The Belonging Collective

Exclusion, Elective Home Education, Drift and Moral Duty.

Every number tells a story, but some numbers should stop us in our tracks.

Across the UK, tens of thousands of children are now excluded from school each year. Alongside this, we are seeing a sharp and sustained rise in the number of families choosing elective home education (EHE). A recent article in The Times drew attention to this growth, presenting it largely as a matter of parental choice. But for many children and families, this is not a story of freedom or preference. It is a story of struggle, of unmet need, and of children quietly slipping out of sight.

I recently read Mary Myatt’s ‘The Ethic of Everybody‘ and I feel myself growing increasingly concerned that EHE is functioning, for some children, as a form of silent exclusion.

Not through a fixed-term or permanent exclusion letter, but through an accumulation of raised expectations, reduced flexibility, and environments that children are simply unable to manage.

When the bar keeps moving

Recent articles on tes.com have highlighted a worrying trend: rising exclusion rates, particularly for persistent disruptive behaviour. This echoes longer‑standing research evidence, including Edward Timpson’s review of school exclusion, which identified the disproportionate impact of exclusionary practices on pupils with SEND, those living in poverty, and pupils from minority backgrounds. What is striking is not only the increase itself, but the way the threshold appears to be shifting.

Behaviours that were once understood as communication, distress, or unmet need are now more readily framed as defiance or disruption. In many schools, the bar for what constitutes “persistent” seems to have lowered, often in response to accountability pressures, stretched resources, and a drive for order and attainment.

For some children, particularly those with emerging or unidentified SEND, this creates an impossible bind. They are expected to self-regulate, conform, and perform within systems that are becoming less tolerant of difference. When sanctions escalate and relationships fracture, families are left with stark choices: endure ongoing distress, or withdraw.

EHE, in this context, can become an exit strategy rather than an educational vision.

What sits downstream of exclusion?

Exclusion is never an isolated event. Research consistently shows that it sits at the head of a long downstream flow of risk. For example, national analyses have shown that children who have been excluded are several times more likely to become not in education, employment or training (NEET) by age 18, compared with their peers.

Children who experience exclusion – formal or informal – are significantly more likely to encounter poor mental health, reduced qualifications, and disengagement from education altogether. Longitudinal studies have linked exclusion to increased likelihood of contact with youth justice systems, exploitation, and long‑term economic marginalisation (DfE; Ministry of Justice; Berridge et al.). Causal or correlatory doesn’t really matter, the fact is there, that the link exists.

Importantly, it is not the behaviour itself that predicts these outcomes, but the removal of protective factors: stable relationships, routine, belonging, and access to trusted adults. When children are excluded from school communities, they are often excluded from the very structures that mitigate vulnerability.

For those who move into elective home education without adequate support, and the support is cursory at best, the risks can intensify. Without access to specialist services, peer relationships, or external oversight, families are left to absorb pressures that schools and systems have been unable – or unwilling – to hold.

Exclusion, then, is not simply an educational decision. It is a public health, social care and justice issue, whether we choose to name it as such or not.

Exclusion without accountability

One of the most troubling aspects of this picture is the lack of transparent, live data.

While exclusion figures are reported retrospectively, there is far less visibility around pupil movement, off-rolling, or transitions into EHE. Trusts and schools can see significant numbers of children leave without this forming part of any meaningful, timely external quality assurance.

Ofsted, local authorities, and other oversight bodies are often working with data that is months – sometimes years – out of date. In the meantime, patterns of mobility and exclusion can embed themselves into practice with little challenge or scrutiny.

This raises uncomfortable questions, long explored in the academic literature on power, equity and accountability in schooling (Gillborn, 2015; Ball, 2017):

• Who is accountable for children who disappear from roll?
• How do we know whether EHE is genuinely elective or effectively coerced?
• And what happens when exclusionary cultures are able to grow unchecked?

Mainstream at all costs

We also need to ask whether this trend reflects a deeper systemic tension.

There is now a growing number of children being educated in mainstream settings whose needs may be better met in specialist provision – not because they do not belong in mainstream schools, but because the current version of mainstream is failing to adapt. Norwich’s work on inclusion and provision reminds us that placement alone does not create inclusion; it is the interaction between child, environment and support that determines whether learning is possible.

Inclusion cannot mean simply placing children into environments that are not designed for them and then holding them responsible when things go wrong. When specialist support is unavailable, underfunded, or delayed, mainstream schools are left holding needs they are not resourced or trained to meet.

The result is predictable: increased stress, escalating behaviour, fractured relationships, and ultimately exclusion – formal or otherwise.

An ethic of everyone

Alison Peacock speaks of the ethic of everybody: a moral commitment to the success, dignity, and belonging of all learners. This aligns with wider scholarship on inclusive pedagogy, including Florian and Black‑Hawkins’ work, which argues that difference should be anticipated and planned for, rather than treated as a problem to be managed. Mary Myatt reminds us that education is, at its heart, a values-driven endeavour, not a sorting mechanism.

If we accept these principles, then the current trajectory should trouble us deeply.

We cannot normalise exclusion – silent or explicit – as collateral damage. We cannot accept systems that work well for many while systematically pushing out those who struggle most. And we cannot look away while children quietly disappear from classrooms without anyone asking why.

We have a moral duty to educate all children. There is nothing to say that some children don’t receive an amazing education from home, but I believe in schools, I believe in the establishment and I believe in access for all.

Not just those who fit neatly. Not just those who cope. All of them. And yes, I get the arguments about how disruptive classes affect the learning of all and that we also have a moral obligation to the rest of the class to ensure they have the opportunity to learn, but there has to be a better way than allowing some to silently disappear from our radar.

Belonging is not an optional extra. It is the foundation on which meaningful education is built. The question we must keep asking is simple, and should be uncomfortable:

Who is no longer here – and what does that say about us?