(You can find all the work of Rascal Zurfluh at https://zimplicity.org/.)
The story of the observations of a trusted confidant of a retired school leader.
We’re just finishing October, which means two things: my pumpkin treats are back in circulation, and schools around the world just celebrated United Nations Day. I know this because my master—ever the Head of School even in retirement—has been watching the celebrations pop up in his inbox: photos of flag parades, assemblies filled with national costumes, and earnest songs about peace that make even an old Shih Tzu like me wag his tail.
But as I sit here with him, watching from the quiet side of retirement, I can’t help but sense a certain wistfulness. These events have always been among his favorites—those days when the world feels united, if only for a morning. The gym filled with color, the laughter of children stumbling through greetings in dozens of languages, the smell of a hundred different home-cooked dishes at the international fair. If ever there was a day that captured the heart of international education, it’s that one.
Yet, as I tilt my head and watch the news flicker on the screen, the contrast feels sharp. The world outside seems louder, angrier, more divided. And I can sense my master wondering, as so many leaders must be: What does it mean to educate for peace in an age that so often forgets what peace looks like?
Flags, Food, and the Fear of Taking Sides
Over the years, I’ve heard many Heads of School wrestle with the same dilemma: how to honor diversity and difference without drifting into politics. It’s a noble aim—after all, schools must be sanctuaries of belonging. But sometimes, in our careful attempts to remain “non-political,” we accidentally become non-principled.
I remember the challenges my master faced during a global conflict that had everyone talking. The news was grim, and teachers wondered how to respond. Some schools chose silence, fearing controversy. Others opened space for dialogue and reflection, guided by the belief that empathy, understanding, and critical inquiry are not partisan values—they are human ones.
From my perspective at floor level, I’ve seen that the heads who navigate this best don’t pick sides in politics—they pick sides in humanity. They model curiosity instead of judgment, compassion instead of caution. They teach students that complexity isn’t something to fear; it’s something to explore.
Lessons from the Past Decade
Over my thirteen years at my master’s side, I’ve witnessed schools weather everything from global pandemics to political upheavals, from climate protests to AI revolutions. Each crisis brought new tests of courage and conviction. And yet, time and again, I’ve seen the same truth emerge — neutrality, when it comes to justice and dignity, is never neutral.
Schools shape not just knowledge but conscience. When they avoid difficult conversations—about inequity, identity, or human rights—they don’t preserve peace; they postpone progress. True internationalism doesn’t hide from tension; it learns how to hold it with grace. Every UN Day must have ambassadors and policy makers in attendance so that children can teach them what is important and how diversity can help to achieve broad goals.
The International Baccalaureate understood this long before it was fashionable to talk about “global citizenship.” The IB learner profile invites students to be inquirers, thinkers, communicators, caring, open-minded, principled, and reflective. That’s not a political platform—it’s a human one. But it takes courage for leaders to live it out when the winds of the world blow hard in opposing directions.
Inquiry, Insight, and Agency
The greatest gift of education isn’t the transmission of knowledge—it’s the cultivation of agency. Inquiry and insight are the tools that move young people from awareness to action. When students learn to ask why and how, they begin to see themselves not just as observers of the world, but as shapers of it.
And that’s where leadership matters most. Heads of School set the tone. They can encourage discourse instead of dogma, reflection instead of reaction. They can remind their communities that disagreement isn’t danger—it’s the raw material of democracy.
I’ve seen my master do this many times: guiding faculty to listen more deeply, nudging students to see the human story behind the headline, and helping parents remember that our schools are not just places of learning—they’re laboratories of empathy. Not perfect because maybe there was insufficient action for some causes and more for others, either because of opportunity or timing. But, the central idea was always there – what is the right thing to do?
A Call to the Courageous
So as UN Day flags find their way back to their usual places and students reflect on their performances of “We Are the World” or something similar, I hope every Head of School pauses to reflect: these celebrations aren’t just symbolic—they’re aspirational. They represent the world we wish to inhabit.
Now, more than ever, we need schools that don’t confuse neutrality with virtue. We need leaders who will take principled stands for respect, compassion, and truth. We need educators who will help young people practice the art of civil discourse—not by avoiding hard conversations, but by modeling how to have them with grace and humility.
Because peace is not the absence of politics—it’s the presence of empathy. And as one who has spent many years observing both the chaos and beauty of human leadership from under the desk, I can assure you: empathy always smells better than fear.
Closing Thoughts
Rascal’s reflection for this month is simple: the world doesn’t need schools to be neutral; it needs them to be nurturing. Not in the soft, sentimental sense—but in the active, courageous one. To nurture compassion. To nurture curiosity. To nurture the capacity to disagree without disdain.
As we celebrate the ideals of the United Nations, may we remember that peace begins not in policy, but in practice — in the questions we allow, the stories we tell, and the humanity we uphold.
And if that’s political—well, perhaps it’s the kind of politics the world could use a little more.
Until next time,
Rascal