Tag Archives: teaching overseas

Lianne Dominguez

Hope for 2026: A Quietly Radical Inspiration

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It has been almost two years since I left an organisation that shaped a significant chapter of my professional life. I am deeply rooted and grateful for the work I do now, but as 2026 begins, I find myself intentionally remembering something beautiful from an earlier season of my journey.

Not as a comparison point, and not as something to recreate—but as a quiet reflection on a chapter that helped form who I am today, and why I continue to believe so deeply in what schools and communities can become when belief, trust, and courage align.

Almost eight years ago, I became part of a founding team tasked with building a school from the ground up. For six of those years, that school was not just where I worked—it was where I lived, learned, and grew alongside my family, students, and colleagues. There was an existing model to follow, but it quickly became clear that our context—our place in the world, our students, our families—required something different. So we listened. And then we built.

We opened as a boarding school, and that detail matters. We didn’t just work there—we lived there. We lived in the boarding apartments adjacent to our students. We ate together, studied together, argued, laughed, recovered, and grew together. The community was so tightly woven that some students cried at the start of holiday breaks, grieving the temporary loss of a place that felt more like home than school.

There were many structures in that school that worked well, and many that did not. It was never perfect—and it wasn’t meant to be. What stayed with me were not the polished systems, but the ways of thinking and doing that emerged because of the moment we were in. The timing mattered. The nature of a start-up mattered. There was a shared understanding that everything was in draft form—that iteration was not a failure, but an expectation. Many arrived ready to adapt quickly, to problem-solve in real time, to try again without ego. That created a very different kind of energy—lighter, braver, more honest. If you’ve never been part of a school in its building phase, it’s hard to explain just how unique it is.

There is a rare permission in those early years to imagine freely, adjust boldly, and build together while everything is still becoming.

We reimagined the school day. On Wednesdays, the school day paused. Learning didn’t stop—but it softened and stretched. Students used that time to recalibrate: to seek support, re-sit assessments without stigma, drop into teachers’ rooms for unhurried conversations, study with friends, work on passion projects, or simply breathe.

It was a collective acknowledgment that growth doesn’t always happen on a fixed timetable—and that sometimes the most important learning begins when we slow down.

We introduced Genius Hour, where middle and high school students worked side by side on several five-week projects throughout the year, bound not by age or grades, but by curiosity and shared interests. These were not isolated “projects for display,” but incubators for real ideas. Over time, they grew into not-for-profit initiatives, media teams, redesigned learning spaces, a student-run bakery café, research projects, trips, and programs that became part of the school itself. What began as imagination gradually became infrastructure—student ideas woven into the fabric of the institution.

Alongside this, we designed many bespoke electives shaped around our students’ evolving pathways—constantly asking how we could help them move closer to their goals. Teachers drew on their passions, university experiences, and professional networks to create opportunities that did not exist before.

Everyone looked for ways to connect students with someone, somewhere, who could help them take the next step toward their dreams. This became part of the culture: possibility-seeking, relationship-driven, deeply intentional.

Teachers were alive in their work. Fully present. Lifelong learners again. Many began projects alongside students, modeling growth rather than perfection. They carried a sense of humor too—an ease with one another that made even the hardest days lighter. Life felt simple in the best way: meaningful work, honest laughter, shared purpose.

Every day, I felt an immense sense of gratitude to be surrounded by such a talented, generous group of educators. To serve as their Principal was a privilege—one that grounded me in humility, trust, and deep belief in what teachers can build when they are truly seen and supported.

Our student leaders didn’t just represent voices—they co-authored policies and processes with adults. They did so with care, empathy, and a deep sense of ownership. Everyone—students and staff alike—acted like builders every single day.

In time, very selective universities globally began to notice—not just our students’ academic profiles, but their stories, their agency, and the way they spoke about having helped build their own community. That recognition was never the goal, but it became a meaningful affirmation. We were proud of what we had built—and it mattered to know that others could see it too.

I was supported by a head of school who believed deeply in the cause. Some of our best thinking happened not in meeting rooms, but over barbecues and shrimp boils—living simply, dreaming boldly, hearts fully on our sleeves.

My own children were part of this founding story too. With other founding students, they helped shape the culture, grew up alongside their peers, and shared life in a community where school and home were not separate worlds. We even lived through COVID together—and somehow emerged stronger, more connected, more human.

As often happens over time, governance and vision evolved, and the school chose a different direction. The school was renamed and rebranded to align with the new project. Some of us who were part of the building phase knew it was time to step away too.

I still think about the kind of community we created. How rare it was. How, for a moment, we all glimpsed what school could be when we truly listen to students, trust teachers, and invite educators to help write the story rather than simply deliver it. That experience left me with enduring lessons about what it means to build a school—lessons rooted not just in structures or schedules, but in relationships, shared ownership, and belief.

This experience also helped me understand something about myself now. Why conversations about possibility with students still energize me. Why imagining new pathways with colleagues feels expansive rather than exhausting. Why I remain hopeful and deeply optimistic about education, even in complex times. I’ve seen what can happen when people are trusted, when imagination is taken seriously, and when community is built with intention.

It didn’t last forever. But it existed. And because it existed once, it continues to shape how I lead, how I listen, and how I dream.

As 2026 begins, I carry that chapter with me—not as nostalgia, but as a compass. I want to continue bringing the energy of that time into my current work: the willingness to keep iterating, to move forward thoughtfully, to make things better without losing sight of the people and the process along the way.

