What Are These Basics We Need to Get Back To?

Back to basics.

Three words that have become remarkably popular in conversations about public education. They suggest a return to something familiar, something that once worked, something we have somehow lost along the way.

But back to what, exactly?

And perhaps more importantly, what are we prepared to leave behind in the process?

There is something appealing about the simplicity of the phrase. Public education has become increasingly complicated, burdened with responsibilities that extend far beyond teaching and learning. Schools have become the place where society expects an extraordinary range of problems to be addressed, from poverty and mental health to social inequality and family instability. When other public systems struggle to respond, schools are often left to absorb the consequences. It is reasonable to question whether we have placed too much responsibility on educational institutions. But the suggestion that we can solve these problems by returning to the basics deserves considerably more scrutiny than it is receiving.

The assumption, of course, is that basics means literacy, numeracy, and a renewed emphasis on traditional academic subjects. Reading, writing, and mathematics become the measures against which educational success is judged. These skills matter enormously, and every child deserves meaningful opportunities to develop them. But there is something profoundly limiting about defining the foundations of education almost exclusively through academic achievement.

What about play? Curiosity? Creativity? Relationships? The ability to question an idea, consider another perspective, solve an unfamiliar problem, or imagine something that does not yet exist? What about learning to navigate disagreement, recognize injustice, develop independence, and participate meaningfully in a community?

And what about children's rights?

It is remarkable how often conversations about the future of public education focus on what children should be expected to achieve without giving equal consideration to what children are entitled to experience. We debate academic standards, classroom expectations, student behaviour, and educational outcomes, yet children's rights are too often treated as a separate conversation, something to be considered when a problem arises rather than a foundation upon which the entire education system should operate.

Children do not acquire human rights when they demonstrate academic proficiency, meet behavioural expectations, or become sufficiently independent to participate in the environments we have created. Their rights exist regardless of their abilities, disabilities, circumstances, or the extent to which they conform to institutional expectations.

Surely that is as basic as education gets.

A rights-based understanding of education changes the questions we ask. Rather than focusing exclusively on whether children are meeting academic expectations, we must also consider whether the environments in which they learn are accessible, whether their dignity and autonomy are respected, whether they have meaningful opportunities to participate, and whether their perspectives are taken seriously.

Access to education is not simply a matter of being physically present in a classroom. Nor is inclusion achieved by placing children in environments that remain fundamentally inaccessible and expecting them to adapt. The responsibility to identify and remove barriers is not an additional educational initiative. It is part of the legal and ethical foundation of public education.

There is also a deeper contradiction in the call to return to traditional educational priorities. We claim to want children who can think critically, advocate for themselves, solve problems, and participate in a democratic society, yet many educational practices continue to reward compliance, discourage disagreement, and place adult authority above children's autonomy. What does it mean to teach children about rights and responsibilities if the environments in which they learn do not consistently model those same principles? Human rights cannot simply be another topic included in the curriculum. They must be reflected in how children are treated, how decisions are made, how barriers are addressed, and how power is exercised within educational institutions.

And perhaps this is where the nostalgia surrounding traditional education deserves closer examination. The history of public education includes meaningful achievements, but it also includes segregation, exclusion, assimilation, and institutional practices that denied many children equitable access to learning. For some students, the education system of the past was never a place of belonging or opportunity.

Nostalgia is not an educational philosophy, and tradition is not a substitute for examining whether a practice respects children's rights.

Nor should the legitimate concern about schools being expected to solve every social problem be confused with the idea that education can be separated from the human experience. Children do not arrive at school as collections of academic skills waiting to be developed. They arrive as human beings with rights, identities, relationships, interests, and different ways of understanding the world. Their access to learning is shaped by the environments around them.

Schools cannot be expected to compensate indefinitely for the shortcomings of health care, social services, and other public systems. But that does not diminish their responsibility to uphold children's rights within education. Questioning the expanding responsibilities of schools is legitimate. Treating accessibility, inclusion, and equitable participation as distractions from academic instruction is an entirely different matter.

Perhaps what is most revealing about the call to return to basics is how rarely it is accompanied by a meaningful discussion about the purpose of public education itself. Are schools intended primarily to produce academically proficient students? To prepare young people for employment? To develop informed citizens capable of participating in a democratic society? To nurture curiosity, creativity, and independent thought? And where, within these priorities, do we place the rights of the children themselves?

These questions matter because educational priorities are never neutral. A system that values compliance will look different from one that values autonomy. A system that prioritizes academic efficiency will make different decisions from one that prioritizes accessibility and meaningful participation. The decisions we make about education reflect what we believe children are entitled to, what we expect of them, and how much institutional responsibility we are prepared to accept when the environments we create fail to meet their needs.

If we are serious about getting back to basics, perhaps we should begin with the most fundamental principles of all. Children have rights. Their dignity is not conditional. Their differences do not diminish their entitlement to education. Their voices deserve to be heard, their autonomy deserves respect, and the environments in which they learn must be accessible.

Play, curiosity, creativity, relationships, belonging, critical thinking, and problem-solving are not luxuries to be offered once academic expectations have been satisfied. They are essential dimensions of human development and meaningful education. Literacy and numeracy are not competing priorities, but important parts of an education grounded in these principles.

Rather than asking what education needs to return to, perhaps we should be asking what it means to build an education system that genuinely recognizes children as human beings with rights, rather than simply students with outcomes to achieve.

Because the most basic responsibility of public education is not simply to teach children. It is to respect their humanity while doing so.