Small children play contentedly side by side. From time to time, a toy is snatched, a child is pushed, a whine of protest arises. The teacher’s voice is steady and encouraging: use your words, not your hands; wait your turn. There will be an emotional meltdown at some point, but soothing adult words settle it quickly. Upstairs a clutch of nine-year-olds hover over a maths problem. One girl insists she knows a quicker way that she learned on social media; her friend is adamant they must stick to the method they were taught. The teacher looks on approvingly. In a nearby room, a child dabs their eyes with a tissue while a teacher speaks softly and leans in close, offering reassurance. Meanwhile, in the hall, the older children are debating government spending on overseas aid. It’s getting heated. They speak their mind and defend their views passionately: what they have heard people say, what they have seen online. The teacher intervenes, pointing to the ground rules projected on the wall: think before you speak, your words can hurt others. A pause, and then the debate surges back to life. Schools are not, and have never been, conflict-free zones: they are shaped by the pressures and tensions that exist in their communities. Besides their schoolbag, children carry the weight of personal trauma, family conflict, poverty and a kaleidoscope of influences, good and bad, through the school gates each day. Teachers and other school staff are also inscribed in conflict, as they confront the challenges of poor wellbeing, inequality and harmful social attitudes, with increasingly constrained resources. Of course, school education itself is the subject of conflict. Access to free universal education for all children has rarely been simply granted; it has been struggled for over time, and for some children remains precarious or denied altogether. But the vignettes above reveal the powerful role education can play in a world bedeviled by conflict. Children in the Early Years Setting are learning life’s first lessons: to share resources, to respect others’ space and belongings, to negotiate and to regulate emotions. The older children might be frustrated by rules that do not suit themselves personally, and others may easily forget them in the heat of the moment, but there is a collective appreciation of why the rules exist, and an understanding that the world extends beyond our own thoughts and interests and that empathy, compassion and respect are key to personal realisation and to group harmony. None of this happens by accident. It is the result of consistent, structured, professional teaching, reinforced by a nurturing homelife. It depends on adults setting boundaries with children, modelling respect, building emotional literacy, helping children understand consequences of actions and stepping in when things go wrong. What looks effortless from the outside is the outcome of daily effort. It has so much more chance of success when it is well-resourced. In Scotland, we have a curriculum that aspires for children to be successful learners, confident individuals, effective contributors, and responsible citizens. Despite its imperfections in implementation, it is a powerful declaration that education must be about more than academic attainment: it’s about nurturing and shaping the people who will have to confront challenges - personal, social, and global - which previous generations could barely have imagined. In the past year, the Educational Institute of Scotland (EIS) has collaborated with partners to develop tools for teachers to counter the effects on children of online hate. We have also supported a key project to tackle misogynistic attitudes and behaviours which are perpetuated among young people by online content and algorithms. Alongside the development of our Education for Peace policy, EIS members have engaged in the strengthening of Scotland’s Learning for Sustainability strategy to enhance the way our children relate to each other and to the natural world around them. All of this is important work in addressing conflict. However, we should never forget the criticality of the learning and teaching that goes on every day, and the importance of resourcing it properly in our nursery classes, our primary, secondary and special schools. In a world scarred by conflict, this is the quiet and healing work of hope. BY ANDY HARVEY National Officer, Educational Institute of Scotland

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.