Whether I am in a start-up phase or building on an existing legacy, I hold onto the same belief—that when we lead with humanity, curiosity, and care, something extraordinary remains possible, again and again.

Lianne Dominguez

Safeguarding Voice: Who Gets Heard, and Who Gets Silenced?

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I’ve been thinking a lot about this third and last piece in my safeguarding series — what to bring into the light, what to hold space for, and what has become so normalized that it deserves attention. And the more I sat with it, the more I realized that this next part of the safeguarding conversation is not about students directly. It’s about the adults who protect the students — and what happens when their safety is quietly eroded.

One uncomfortable truth is that we cannot safeguard children if we don’t safeguard the adults responsible for them. And yet, across countless professional conversations, accreditation visits, coaching sessions, and quiet after-meeting walk-and-talks, I keep hearing versions of the same thing:

  • “I didn’t feel safe speaking in that meeting.”
  • “My idea only landed after someone else repeated it.”
  • “I don’t want to challenge him — it always becomes personal.”
  • “People like me aren’t listened to here.”
  • “I don’t want to be seen as the difficult one.”

These are not isolated stories. These are patterns that form culture. And culture, more than any policy or protocol, is where safeguarding either strengthens or breaks.

Voice as a Safeguarding Issue

Psychological safety is not a leadership trend — it is one of the conditions of successful safeguarding. Research from Amy Edmondson (Harvard Business School) shows that teams with low psychological safety underreport concerns, stay silent in the face of potential harm, and rarely challenge power dynamics — even when something feels wrong.

In schools, that silence is not abstract. It lands directly at the feet of our students. When adults don’t feel safe to speak truth, children have no one left to speak for them. And this is where voice becomes more than a wellbeing issue and becomes a safeguarding responsibility.

Power in spaces can create an imbalance.

Unconscious bias is not malicious — but it is powerful. In school leadership spaces, certain voices are at times unintentionally elevated:

  • the confident, fluent speaker
  • the senior leader
  • the person with historical credibility
  • the charismatic personality
  • the culturally dominant group or gender
  • the one who takes up space easily

And just as quietly, other voices shrink:

  • new teachers
  • International or local hires
  • minority staff
  • reflective, quieter thinkers
  • women whose tone is judged before their ideas
  • people with less political capital

No one announces this imbalance. It simply becomes the room. And when a room is imbalanced, safeguarding is imbalanced.  Safeguarding depends on the voices most willing to notice, question, and disrupt harm — not just the ones who speak the loudest.

What is the cost of unsafe leadership spaces?

People don’t leave schools because of workload. They leave because of what happens in rooms where decisions are made. The latest reports from ISC Research (2022) and Education Support UK (2023) note that:

  • lack of voice and psychological safety is one of the top 3 reasons teachers resign,
  • minority staff report double the levels of “dismissal of concerns,”
  • women in leadership experience more frequent interruption, contradiction, and tone-policing,
  • schools with low psychological safety have significantly higher rates of safeguarding near-misses — because concerns stay unspoken.

These aren’t abstract statistics. They explain something we’ve all seen before: when adults do not feel safe, they stop challenging. They stop reporting, noticing, or caring out loud. And a school where people stop caring out loud is a school where safeguarding is already compromised.

When “Harmless” Behaviours Become Harmful

Culture doesn’t break in dramatic moments. It breaks in subtle ones.

  • A sexist joke passed off as humour.
  • A colleague dismissed mid-sentence.
  • A leader’s idea always chosen first.
  • A microaggression reframed as “not a big deal.”
  • A person’s concern minimised as oversensitivity.
  • A boundary pushed “just this once.”

Individually, these moments feel small but collectively, they form a climate where harm can grow quietly. Safeguarding literature calls this the continuum of harm: micro-behaviours → normalisation → silence → risk. This is why safeguarding must extend beyond child protection training. It must sit in the DNA of how adults treat one another.

So what can you do when speaking up feels unsafe in your community?

1. Trust your discomfort. It’s professional evidence. Your instincts are shaped by experience, pattern recognition, and emotional labor. If something feels off, it’s worth noting. Write it down. Keep it factual. Collect clarity, not “evidence.” Silence thrives where intuition is dismissed.

2. Use policy as protection — not confrontation. Policies exist to protect both children and adults. You can ground your concerns in neutral, non-personal language such as:

  • “Our safeguarding code of conduct notes that…”
  • “KCSIE highlights our duty to…”
  • “The whistleblowing policy protects staff when…”

Policy removes emotion and hierarchy. It makes the conversation about safeguarding, and not personalities.

3. Don’t go alone — use the processes and key people available in your school. When a culture is resistant, use structure. A collective voice has protection that an isolated one doesn’t. Here are some key people that you can approach: DSL, Deputy DSL, Line manager, HR, Whistleblowing channel, or Safeguarding governor

4. Focus on impact, not intention. This defuses defensiveness and keeps the conversation about safety. Impact shifts the conversation from accusation to understanding to action. 

  • “I know the intention wasn’t harm, but the impact was…”
  • “This landed differently to the way it was meant.”

5. Leaders: repair culture in the smallest moments. Culture doesn’t shift in big speeches. It shifts in micro-courageous actions like: 

  • Interrupt the biased joke.
  • Invite the quiet colleague to speak.
  • Name the dynamic you observe: “I think we just talked over her.”
  • Publicly credit people’s ideas.
  • Protect the person who raised a concern.
  • Model humility, not dominance.
  • Ask, “Whose voice haven’t we heard yet?”

