Holding safety with both hands

There are words that should never belong in the language of early childhood education. Abuse is one of them. And yet, here we are. Again. Headlines swell with horror. The sector braces. A familiar script unfolds; Stricter compliance, tighter protocols, streamlining checks. All necessary. But none of which are sufficient.

Because what has been broken is not merely a policy or a procedure, but trust. A quiet, daily covenant between educators and families that their children will be seen, heard, and ultimately safe at the end of the day.

In moments of panic, urgency takes hold and rightly so. But urgency must never crowd out pause. The reflective space where we confront not only how we react, but how we even begin to repair.
It is a place where we hold uncomfortable truths gently, with courage and honesty, examining not just our responses but the underlying structures that will either nourish or diminish safety.

Safety is all too often framed as compliance. The two words at times almost being interchangeable. It’s the forms we have to sign, and the trainings that need to be completed. New policies and procedures, or when done too hastily “rules” to be implemented and enforced from a head office miles away. But true safety, the kind you just feel and sense, emerges from a deep sense of relational integrity. It lives in the steady, unspoken assurance that each child is known, valued, and respected. It thrives in the subtle rhythms of connection, where educators sense the shifts in children’s moods and needs, their silent communications, their quiet cries for attention.

This relational safety cannot be mandated. It grows organically from environments that value educators as much as children. When educators are seen, heard, and respected themselves, not through what is written down in policy but rather supported through observable daily practice the environment is set for genuine protection. In such a climate, harm struggles to find a foothold. It cannot easily hide in spaces illuminated by open dialogue, mutual accountability, and collective care.

Yet the instinct toward surveillance in the wake of crisis is strong. It is tempting to equate visibility with safety, oversight with protection. But surveillance alone breeds suspicion, not trust. It creates a landscape of fear, where educators worry more about accusation than observation, compliance than connection. Harm does not vanish under watchful eyes, but rather it shifts, adapts, and finds new shadows in which to hide.

The uncomfortable truth is that safety is as much about working conditions as it is about policy compliance. It thrives where educators are supported by manageable workloads, adequate staffing ratios, and compassionate leadership. It flourishes in transparent cultures where difficult conversations can occur without fear of retribution, and where ethical leadership welcomes questions rather than silencing them.

Trust, then, is not the opposite of hyper-vigilance. It is its foundation. Trust allows vigilance to remain human, responsive, and relational. When trust is broken, repairing it requires not only the strengthening of our systems but reweaving the fabric of the relationships we share as educator to educator, educator to child, and service to family.

Trust begins to grow in spaces where families are not merely visitors but active participants, where educators are empowered rather than governed by policies printed out on reems of paper, where care is recognised as an act of courage, not as a requirement of compliance.

Yet even as we strive to repair, we must be cautious of unintended harms perpetrated in the name of safety. Recent moves by some services to restrict male educators from engaging in intimate care routines are telling. Framed as precautions, these policies quietly suggest an inherent danger in male caregivers, a subtle violence that distorts children’s understanding of safety and gender and undermines professional integrity. This is not protection. It is exclusion, wrapped in the language of caution.

When fear shapes policy, it evolves the current culture, teaching children silent yet powerful lessons about who can be trusted and who cannot. If these lessons are grounded in stereotypes or assumptions, we fail our children in the very act of trying to protect them.

Safety cannot thrive in a climate of exclusion or fear. It demands openness, vulnerability, and courageous dialogue. It calls us to confront not only how we protect, but also how we nurture environments that are joyful, affirming, and respectful of all who enter them.

True safety exists where every child and every educator is not merely watched, but seen and respected.

To hold safety with both hands is to balance fierce protection with profound care. It is to recognise policy as important, but people as vital. And ultimately, it is to remember that our highest calling is not simply to keep children happy, but to help them feel safe.
Genuinely. Unquestionably. Safe.

Christopher has an extensive background in education across a range of fields. He is a lifelong learner who values education, training, and growth. It only made sense that a love of learning led Christopher to step into the role of CEO of Making Education, wanting to make a difference by making it different. Christopher shares his love of learning with the team and inspires those around him to engage in meaningful development and engaging in ongoing learning. Christopher also works closely within the Early Learning sector as Director of Education and Development for several services located in the southeast of Melbourne where he focuses on the design and implementation of learning programs and quality focused projects for child learning outcomes.