, and equips them with the tools to improve the world.


Whether in classrooms or communities, the true power of education lies not just in the transmission of knowledge but in its ability to foster change. It creates ripples of positive transformation that extend far beyond the individual, reaching entire societies. In a world too often marked by division and uncertainty, education holds the key to a brighter, more equitable future. And as Anne so beautifully reminded us, we need not wait a single moment to begin.


BIOGRAPHY

Sam Tiwari is a dynamic leader in global philanthropy and the non-profit sector, with over 20 years of experience advancing human rights and social justice across diverse regions. Her journey began with community organisations in North India, where she gained firsthand insight into the structural and societal barriers faced by women and girls in social, economic and political participation. Sam has since worked across diverse sectors such as women’s cooperatives, education, health and humanitarian response, connecting resources to causes that are tackling some of the biggest challenges facing people and planet. Currently, Sam leads the Philanthropy team at MSI Reproductive Choices, a global organisation championing reproductive rights and bodily autonomy. She also serves on the boards of the Steve Sinnott Foundation and Dignity Alliance International.

Sam Tiwari • February 14, 2025

The Importance of Holocaust Education in Schools

By Hedi Argent • April 29, 2026
The aim of Holocaust education should never be to introduce young people to the details of the horrors of the Holocaust, but to help them to understand how it could happen: what led up to it, and to recognise how conspiracy theories, fake news and disinformation lead to prejudice. And how prejudice leads to racism – and when racism is allowed to flourish, then there is no limit to what can happen. I give talks mainly to students in Year 6 who are in the last class of primary school. They are good listeners and generally uninhibited about interacting and asking searching questions. Some talks inevitably have to be on Zoom because of unmanageable distances, but there is an advantage because several schools can participate and I have spoken to as many as 500 children in one session. With a bit of technical luck, I can see them and they can see me as well as PowerPoint illustrations. I talk about my own experiences as a child and how my cousin and I became the targets of racism and learned how antisemitism, surely the oldest form of racism, felt as well as what it meant. Our stories had very different outcomes: I was lucky and survived. I came to England with my parents. We discuss what refugees may bring with them and what and who they must leave behind and how that may feel. I encourage them to listen to others’ stories and to tell their own – we all have stories to tell and they help us to welcome strangers, not to fear them. My cousin was not lucky. He was one of six million who were not lucky. The children and I explore together what 6,000,000 means. We stand and I tell them that the late Chief Rabbi of the UK, Lord Jonathan Sachs, once worked out that if we stood for just one minute to commemorate each of the 6,000,000 we would be standing in this place for 11 years and 4 months. We talk about who can do such things? and I stress that there are no bad people but only people who do bad things. I give examples of kindness: a child who played with me when the other children and teachers in my school shunned me and called me names, a man in the Nazi party, who knew and saved my father when he was arrested, and a doctor who took me to hospital, where Jews were not allowed, when I nearly lost a finger. Eli Wiesel, an author, who witnessed the worst terrors of the Holocaust as a child in the camps, once said that when we tell our stories, we share the responsibility of being a witness and when enough of us become witnesses we may never let it happen again. BY HEDI ARGENT Hedi and her parents came to England as refugees from Austria in 1939. Hedi spent most of her working life in Social Work specialising in the adoption of older children and children with disabilities. She has written and edited more than twenty books on the subject and is still working and speaking in schools about the Holocaust and what it means to be a refugee. Hedi has recently written her own story and has donated the royalties from her book sales to the Foundation. She is also an ambassador for the Foundation.

NAPTOSA DIGNITY DEFENDERS PROJECT - What Does It Mean to Be a Boy in Today’s World?