Safeguarding begins long before crisis. It begins in the spaces where adults gather, decide, and lead. And if we want safer schools, we must commit to safeguarding voice — every voice — with the same vigilance we promise our students.

Safety is not built by power but by consistency. In the end… safeguarding is not only about children. It is about protecting the adults who protect the children. It is about creating rooms where voice is safe, not only strategic. It is about building cultures where courage is shared, not punished. And above all — it is about choosing the kind of leadership that makes safety visible, dignity possible, and silence no longer the easiest option.

So as you look around your own school, ask yourself one final question: Whose voice is truly safe here — and whose isn’t?

Lianne Dominguez

Hiring Is the First Act of Safeguarding

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Safeguarding Series #1: A Perspective on Safer Recruitment in International Schools from My Role as a DSL

When people ask me about safeguarding, they often expect to hear about policies, disclosures, or risk assessments.

As a Designated Safeguarding Lead (DSL), I’ve come to understand that safeguarding doesn’t begin with a form. It begins with a person. And often, that person is not a student. It’s an adult we’ve just hired.

Safer Hiring is serious business.

And yet, many of us know—quietly, sometimes reluctantly—that these measures alone are not enough. Not in international schools. Not in a world where teachers move countries every few years, where systems vary, and where reputation can hide risk.

Let’s name the quiet truths:

  • References can be vague or overly polished.
  • Background checks may only tell us who was caught—not who caused harm and moved on.
  • Some candidates smooth over CV gaps with charm or vague reasoning.
  • In our global school network, we often mistake the absence of a red flag for a sign of safety

We assume that familiarity equals integrity. That silence equals clearance. That good schools only hire good people.

There are moments I pause and quietly ask myself: what if?

I remember the references that made me pause—but came from schools too prestigious to question.

And the time we stopped at two references. It felt efficient. But now, with hindsight, I can’t help but ask: what didn’t we see?

I think about the one candidate I didn’t feel quite right about—but didn’t want to seem “overly suspicious.”

More than anything, I think about how often safer recruitment is quietly treated as HR’s job. In reality, it belongs to all of us—especially to those with the power to decide who walks into our schools.

As a DSL, I know that one poorly vetted hire can undo years of trust built with students and families. That’s why hiring isn’t just the first HR task. It’s the first safeguarding decision.

Practical Questions We Need to Ask (But Often Don’t)

  • Have we actually spoken to the person who worked most closely with the candidate?
  • Are we accepting clearances from countries that don’t share information across borders?
  • Have we asked about safeguarding concerns—not just performance reviews?
  • Have we reviewed the candidate’s relational conduct with both students and adults?
  • Are there any patterns of emotional manipulation, boundary-pushing, or staff conflict that raise concern?
  • Is our interview panel trained to detect grooming behaviors masked as charisma?

Most importantly: Are we willing to pause the process when something doesn’t feel right? Because when instinct is paired with professional judgment, it becomes valid evidence—not just a gut feeling.

A Call to Senior Leaders, HR Teams, and Governors

If you’re on a hiring panel, you are part of the safeguarding team—whether or not you carry the DSL title.

Ask the hard questions. Push for the third reference. Slow down when the pressure says move fast. Question the “but they’re from a good school” mindset.

And never forget: a charming interview does not equal a safe adult.

It’s easy to overlook red flags when time is tight. It’s tempting to shift responsibility elsewhere. But in safeguarding, what’s easy is rarely what’s safe.

We owe our students more than good teachers. We owe them safe ones.

And “safe” doesn’t just mean free of criminal history. A safe teacher is someone who will never shame a child for struggling. Someone who won’t belittle, mock, or emotionally manipulate a student—no matter how talented they are at teaching.

Harm doesn’t always show up in obvious ways. Sometimes, it’s subtle—a comment meant as a joke, a tone that cuts too deep. Sometimes, it hides behind charm, or behind standards that feel just a little too high. And sometimes, it goes unnoticed—tucked into the corners of decisions made too quickly.

Emotional safety matters just as much as physical safety—and that starts with hiring adults who are not just competent, but compassionate. Not just experienced, but ethical. Not just impressive on paper, but principled in practice.

So the next time we sit at a hiring table, let’s remember: The decision we make isn’t just about filling a timetable. It’s about protecting our community.

In the end, hiring is not just operational. It is ethical. It is relational.

And in international schools—where mobility is high and memory is short— hiring is foundational.

Stephen Dexter

Tick Tock: The O.G. Decision

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(ChatGPT generation with prompt: person looking window at Big Ben)

I wish I had time to humor you with the series of creative prompts that led to this masterpiece, but this is the best I could to on a Sunday afternoon.

Not that any international educators are looking out their apartments with a view of Big Ben wondering what to do next, but you get the symbolic metaphor.

It’s time.

It’s time to take stock, to give notice (earlier than ever in school history which is an entirely other blog that I will write about) and make a decision about next year. I’m so old that I remember when the notice period was January for a January-February hiring season. Yes, I know. A full winter break to contemplate the future. I get it.

But here we are, just barely crawling out of the startup typhoon and there’s a memo in your mailbox: ‘So are you coming back next year or not?’

