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Since the start of Israel’s genocide in Gaza just over two years ago, the repression of any support for Palestine has been rampant across UK institutions including workplaces and universities. Schools are no exception. In 2023, CAGE International handled 118 cases of Palestine-based repression in schools including exclusions, isolations and students being referred to the Islamophobic Prevent programme.
Little has changed since then. In October 2025, Muslim organisation Maslaha and grassroots collective Parents for Palestine carried out a survey on the experiences of young people and their families in expressing solidarity with Palestine in schools, which revealed ‘a concerning pattern of institutional silence, racism, censorship, punishment, and a lack of support’. From staff being made to remove badges and other expressions of solidarity, to pro-Israel narratives being peddled in the classroom, the clampdown on support has been far-reaching and deeply hypocritical.
Of course, given the ongoing and historic complicity of the British establishment in upholding the Israeli occupation and funding the genocide, the attempted silencing of pro-Palestine voices in UK schools - as dictated by councils and local authorities - is no surprise.
Yet teachers and students have refused to be silenced. I spoke to three current or former teachers about their experiences of speaking out on Palestine, the consequences they faced, and the broader failings of the education system reflected by their schools’ handling of the genocide.
Bassem, a former trainee maths teacher on a course at Sheffield Hallam University, described how, during their placement at the local Yewlands Academy, they were instructed to remove a small pin badge depicting the Palestine flag on their lanyard. Bassem’s refusal led to the incident snowballing and ultimately impacting their overall teaching career.
‘I got pulled out by a member of the senior leadership team,’ Bassem recalled. ‘He asked me to remove [the badge], because it’s a political symboI.’ Upon refusing, Bassem was advised by the university not to go in whilst the school figured out whether they were allowed to wear the badge. ‘This was a really important time of the placement, when I was starting to take over lessons and do more teaching. It really hindered my progress.’
After about a week of asking for clarity and receiving no reply, Bassem returned to the school wearing the badge – having self-advocated through the school’s National Education Union (NEU) rep. They were informed that the CEO of the school’s trust had banned them from wearing the badge and were subsequently removed from their placement.
Bassem points to the hypocrisy of this school having held Ukraine solidarity events and noted that the school had Israeli flags up in the geography area. But was Bassem the only staff member with a pin on their lanyard?
‘Some people had pride pins, which I also had. If you consider that nonpolitical, then why would you consider a flag political? Someone had a Refugees Welcome badge…poppies…an Italy badge…I was also wearing a Lebanon flag on my lanyard.’
Despite the university eventually finding Bassem a new placement, the university’s legacy of sporting a Palestine flag continued to negatively impact Bassem’s experience. ‘In my new placement, they were doing a football game with [people bringing] flags from their own countries…I said, I have a flag to offer. And I was told by the head teacher, “I think I can guess what flag you’re going to bring. We don’t think we want that flag.” I was told it was because they didn’t want to cause any disruption.’
Support for Palestine is deeply personal for Bassem. ‘Having grown up in Lebanon, I was raised with the understanding of Israel as a settler colonial state guilty of war crimes and illegal occupation in both Palestine and surrounding countries. There is never any question for me of being vocally pro-Palestine.’
For Bassem, the experience – which they believe has left them struggling to find a teaching job, given their reduced placement – has shown the unwillingness of schools to challenge establishment designations of the political. ‘It is the construction of the controversy around showing any support for Palestine… that is political. A lot of people keep saying to me that they agree with me. What use are your feelings if you use your power to shut down even the tiniest symbolic signs of support for Palestine?’
Another teacher I spoke to, Lila, had fought similar battles over what is political. ‘We initially [following October 7] had a blanket statement from the borough and council saying schools are apolitical organisations, therefore…we will not be allowed to talk about it. I went to the headteacher [saying] there is no such thing as apoliticism, taking that stance is politicized.’ When Lila was met with the same council statement, they tried a different approach to little avail. ‘[I said] we actually have [first generation] Palestinian children in the school. What does this mean for them?’
The clampdown on Lila’s solidarity with Palestine in their London classroom has manifested in indirect ways. ‘There was never any issue in teaching about colonialism. But ever since I started to show solidarity with Palestine, [my head of department told me] I am not allowed to teach about colonialism...They’re finding other ways to respond to the fact that they don’t like that I’m standing in solidarity.’
Has Lila’s career been impacted by speaking out? ‘I definitely will not be given a promotion at this school…they do not want anybody that wants to challenge the system.’
