Beyond the Garden Fence
Reimagining Classroom “Management” as Community Building
The Myth of Control: Unlearning the Logic of Domination
The world has trained us to believe that control is synonymous with order, that without it, there is only chaos. But what is control, really?
Control is a clenched fist. It is the tightening of the jaw, the narrowing of possibility, the weight of centuries pressing down on a child’s voice before they have even found it. It is the legacy of colonization, of enslavement, of forced assimilation. It is a tool wielded to make the world predictable for those who fear what they do not understand.
But learning — the kind that awakens something deeper in us, the kind that shifts the tectonic plates of who we are — does not happen in a place of control. It happens in the in-between spaces, in the moments of rupture and repair, in the presence of deep trust.
And trust is not built through compliance.
For too long, traditional classroom management has been built on a foundation of compliance — rules to follow, consequences to fear, and an implicit belief that control is necessary for learning. But control is an illusion. What appears as “good behaviour” is often just quiet disengagement. What is praised as “respect” is often submission to an arbitrary authority.
This approach mirrors broader systems of oppression — policing bodies, suppressing expression, and conditioning students to accept hierarchies as natural. But what if our classrooms were spaces of liberation instead? What if we moved from managing students to building community with them?
From Rules to Relationships: Co-Creating the Learning Space
The very language of traditional classroom management theory betrays its origins:
“Maintaining Order” — as if students are forces of chaos to be subdued.
“Setting Expectations” — as if students are empty vessels waiting to be filled.
“Enforcing Consequences” — as if punishment is the same as accountability.
To control is to fear. To build community is to love.
If a student is loud, resistant, disengaged — what does our instinct tell us to do? Do we seek to suppress their voice, or do we listen? Do we react with punishment, or do we sit in the discomfort of not yet knowing?
What if we believed, truly believed, that every child comes to us whole? That nothing is missing? That their defiance might be a mirror, reflecting back the ways the world has already failed them?
To control is to break the mirror. To build community is to stand in its reflection and ask, “What do you need?”
A classroom is not a factory. It is not a battlefield. It is a living ecosystem where every individual’s well-being contributes to the whole. Instead of imposing rules from above, we must co-create agreements that reflect the values and needs of the community.
Ask:
What do we need from each other to feel safe, seen, and supported?
How do we want to handle conflict when it arises?
What does accountability look like without shame or punishment?
When students are a part of this process, they are more invested in upholding the agreements as community members instead of simply rule followers. More importantly, they understand the why behind them.
Community is a Verb: The Practice of Co-Creation
A community is not declared. It is built, breath by breath, action by action. We say we want students to feel safe, but do we ask them what safety feels like? We say we want respect, but do we offer it first?
Co-creating a classroom means surrendering the illusion of absolute authority.
It means shifting from rules to relationships, from compliance to connection.
This looks like co-authoring community agreements that are not imposed but woven together, with each student’s needs as sacred as the next. Allowing the space and time to have deep dialogue about where these agreements come from, reflecting the teachings of the land and those who stewarded the land since time immemorial, and recognizing that — as Loretta J. Ross in her book Calling In: How to Start Making Change With Those You’d Rather Cancel quotes one of her students named Margot Audero, “calling out causes people to think about their reputations. Calling in causes people to think about their integrity” (p. 69). We want students to honour agreements from their integrity, their values, and recognize that our community is a sacred space where futures flourish. When we redefine what accountability means, helping students to recognize it not as a punishment but as making things right in a way that honours everyone involved, we give our students a wonderful gift. That gift is the knowledge that you can make mistakes and recover, you can make right, you can shift the patterns of your behaviour without being afraid of abandonment or disposal. Why do young people join gangs? Because that is how important a sense of belonging is! They believe that their narrative has already be written by their actions and mistakes and so they lean into a sense of belonging that can result in pain, misery, incarceration, or death. We need to remind students that although in the moment they may have committed harm, there is a pathway back that is restorative and transformative. We must allow space for rupture and repair because conflict is inevitable — but harm is not.
There is a difference between restorative and transformative conversations. I have seen many a colleague grow frustrated when a student who has caused harm is not transforming their behaviour after a conversation about the harm done and repeats the behaviour. What this colleague does not yet realize is that they are entering a restorative conversation with transformative expectations. These are two separate conversations that work together, but one must be addressed before the other can truly be embodied fully. We will explore the subject of restorative and transformative practice in a future post, but please feel free to reflect on this difference and consider your own interactions: were you expecting transformation before restoration had occurred? How did this shape your understanding of how well that conversation went? Can you view it differently now?
A classroom should not be a space where students learn to obey. It should be a space where they learn how to live alongside one another in ways that honour dignity, autonomy, and care.
Trust as the Soil Where Healing-Centred Learning Grows
Punishment does not teach reflection. It teaches fear. Fear does not breed wisdom. It breeds silence.
A child who is punished learns not that they have done harm, but that power can be used against them. A child who is shamed learns not to do better, but to hide. You cannot punish a child into feeling like they belong. You cannot police someone into engagement. The real foundation of a thriving classroom isn’t compliance — it’s trust.
Building trust means:
Recognizing that behaviour is communication. A student who is disengaged, disruptive, or withdrawn is not “misbehaving” — they are experiencing an unmet need.
Responding with curiosity, not control. Instead of asking, “How do I make this stop?” ask, “What is this telling me?”
Modeling vulnerability and care. When students see educators own their mistakes, express their humanity, and honour student voices, trust deepens.
To build a classroom that heals instead of harms, we must uproot the old beliefs that prevent trust from blossoming and plant something new.
We must see mistakes as portals to understanding, not proof of failure.
We must hold boundaries with compassion, knowing that love without accountability is indulgence, but accountability without love is cruelty.
We must believe that every child is worthy of redemption, always.
When a student disrupts, resists, lashes out — our reaction is everything. Even if part of that reaction is letting the student know that you might not be the best person to hold their reaction well, but that you care enough to try and to seek out the support of those who can.
Our reaction speaks to what we believe about humanity.
Do we believe in punishment, or do we believe in possibility?
Do we react with, “How dare you?” Or do we ask, “What happened to you? And how can we make it right together?”
Many educators fear that stepping away from rigid control means chaos, but structure and freedom are not opposites — they are interdependent. True leadership in the classroom is about creating a framework that supports autonomy, not stifles it. Consider replacing extrinsic rewards and punishments with intrinsic motivation, helping students connect their actions to their values, affirming this each time. Consider offering students real choices and meaningful agency in how they learn and collaborate. Consider holding boundaries with care, ensuring that consequences repair rather than simply punish.
This shift is radical because it challenges the entire way education has been designed — to condition obedience rather than cultivate critical thinking. But when students experience a classroom where respect is mutual, where their voices matter, and where they are trusted as full participants in their own learning, they don’t just behave better.
They become builders of just and compassionate communities — inside and outside of the classroom.
With roots deep and branches wide,
Ms. K