If this were a dating situation, it would be a marriage proposal when you opened the door to go to a movie for the first time. Do people still go to movies on dates?

There are few things more difficult than having to decide if you want to go back to a school for another year, and few things more insecure, especially if you have young children. It’s brutal. I’ve been there. I went overseas when my kids were 7 and 2. My youngest just graduated from my school and you can hear the sigh of relief across continents.

But I digress.

There are two simple things that hopefully drive this process for you and as much as you try, you cannot have both.

  1. Do I want to be happy professionally?
  2. Do I want to be happy personally?

What do we want? Both.

Not going to happen. Well, I not going to say never, but once you decide which is more important, you have made up your mind about why you want to stay or leave. Since 2009, I made only one decision to be professionally happy. The rest was all about the family. Yeah, it’s hard.

When we decided “this is the business we have chosen” we made a pact that it would be a very insecure existence, albeit temporarily comfortable for the most part, in faraway lands with lots of adventures. This transaction for lack of security is hard. I gave up a sure pension in American public schools to raise my children overseas and I don’t regret anything other than the fact that my son says he won’t take care of me when I’m eating out of a straw. (I think he was kidding).

Everyone’s circumstances are different. Singles. Families. Dependent spouses and partners. Teaching couples. Distance from relatives. Life changes, etc. etc. The one thing that ties it all together is that you have to be true to yourself and what you want out of this experience.

Yes, it’s earlier than ever and for the time being we cannot change that. Make that list of pros and cons for staying or leaving. Decide if this is for personal or professional happiness (refrain from the greedy both) and go for it.

You can do it. The world needs you now more than ever no matter what you decide.

BONUS INTERVIEW QUESTIONS WHEN IT’S YOUR TURN…

  1. What do you most love about working at this school and what do you think needs to change the most?
  2. What’s the value added proposition to this school that no other school on earth (or the country/region) can offer?
  3. If you offer me a position, what’s the most important thing that I need to know on day one?
  4. What is the school’s top strategic priority and how can I help with it?
  5. They say that schools often take on the culture of their host country environment. How has that happened here and how have you leveraged this culture to enhance the educational experience?
  6. How would you describe the relationship between local and expat staff?
  7. If you could invent a position that the school wishes it could have, what would it be called?
Lianne Dominguez

Not Quite Home: The Summer Pause We Don’t Talk About (But Should)

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Astana Presidential Park , Painting by Dall-E

There’s a moment every June in international schools that feels like a collective exhale.

Suitcases roll down apartment hallways. Farewell potlucks blur into airport selfies. Someone’s always off to Phuket or Bali or Southern Italy. Someone else is crying over a storage unit key.

And somewhere in the middle of all that chaos—there’s you.

Maybe you’re heading “home.” Maybe not. Maybe your summer plan is a patchwork of logistics, reunions, and visa renewals. Maybe you’re staying put, guarding the peace, the cats, and the air conditioning.

Wherever you are, this season hits differently when you’re an international educator. The world slows down—but not always in the ways you expect. Because the truth is, living and working overseas isn’t all adventure and Aperols.

It’s a constant negotiation between the lives we’ve built—and the ones we’ve left behind. It’s navigating time zones and guilt, holding space for group chats filled with love but stretched by distance. It’s being fully present for students while wondering if your parents need help renewing a prescription. It’s cheering your students’ milestones while missing your cousin’s wedding back home.

And yet—here we are. Still choosing this life. Not because we’re running from something, but because we’re building toward something.

Guilt vs Growth

There’s a quiet kind of guilt many of us carry. We miss birthdays, funerals, Sunday lunches. We aren’t always there for the big or small moments back home.

And when summer rolls around, it can hit especially hard. While others go “home,” some of us float—between countries, between roles, between selves—carrying pieces of each, fully belonging to neither.

But here’s the reframe: what if this isn’t a loss? What if this is growth? Because this life you’ve created—the one with mismatched cutlery acquired from solo travels, multiple sim cards, and students who call you their favorite teacher—isn’t a detour. It’s your life. Brave. Complicated. Beautiful.

You’re not missing your life – You’re living it.

The Summer Pause: What It Offers

Summer isn’t just a break. It’s a recalibration.

In international schools, June often feels like a sprint to the finish—farewells, final reports, tears in classrooms. But what comes after? A rare kind of silence. A space between chapters. A moment to turn inward before turning the page.

Here’s how I’m learning to embrace this pause—not just as rest, but as an invitation to reflect:

1. Take stock of the year that shaped you.

What moments stretched you? What relationships grounded you? What surprised you? Don’t just celebrate the big wins—honor the quiet resilience too: the email you didn’t send, the conversation you handled differently, the student who finally smiled back.

Prompt: What part of me grew this year that didn’t exist last August?

2. Audit your own curriculum—not just your teaching one.

What are you learning in your life right now? What habits are serving you? Which ones need rewriting? Summer is a good time to re-edit your internal syllabus. Maybe rest is the lesson. Maybe it’s boundary-setting. Maybe it’s joy.

Prompt: If I were the student of my own life, what would I need next?

3. Revisit your definition of home.

Living overseas shifts the definition of home. Sometimes it’s a place, sometimes a person, sometimes a feeling. What feels like home now? And how do you nurture it—wherever you are?

Prompt: Where do I feel most myself—and how do I create more of that, wherever I am?