By Joenty Ngoma • April 27, 2026
What does it mean to be a boy in today’s world? Is it to be watched, managed, expected to fail before you even begin, or is it to be shaped, trusted, and taught how to carry dignity without dropping it? That question followed me off the bus at the Dignity Defenders camp. The air was thick with uncertainty. Boys from different schools stood in long, uneven lines, gripping oversized bags under a sun that felt far too awake for how unsure we all were. One by one, police officers searched through our belongings at the gate. No introductions. No explanations. Just hands in bags, eyes scanning for what might go wrong. The message landed quietly but firmly: we were not trusted. At first, it stung. I looked around at the boys beside me, some nervous, some joking too loudly, some silent, and none of them looked like criminals or threats. They looked like boys carrying more than just clothes: expectations, pressure, unfinished childhoods. And yet, here we were, treated as potential problems before we were given the chance to be people. Still, honesty matters. An all-boys camp does sound like something that could collapse into chaos if left unchecked. In a world already strained by conflict and unrest, caution becomes a reflex. That gate, uncomfortable as it was, became the first lesson: when society loses trust, control rushes in to fill the gap. What followed, however, was not control, it was education in its most human form. We were separated from friends, gently but deliberately, nudged into unfamiliar conversations. We slept in shared dormitories; bunk beds stacked like unspoken agreements to coexist. Slowly, the tension softened. The space began to feel less like a holding area and more like a classroom without walls. One speaker, calm and sharply articulate, spoke about substance abuse. When he revealed that he was a former drug addict, the room shifted; not because of shock, but because of contrast. He did not look broken. He looked rebuilt. His story dismantled the idea that one mistake writes an entire future. It reminded us that education is not about erasing the past but understanding it well enough to move forward. Later, a boy raised his hand and admitted he used substances to cope with stress at home. There was a brief, fragile silence. Then someone asked, "Why?". That single question cracked something open. Suddenly, drugs were no longer the headline; pressure, pain, and survival were. Education, in that moment, did not judge. It listened. We learned how to defend dignity, physically, legally, and emotionally. We learned what to do when it is threatened, how to protect ourselves and others, and how to act instead of freeze. These were not academic lessons. They were tools for a world that does not always play fair. Near the end of the camp, chess appeared, almost casually, disguised as a fun competition. What began as a game slowly unfolded into a lesson. We were encouraged to play, to compete, to enjoy it, but also to think. Each move demanded patience. Every decision carried a consequence that could not be taken back. It was no longer just about winning, but about understanding that rushing the present often sabotages the future. When the competition ended, the strongest players were rewarded with mini chessboards. Receiving my first chessboard felt symbolic, a small object carrying a quiet reminder that life, like chess, rewards those who think beyond their next move. By the end of the camp, something had shifted. My idea of masculinity no longer revolved around strength or silence, but awareness. Education, I realised, is what teaches us how not to become what the world fears we already are. In times of unrest, education is not a luxury; it is a stabiliser; a compass. As Steve Sinnott called it, ‘the great liberator.’ And for a group of boys who were once searched at a gate, it became the reason we walked out trusted, not by authority, but by ourselves. BY JOENTY NGOMA CULTURAL HIGH SCHOOL SOUTH AFRICA (GRADE 11) 

Shaping Education Through the Lens of Identity

By Shahnaz Akhter • April 22, 2026
On a recent trip to Pakistan, I was struck by two contrasting images. In one, school children moved through the chaos of Rawalpindi’s streets, their journey interrupted by traffic, by cows being walked through the road, by the everyday disorder of the city. In another, young children carried heavy bags for street vendors who give them employment; their labour, part of the same urban rhythm but pointing to very different futures. Access to education, as is often referenced in this magazine, is not universal. I reference Pakistan not only because of these scenes, but because it is closely linked to my heritage and identity. Reflecting on what education means, and how I interact with it, has been central to my academic journey. Coming from a family where my parents were not formally educated, education has provided me with opportunities that were not previously available to them. This experience shaped my decision to work in widening participation in the Department of Politics and International Studies at the University of Warwick. One of the projects we developed was the Colonial Hangover Project, designed to explore the everyday legacies of colonialism. The project aimed not only to give school-aged students the confidence to speak back to a curriculum that often remains silent on their histories, but also to create opportunities for experiences they might otherwise not have access to because of their backgrounds. It was through the Colonial Hangover Project that we enabled students to speak at the Colonial Legacies conference held at Coventry Cathedral. Students from across Coventry spoke about their heritage, produced art, and sang gospel songs reflecting their experiences as young people whose families are linked to British history through empire. They spoke about local histories, including the grave of enslaved child Myrtilla, about South Asian heritage, and about the ways colonial hierarchies have shaped relationships between communities, including the persistence of anti-Blackness within some South Asian communities. Over 400 students came together during the day to celebrate their heritage and to speak within the cathedral. Building on this momentum, the work sparked a wider ambition: to ensure that all schools, particularly those in areas of high deprivation such as Coventry, could access sustained opportunities rather than one-off interventions. This led to a drive to connect schools to the UNESCO ASPnet Schools Network, widening access to global learning while embedding students within an international community committed to peace, cultural understanding, and social justice. For a city shaped by postindustrial decline and uneven educational outcomes, this connection mattered. It enabled students to see their local experiences as part of a wider global story. Alongside this, we drew on the Hidden Heroes campaign led by Preet Gill and Tom Tugendhat, encouraging students to identify and celebrate their own heroes within their families and communities. This created pathways for young people to speak in the UK Parliament, bringing together local heritage, global networks, and civic voice. Together, these strands reflected a shared commitment: widening participation not only in education, but in belonging and representation. BY SHAHNAZ AKHTER Associate Director is based in the Department of Politics and International Studies at the University of Warwick, where she works in widening participation and outreach. Her work focuses on creating meaningful pathways for school-aged students from underrepresented backgrounds to engage with higher education, civic life, and global learning.