The Most Important Classroom Supply Isn't in Your Budget

Sunday Morning Coffee

Correctional educators are remarkably good at making do.

Not enough textbooks? We share.

No fancy instructional materials? We create our own.

Technology isn't working? Plan B.

No pencils?

Okay, that one might bring the whole operation to a screeching halt.

We spend a lot of time thinking about what correctional classrooms need: curriculum, technology, books, instructional materials, qualified teachers, appropriate assessments, all of which are important, but there's something students need before any of them can do much good.

They need to feel safe enough to learn.

I'm not talking just about physical safety, although obviously that matters enormously in a correctional environment. I'm talking about psychological safety. The feeling that I can ask a question without being humiliated, make a mistake without being ridiculed, admit I don't understand something, try something difficult and fail, and that I can participate without worrying that someone will use my vulnerability against me.

You won't find psychological safety in the education budget, but I'd argue it's one of the most important resources in the classroom.

Learning Requires Risk

I think we don't talk about this enough, but learning is inherently vulnerable. Think about what we're asking students to do:

• Read aloud when you aren't a strong reader.

• Work an algebra problem on the board when you aren't sure of the answer.

• Write something and let another person read it.

• Ask what a word means.

• Try to pronounce something unfamiliar.

• Admit you don't know how to use a computer.

• Say, in front of other adults, "I don't understand."

Those are risks, and for someone who’s spent years protecting themselves by making sure other people don't see what they don't know, those risks can feel enormous. Correctional classrooms are full of learners who’ve developed very effective ways to protect themselves.

"I don't care."

"This is stupid."

"I'm not doing that."

"I already know this."

Those statements can sound like defiance, and sometimes they're armor. I've worked with enough reluctant learners over the years to know that refusal doesn't always mean lack of motivation. Sometimes it means fear.

If I don't read, you can't discover that I struggle with reading.

If I don't attempt the math problem, nobody sees me get it wrong.

If I make everyone laugh instead of answering the question, I control the attention.

If I tell you the assignment is stupid, I don't have to tell you that I don't understand it.

And if I've spent most of my life believing I'm "bad at school," trying carries a particular risk, because what happens if I try my hardest and still fail?

It's safer not to try. That's why psychological safety isn't some soft, feel-good addition to instruction. It's an instructional strategy.

You Can't Demand Psychological Safety

Here's the tricky part: we can't put "THIS IS A SAFE SPACE" on the wall and consider the job finished. Students decide whether a classroom is psychologically safe by watching what happens in it.

What does the teacher do when someone gives the wrong answer?

What happens when a student asks something everyone else seems to know?

Does sarcasm get used at students' expense?

Does the teacher have favorites?

Are expectations predictable?

Can someone disagree respectfully?

Does the teacher keep their word?

Does what a student shares in class become conversation somewhere else?

And perhaps most importantly, what happens when someone makes a mistake?

Students notice all of it. They’re collecting evidence.

We also have to acknowledge the environment we're working in. Correctional facilities are built around security, control, accountability, rules, and consequences. Those things serve legitimate purposes, but learning requires something different, like experimentation, curiosity, questions, trust, choice, or mistakes.

That can create tension. A person may spend most of the day receiving very clear messages about not appearing vulnerable, then walk into our classroom and hear, “Who wants to try?" That's a bigger transition than we sometimes realize.

Our classrooms can become places where students practice a different way of being, but only if we intentionally create the conditions for it.

Psychological Safety Is Built in Tiny Moments

The good news is that creating psychological safety doesn't require a new curriculum or a grant. It happens through hundreds of small interactions. When a student answers incorrectly, we can say, "I can see how you got there. Let's look at it." When someone asks a basic question, we can respond as though it’s completely reasonable to ask it, because it is. We can give students opportunities to think before answering rather than always rewarding the fastest hand in the room.

What if we let students practice privately before performing publicly and normalized revision? We can say, "I made a mistake," when we make one. We can praise effort, strategy, persistence, and improvement, not just correct answers, and we can stop using embarrassment as a classroom management strategy.

These are tiny teaching moves, but students are paying attention. Every interaction answers an unspoken question: Is it safe for me to try here?

High Expectations and Safety Belong Together

Psychological safety sometimes gets confused with making things easy, but that’s not it at all. In fact, I think the safest classrooms often have some of the highest expectations. The message isn't, "Don't worry. You don't have to do anything difficult;" It's, "I'm going to ask you to do difficult things, and I'm not going to let you be humiliated while you're learning how to do them."

That's very different. Students deserve challenging work, honest feedback, and accountability. They also deserve the opportunity to be beginners. We all do. When a student consistently refuses to participate, gives up quickly, or avoids anything that might expose a weakness, it's easy to focus on motivation. We wonder why he won’t try, why she won’t participant, why they just don’t seem to care, and maybe those are the right questions, but I’d also ask what it would cost that student socially or emotionally to get it wrong?

That question can reveal a lot, and sometimes changing the environment changes the behavior.

The Supply We Never Run Out Of

Correctional educators will probably always wish they had more resources.

• More books.

• More technology.

• More instructional time.

• More staff.

• More space.

• More pencils. Definitely more pencils.

But one of the most powerful resources we can give students doesn't require a purchase order. It's the experience of walking into a classroom and knowing:

• I can ask.

• I can try.

• I can get it wrong.

• I can learn.

• I can try again.

For students who’ve spent years protecting themselves from failure, humiliation, or judgment, that experience can change far more than academic performance. It can begin to change how they see themselves, and once someone starts believing, "Maybe I can learn this," we've given them something no classroom supply catalog could ever sell.

I had coffee this week with a former student, and for a couple of hours we talked about the freedom of being able to explore new concepts and skills and fail or make missteps as part of that learning. What I loved about that convo as I thought about it on my drive home, is that we didn’t talk about correctional classrooms in particular, but rather, we just included them in our discussion of being able to do those things anywhere. Because, this is a basic freedom we all share, or should, no matter where our learning is taking place, and if that’s a basic freedom, why wouldn’t we offer it in carceral spaces? That’s a form of freedom we should be able to experience no matter where our learning is taking place.

And speaking of coffee, I hope you’re enjoying yours this morning and taking in all of the freedoms offered to you. Love, learn, and laugh, so they say. And do all of the above with a good cup of coffee, I say. Tallyho freedom warriors!