4. Find the light that still excites you.

Before jumping into planning for next year, pause and ask: What do I want to bring more of into my work? What lights me up? What am I tired of pretending I enjoy? The pause lets you hear the honest answers.

Prompt: What part of my work still sparks joy—and what drains it?

5. Check your compass—not just your calendar.

Where are you going—and why? Titles, countries, contracts—they shift. But your purpose is steady. Use this pause to reconnect with the reason you began this journey. The deeper why.

Prompt: Does the life I’m building align with the person I’m becoming?

From Uprooting to Re-rooting

The word “uprooted” gets tossed around a lot in our line of work. But most of us aren’t floating—we’re replanting. Again and again. New soil, new roots, new blooms. And that? That’s not disconnection. That’s resilience. That’s the quiet, ongoing work of becoming.

So wherever you are this summer—on a plane, in a hammock, on your couch, on your fifth mango smoothie or in line at immigration—take the pause. Let it hold you.

Reflect on what you’ve built. Celebrate what you’ve become. Appreciate where you came from and keep building toward where you’re going.

Because you’re not lost between two worlds. You are the bridge.

And that’s something to be seriously proud of.

Lianne Dominguez

9 Schools, 1 Journey: Belonging in the In-Between

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I studied in nine different schools growing up.

Nine uniforms. Nine first day butterflies. Nine different ways to wonder: Who am I in this place? Nine goodbyes I didn’t always know how to say.

But this isn’t just a story about adaptability or grit—it’s a story about identity and finding belonging in unfamiliar places.

About what it means to start again. About the space between “Where are you from?” and “Where do you feel like you belong?”

I didn’t always feel like I belonged.

Instead, I learned how to fit in. I’d scan a new classroom and adjust—my tone, my posture, my expectations. I smiled, even when I wasn’t sure where I stood.

I became fluent in beginnings. But I also carried a quiet fear of the middle—the uncertain space where belonging is built, not assumed.

Learning the Language of Change

At one point, I felt embarrassed to say I had studied in nine schools.

It sounded scattered. Incomplete. Like I didn’t belong anywhere long enough to call it mine.

I worried people would see it as instability—or worse, failure to stay rooted. So I downplayed it. Smoothed over the edges. Said it lightly, with a laugh.

Now I see it differently.

Those transitions weren’t gaps in my story. They were growth points that shaped my identity, resilience, and leadership.

Each move taught me how to read the room, how to listen, and how to survive uncertainty. Later, those same skills helped me lead others through it.

The Middle We Don’t Talk About

We talk a lot about beginnings. We romanticize endings. But most of life—especially school life—is lived in the middle.

The in-between is that quiet stretch of time when the novelty fades but you’re not yet rooted. You know faces but not yet stories. You know how to walk the halls, but still wonder if you’re allowed to say, “I’m not okay yet.”

And that’s where I spent so much of my life—being new in places.

In that in-between space where I was constantly becoming, constantly adjusting, constantly waiting for confirmation that I was allowed to just be.

What I’d Tell My Younger Self

To the girl with the heavy backpack and the practiced smile, here’s what I’d say:

You don’t need to rush to prove yourself.

It’s okay to feel scared. You’re allowed to ask for help. You can take up space—even when you’re new, even when you’re unsure.

And one day, all of this—every ending and every uncertain start—will form the foundation for how you lead.

Not with ego. But with empathy.

The Quiet Art of Letting Go

When you grow up in transition, you become good at letting go. But that doesn’t mean you get numb to it.

I learned to pack fast. To make friends fast. To leave fast.

I also learned that people aren’t meant to be rushed through. And neither is belonging.

Now, I hold onto people more gently. I make more room for traditions and reflection. I stay in touch longer than I used to. And I hold space for others to not have it all together right away.

The Most Transient Communities of All

After university, it felt natural to work in international schools—places where movement is constant, identity is fluid, and the question “Where are you from?” often trails off into silence.

These communities are beautiful, but not always easy.

Students arrive mid-year. Staff start over every few years. Families leave before they’ve fully settled.

This time, though, I see it differently.

I notice the student who clings to their home language in the hallway.

The teacher who stays late—not because of work, but because they haven’t found friends outside of school.

The staff member who shows up strong, but carries a quiet loneliness they can’t name.

And I remember what it felt like to live in that in-between space.

Why I Lead—and Why I Write

I lead because I know what it’s like to feel unseen. I write because I want to create school communities that see better.

Communities where onboarding is about more than logistics—it’s about landing.

Where departures are honored with grace, not just paperwork.

Where “you belong here” isn’t a slogan, but a structure. A culture. A daily commitment.

Today’s schools shouldn’t just be learning communities. They must be belonging communities—where every voice feels seen, valued, and safe.

Places where people—students, teachers, leaders—can ask questions, show up messy, and become more than what they were when they arrived.

To Anyone Standing at a New Door

Maybe you just moved, your boxes are still unpacked, or you’re still wondering if you belong.

Here’s what I’ve learned after nine schools, dozens of classrooms, and countless new beginnings:

You don’t have to get it right on day one.

You don’t have to figure it out alone.

And most importantly, you’re allowed to begin again—

As many times as it takes.

This is the kind of community I want to help build.

And I’m honored to begin again, here—with you.

Conrad Hughes

Teaching about the host country’s culture and history in an international school

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For those of us working in international schools, we are all too aware of the challenge of teaching about national identity given our international student body. Whose history should be taught and why? It’s not logistically possible to teach every child about the history of every country represented unless it’s through student-led projects which are presented to the classes, which in and of itself is not a bad exercise at all but is clearly not as in depth an experience as a whole course in one country’s history that the whole class follows.