Like Bassem’s flag game, Lila once oversaw an activity where students had to research a country of their choice. ‘Naturally, students chose countries that tied into their ethnicity. But we were told students are not allowed to research Palestine. Israel was not banned. If we’re doing this weird “apoliticism”, maybe you [ban] any countries that are experiencing war.’ The school’s reasoning was that Palestine is not officially recognized as a country.
Lila, too, highlights the hypocrisy of their school’s approaches to Palestine and Ukraine. ‘People would have Ukraine badges or flags. The take was, we have children in the school who are Ukrainian. It is our responsibility to take a stance…Whereas, with Palestine, it was [the] polar opposite. They’ve reinvented all the rules.’
How have students responded to the clampdown?
‘Students largely have been very compliant. [Once] in my classroom, the word “genocide” was mentioned in another context, and then one of the students was like, “like in Palestine”, and all the students turn[ed] around, as if they just swore at the teacher. Everyone was on tenterhooks, like it was wrong to talk about it.’
The tabooing of Palestine in the classroom, Lila suggests, has led to a lack of understanding among students. ‘Are they not coming to school to learn? The history of Palestine should be part of the history curriculum. We need to be actively creating safe spaces where students can discuss and debate. Loads of the students are feeling really strong feelings, but we haven’t taught them the political vocabulary and literacy that they need to be able to have these discussions.’
So why are these conversations so difficult to initiate?
‘There’s a lack of skilling up teachers, making teachers feel confident [in talking about Palestine]. It’s not something that we should be fearful of.’
Noor, another former teacher in a school in Haringey, North London, recounted the shift in their school’s approach to talking about Palestine. ‘At the start [of the genocide], kids were drawing flags and sticking them up in classes. We would talk about it in my tutor group. Then quickly, they started taking down the stickers. The kids got the message that they weren’t allowed to talk about Palestine.’ Unlike Lila’s school, Noor’s school did previously discuss Gaza at training days with external speakers. ‘But that stopped,’ Noor explains. ‘We had no assemblies, nothing about the genocide.’
But the silencing and erasure didn’t start with October 7. ‘In my classroom, [several] years back, I had a map of Gaza [showing how] the occupation increased over the years. I went off sick, and when I came back, it had been removed. One of the senior vice principals was using my room.’
Of course, trainee teachers like Bassem are some of the most vulnerable to being fired. One of the openly pro-Palestine teachers at Noor’s school was a head of year. As for Noor, ‘I’d been there for 14 or 15 years, so they had to be careful.’
However, many teachers in Noor’s school were cautious, especially those close with the senior leadership. ‘[Some teachers] were sympathetic to Palestine, but they wouldn’t say, unless they were with me or with two or three other people.’
Palestinian students, meanwhile, would get in trouble for speaking about Palestine – once again, unlike Ukrainian students. ‘They said, “we’re Palestinian, why can’t we talk about our own country?”’ This discrimination extends further: Ebrahim, head of year 10 at Noor’s school, informed me that ‘Palestinian and Syrian students are disproportionately excluded from school [while] students arriving from Ukraine receive comprehensive support, including tailored pastoral interventions.’
Noor notes that there was some freedom of expression afforded to the students. ‘Some of the kids, on World Book Day, wore Palestine football [outfits] or dressed up as a [Palestinian] character. There were about seven or eight of us who they knew they could [support Palestine] in front of…they’d just spurt out how they felt.’
What can be done externally to support staff and students in speaking out? Noor points to the national workplace days of action organised by various pro-Palestine and anti-war organisations. ‘Parents, or people in the community, could do something outside the school: a stall, flags, cakes, or dates…that would definitely put pressure on the school. Our parents were very aware. If they had come to the school, they would have been up in arms about it.’ Maslaha have also created a guide for families on approaching schools to discuss their approach to Palestine.
For Noor, the silencing of solidarity with Palestine is a fundamental failure on the part of schools. ‘Teachers are supposed to be the moral compass and we’re not modeling that we’re against the genocide because we’re too scared. It’s absolutely wrong.’
Nonetheless, pro-Palestine teachers in Noor’s school have won small victories – like when the school invited a speaker from BAE Systems (https://investigate.afsc.org/company/bae-systems) , a UK-based defense contractor with a decades-long record of supplying military technology to Israel. ‘A group of teachers, who happen to be Muslim, sent them a letter, and they disinvited the person.’ Bassem, too, sees such collective organising as crucial. ‘We won’t win with facts and logic. The people in power can do what they want and get away with it. But only if we let them. We only win with collective action.’
31 March 2026
