Stephen Mitchell

Why schools often overlook some of their most capable communicators

There are children whose voices seem to follow them wherever they go – we can all think of them easily, and as teachers, we come to know them quickly. We know what they think about the story we are reading because they tell us before we have finished asking the question. We know their opinions about the school lunch menu, the football results from the weekend and the disagreement that broke out at breaktime. They are present in classroom discussions, visible during assemblies and often memorable to visitors or other non-teaching staff. When adults reflect on who participates most fully in school life, these are frequently the children who come to mind.

Yet, some of the most important lessons I have learned about communication have come not from these children, but from those who sit at the edges of our attention.

Early in my teaching career, I became concerned about a pupil who rarely spoke during whole-class discussions. While other children readily volunteered answers, she remained quiet. Parents’ evenings revealed a similar pattern, her teacher described her as shy and reports often referenced a lack of confidence. There was a sense, although nobody ever stated it directly, that her silence represented something missing.

Over time, however, a different picture began to emerge. When given opportunities to work with a trusted partner, she spoke thoughtfully and at length and her written work demonstrated a depth of understanding that was often greater than many of her more vocal peers. During informal conversations, she displayed a sophisticated ability to analyse situations, explain her thinking and respond carefully to the perspectives of others. The problem was never that she lacked ideas. The problem was that the conditions in which those ideas could be expressed did not always exist.

I have encountered versions of this child many times since – particularly during my own doctoral research.

Schools, by their nature, tend to privilege forms of communication that are easy to observe – it’s a byproduct of the system that we all work in. As a profession, we highly value visible evidence. In busy classrooms, where teachers make hundreds of professional judgements each day, visible communication naturally attracts attention.

What becomes more difficult to identify are the forms of communication that happen beneath the surface. Careful listening rarely announces itself and reflection is not always (easily…) visible. The ability to synthesise ideas before speaking often looks remarkably similar to disengagement when viewed from the other side of a classroom.

This matters because communication is far broader than the act of speaking frequently.

Many of the children who contribute least to classroom discussion are not lacking in understanding. Some are processing information carefully before committing themselves publicly. Others are weighing the risks of making a mistake in front of their peers. Some communicate more effectively in smaller groups, while others need a degree of familiarity and trust before they are willing to share their thinking openly.

As educators, we often understand this instinctively in our own lives. Most people communicate differently depending on who is present, how well they know them and whether they feel psychologically safe. Few professionals would be expected to contribute equally in every meeting, regardless of context. Yet children are often judged against expectations that assume communication should look the same in every environment.

The danger is not simply that quieter children are misunderstood. The greater risk is that they begin to misunderstand themselves.

When schools consistently celebrate one type of communicator, children quickly learn which behaviours are valued. Those who do not naturally communicate in that way can begin to believe that their contributions are somehow less important. Over time, this can influence participation, self-perception and ultimately identity to some degree.

The challenge for educators is therefore not to persuade every child to become the loudest voice in the room. It is to become more sophisticated in the ways we recognise communication when it occurs.

This requires us to listen differently. It requires us to notice the child whose contribution arrives after a period of reflection. It asks us to value thoughtful dialogue as much as immediate response. Most importantly, it reminds us that communication is not simply about being heard. It is also about creating environments where children believe that what they have to say matters – and that it adds some form of value.

The children we hear most easily will always remain important. Their voices deserve space and encouragement. However, if schools are serious about understanding young people, then our attention cannot stop there. Some of the most insightful, creative and perceptive communicators are not waiting at the front of the queue to be noticed. They are sitting quietly in our classrooms, observing, thinking and waiting for conditions that allow their voices to emerge.

As educators, we need to ask if we are listening, or noticing, the right elements of communication to ensure that we hear them.