The concept of global citizenship, so central to many school missions, including that of the International School of Geneva, remains an abstract principle since one does not pay taxes, do military service or swear allegiance to a global passport. Everyone belongs to at least one nation state and has to abide by the rules of at least one nation state, whether it be their own or the one they are living in.

In her thesis on national identity and the moral responsibilities that come with it, the great German American  philosopher Hannah Arendt complained about the notion of global citizenship very much in this vein, as does the contemporary thinker  Nick Tate, whose masterful  Conservative Case for Education: Against the Current argues against what he considers to be a type of elitist, rootless cosmopolitan global citizenship which has the privilege to ride above the requisites that most of the world’s population have to cope with, locked in the pressures and sometimes dictatorial exigencies of a single nation state.

This is where the importance of respecting, understanding and teaching about the host country becomes essential: children growing up in an international school might not learn about their own history (although hopefully at some point they will at least get to research their national origins – frequently multiple national origins at that), but they should at least  be inducted into some recognition and understanding of their host country.

For years, too many international schools have existed as Anglo-American ghettos conveniently disconnected from the host country’s language, culture, history and traditions. I believe, however, that fewer and fewer are in this position and are emphasising a genuine, non-tokenistic appreciation and learning of the host culture.

I used to teach at the Mahindra United World College of India and there was an obligatory course, which I believe still exists, called “This is India” through which students would learn some basic Hindi, Indian history and culture. Impressively, that course was designed and run by students. At my own Alma Mater, Waterford Kamhlaba, we all had to learn some Siswati and would sing Eswatini’s national anthem every week at assembly. Both of these schools were international schools with an extremely varied student population, but both managed to ensure a strong learning of the host country.

At the International School of Geneva, we have introduced a Global Citizenship course which runs across four different year levels. One of the strands is dedicated to Swiss history, political systems, geography and culture. The learning materials for this course come from the Swiss government and the learning happens in one of Switzerland’s national languages: French.

Pedagogical actions like these ensure not only that there is some awareness of the host country and some effort made to study its history, but in doing so, the value of researching and becoming familiar with the  culture where you are living is modelled for students. It’s all too easy to drift into the third culture kid, no person’s land: a type of vague globalised  Americana with some smattering of knowledge of broad global history, generic everywhere but nowhere knowledge of World Wars and the Cold War, a macrocosmic understanding of the past as if from a mountain top looking across multiple fields. However, by zooming in on one and going deep into the details, we become more instructed in those specificities and resonances that give history, culture and politics life, colour, vibrancy and pertinence. All the better if it is the host country that is looked at this way, developing not just global citizenship but glocal citizenship.

How well does your school teach the culture and history of its host culture and what role do you play in that transmission?

Gregory Hedger

Learning From Giants

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Learning From Giants

I’ve had four very successful international school headships over the past two decades.  I’m fortunate to be able to say I hold the longest serving tenure as a school head at two of those schools, while I provided successful leadership during political, economic, and labor crises, a sexual abuse crisis, a natural disaster, and a school start up situation at the other two schools, not to mention the varied challenges of the past couple of years around the world and in Myanmar in particular.  There are a number of factors I can point to that have contributed to this success.  I’ve had some incredible colleagues who have shared the same vision for education that have worked with me at different schools, I’ve had the opportunity to support some amazing teachers who have been adaptable and flexible in providing incredible learning opportunities in the classroom, and, of course, at international schools we work with a student and parent population that is committed and motivated to be successful.  However, the one thing that stands out for me above all else is the respect I hold for those giants who came before me as international school heads and the lessons their experience and knowledge provide.

Early in my career, I had the opportunity to get to know a very successful head of school, someone who had gone into a school that had a troubling history of rotating through heads every couple of years.  Yet this head went to this school and survived for a number of years.  At about his fifth year I connected with him and had an opportunity to chat with him.  I asked him why he felt he had been successful when so many others had not.  He said to me, “Greg, I never forget who I work for.”  This was an interesting comment.  As a head of school, we have many constituencies – students, faculty, staff, parents.  Yet, there is one group our contracts clearly state we are responsible to – the board or ownership of the school.  This comment really helped to instill in me the importance of working with the Board or ownership of the school that employs me to make sure we have an understanding of each other and are pursuing a similar vision for the school.  I once commented that I see my most important role in a school is working with the Board / ownership to maintain that focus and ensure I am in sync with those I work for.  If I can do that, everything else can fall into place and the whole school can focus on learning and a conducive climate for students.  

Similarly, about this point in time I ran into another head of school who had recently left a school he had been head of for over a decade.  I remember that his departure was a shock to many in the international school community as his name had become synonymous with the school he led.  I asked him a similar question, inquiring what had led to his departure.  His response was very thoughtful as he explained he had become overly confident in his position and had come to believe the school couldn’t survive without him.  One day he was in a board meeting where the Board was making a decision different from what he recommended.  He told them that if they made that decision he would resign from the school.  He really expected them to back down, but instead they called his bluff and accepted his resignation.  In explaining this to me he said there were many times during his career he was tempted to resign on principle, but this was not one of them.  He indicated he regretted his actions.

This second situation has really stuck with me over the years.  There have been many times that I have been worn out, torn in many directions, and felt completely exhausted by everything I am juggling and then had a board member / owner come along and throw a curveball in my direction that left me gasping and wanting to threaten to walk out the door.  In those situations I’ve stopped and thought about that head of school and the regret he felt.  I then ask myself if this current situation is the one I’m willing to sacrifice it all for?  When I think about everything we are doing for students, the learning taking place, the programs we’ve developed, is this the issue that I believe all of that needs to be given up for?  In two decades as a head of school the answer to those questions has only been “yes” one time.  And, that one time occurred only after having walked away from the situation and spent a full summer thinking about it.  Fortunately, after that amount of time, the board chair ended up agreeing with me and it worked out in the end.  This is an important lesson I learned from that head though, and it has guided me through many difficult challenges and decisions.

Back when I was teaching I had the opportunity to work for some very good school heads.  One in particular provided some guidance for me in my future career in school administration.  He was an extremely level headed individual who always appeared calm and composed.  I asked him about that one time, and he explained that when things were challenging he always grounded himself by remembering what it is about education that gets his juices flowing, in other words, why is he in education to begin with?  He told me that when he puts that question out there, and checks himself to make sure he is remaining true to that purpose, then he can be comfortable with the decisions he is making.  This is another one of those axioms that has guided me through some incredibly difficult times.

Another time I went to this same head of school and told him about some rumors I had heard about the school at a recent social event I had attended.  He explained to me he believed there was nothing wrong with a rumor.  Talking about things is how people process new information, changes, or things they question.  He told me that until an issue actually shows up at your door, it is simply a rumor and needs to be left alone.  Besides, he once said, sometimes silence is one of the most effective tools we have.

When I decided to make the jump into administration, I received a lot of guidance as I sought that first job.  My natural tendency was to apply for everything I saw, assuming I could adapt myself to any role.  Instead, I was encouraged to think about my skill set and to really question schools about their needs to determine if it was a match for my me.  I was told that nothing cuts a career shorter than a head in a position that isn’t a match for them.  For example, I have a few skills that I believe I’m really good at.  One time I interviewed for a really top notch school.  However, with a clear sense of my skill set I quickly realized the school and I were not a match and I pulled out of the running.  That’s another thing I think we sometimes forget.  The interview process needs to go both ways.  Just as the school wants to make sure they are getting the best match for the school, we need to make sure we are checking out the school to make sure it is the best match for us.

Another thing I’ve learned along the way, but can’t remember who from, is the idea that schools go through cycles.  At different times in the life cycle of a school it needs different leadership with different skill sets.  As a school head, it is important to recognize when our skill set is a match for a school, but just as importantly, is to recognize when our skill set no longer fits a school.  It is always better to realize that and make our own decision to seek something new with glowing references than to overstay our welcome and have to leave at an undesirable time.

I sat in a workshop at a conference one time and listened to a presenter I had a lot of respect for talk about the idea of having the right people on the bus.  There is a lot to be said for that concept, while right along with it is making sure that within that group of people we have people who can do the things we can’t.  I once sat in an interview for a headship where I talked about the things I saw that needed to be addressed during the period of my interview visit.  One of the board members commented, “that’s a pretty big list, how can you have the skills and knowledge to do all of that?”  I responded that I don’t, but I have the skills and knowledge to hire the people who can, and then provide the oversight to get it done.  I ended up getting that job.  Several years later, when that board member was leaving the school, she reminded me of that statement and commented that she could now clearly see that this was a skill that had contributed to me being successful as head of that school.

Finally, as I prepared for my first headship I spoke to a consultant who has long been a mentor to me.  He told me that my spouse should rightfully always be my best friend, but that close behind should be my board chair.  That is probably one of the most important pieces of advice I’ve ever received.  I’ve been very fortunate to have had some amazing board chairs.  Every single one has become a good friend.  During times of crisis, I have found myself having daily conversations with them, seeking advice, talking over options.  At other times we check in with each other, they help me to frame and reframe the issues, and I keep them apprised of the things I am doing.  I believe the board / ownership should never be surprised or caught off guard by anything.  This is doubly important with the chair / owner, and in this way they are best able to support me and the school.

I once read that being the head of a school is one of the most challenging positions that exists as there are so many constituents who need to be looked after.  One head I know once stated that on any given evening a head of school can rest assured there is some dinner table in their community where their name is being mentioned as a part of the dinner conversation.  Thinking about this makes the job seem incredibly daunting.  However, there are many giants who have led schools successfully before us.  I believe that by listening to them, observing them, and learning from them, we all have the ability to improve the odds of our own success. 

You can find more posts on my blog  Gregory A. Hedger’s Blog

Jen Munnerlyn

Getting to Yes- Inclusion

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As International schools morph and change, the goal is our schools become better versions of what we’ve been before. Whether it is to provide a more cohesive and articulated curriculum, more rigorous vetting of our personnel for safety, or more purposefully designed and earth-friendly facilities, we are always changing and improving.

One area which is garnering a lot of attention right now is inclusivity. The idea that our schools can accept students with special needs isn’t new, but striving to do so, and even expanding the notion of what we can support, is a change.

Championing this idea is the Next Frontier Inclusion project led by Bill and Ochan Powell. This past week, I was with them at Hong Kong Academy to see an inclusive school in action: the journey, the celebrations, and the next steps for all of us trying to make this a reality. It was an interesting visit.

While, I’m slightly embarrassed to admit it, I wasn’t sure how I would feel around students with special needs. Having grown up in and always worked in international schools, I have limited exposure to students who are considered SEN (Special Education Needs) children. Of course, being on site at HKA and seeing those students playing, learning, and making friends eased my fear and opened my heart. While most of our schools will never be a true microcosm of society, we can and should modify our definition of diversity. 

The big questions shared and chewed on with the group included:

  • How do you do this? Staffing, marketing, facilities, etc.
  • How do we go from where we are today, to where we want to be without compromising our already rigorous programs?
  • What if our school communities (existing families) don’t want to do this?

Of course, for many of our schools, it will take time, planning and persistence to shift the culture and become more purposefully inclusive. Each school will face challenges based on its locale and clientele. However as often happens in our connected community of international school educators, once a few of us leap out, it will be easier (and become more important) for others to do the same. That is our strength as a global community.

Here is a first step I can share about the journey we are on at my school. It is a small shift that has produced big changes. It is a shift in language and mindset. It is replicable by any school wanting to become more inclusive. 

We have recently changed our admissions stance from ‘no’ to ‘yes and…’ In the past, we would receive a file of a student with needs and work as an admissions team to explain all the reasons why we couldn’t admit the child. This process was designed to help the family understand why we were saying ‘No’.

Now, the admissions team (principal, resource teachers, counselor, admissions rep, possibly a classroom teacher) is tasked with presenting a scenario to our director based on ‘yes’. There is no longer a ‘no’ option at this meeting.

Instead, ‘yes, and…’  comes with the plan/proposal of what we would require to fully support the child in our school. There is no boundary to what we can propose: shadow teachers, more testing, modified curriculum, partial day, on-site therapy, etc. The proposals are not predicated on what we already do, but instead generated by what would be possible if there were no limits. The admission team’s job is to paint a picture which gets us to yes. From there, the director makes the final decision about whether or not we can get there.

This shift in mindset and emphasis has produced a few interesting results. First, we are much more likely to think out of the box when we are starting with a positive, can-do frame of mind. Secondly, the two or three cases we have reviewed in this vein have turned out to be doable, surprising us all, as in the past, we probably would have simply said ‘no’. And finally, the level of communication and ownership for the inclusion plan is spread out among those people who proposed an idea worth hearing. 

Getting to yes is a motto we are beginning to live. While there are sure to be pitfalls, we are happy to be taking an active and conscious step toward inclusion.

What is your school doing to change the conversation?

Image credit: ‘Diversity Clip Art’ www.clipartsheep.com, Creative Commons right to share
Barry Déquanne

Teacher Recruitment

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A common and defining characteristic associated with international schools is that of transience. The ephemeral nature of many our community members’ tenures in international schools necessitates the ongoing management of change processes. The positive features of this constant change are the rich opportunities for personal growth, renewal, enrichment, and development of new relationships. However, this very same impermanence inevitably leads to our esteemed colleagues and beloved friends taking leave of our community as they seek to embrace new adventures and experiences. The reasons that some teachers take leave of our schools each year varies, from the need to return to their home country or the desire to work and live in a different part of the world, for example. While the inevitable departure of some colleagues will again be a reality at international schools around the world, we can take solace in the fact that personal and professional relationships will assuredly endure far beyond the end of this school year. Although there will be occasions to formally recognize those who will be leaving our schools, the focus of this note is on the present and the importance of appreciating and making the most of the time we have today and in the near future with our very special colleagues and friends. Teacher Recruitment Process:  The hiring of teachers is arguable the most important element of the work of a Head of School. To that end, one of the main focus areas during the month of October to February is the recruitment of teachers, which will include attendance at international recruitment fairs. In addition, it is not unusual for schools to receive over a thousand applications, in some cases, several thousand. I am often asked what we look for when hiring teachers at the American School of Brasilia. First and foremost, we are seeking to hire the best available teachers, regardless of nationality, who possess outstanding qualifications in their academic area, deep levels of relevant experience, leadership capacity, resilience, flexibility, and, of course, a passion for working with students and the learning process. An additional characteristic that is among the highest on our priority list is that of a positive disposition. The nature of effective teaching necessitates the ideal of teachers as eternal optimists, especially in terms of their belief that all students can reach their respective potentials. Furthermore, we owe it to our students to ensure a school setting that is comprised of people who are positive and optimistic, who see problems as opportunities, and who see the proverbial glass as always being half full. At the same, we cannot be Pollyannaish with respect to teaching and learning as teachers are challenged with directly addressing the inherent challenges associated with student growth and program development, in a professional, effective, and empathetic manner. Each year, our school continues to further articulate and refine EAB’s Teacher Profile, which is a document that outlines a set of guiding principles that are used to guide all hiring processes. In addition, EAB’s Leadership Team also examines the hiring, development, and retainment practices of highly successful organizations to determine what can be translated to a school setting. By way of example, we have closely studied Netflix’s human resource policy, called Freedom and Responsibility, which provides for engaging and reflective reading. Wishing everyone all the best with your respective search and hiring processes. _________________________________________________

Profile: I am currently working as the Head of School at the American School of Brasilia and publish a weekly blog at www.barrydequanne.com.

Featured image: cc licensed (CC BY-NC-ND 2.0 ) flickr photo by Dieter Drescher: https://www.flickr.com/photos/cosmosfan/14628522324