Dear fellow educators,
If you are reading this, I imagine you share my belief that human rights education can be a powerful force for a better world, and that how we teach human rights is just as important as what we teach. Having started as a learner and grown into the role of a researcher and an educator, I’ve gathered a few reflections on how we teach—and why it matters.
First, from what I have seen in many existing models of human rights education, the emphasis tends to fall heavily on legal frameworks, institutional mechanisms, and technical definitions. These components are important. But when they are the main, or even the only thing to be taught, we risk producing a mechanistic, even lifeless, understanding of human rights. Learners may walk away with terminology and structure, but without a sense of purpose or the moral clarity that inspires sustained action. But here’s the thing: a lot of learners come with hard-won insights— injustice, repression, or suffering they’ve seen or lived through. That’s where the learning should start, and where we should keep coming back to.
Second, human rights are often presented (albeit inadvertently) as an inheritance from the West—a canon to be studied, absorbed, and applied to “less developed” contexts. Local problems become examples; local learners, passive recipients. This framing, even when unintended, is not helpful for students to situate human rights within their own contexts and may even impede students in forging their own path of change. For those of us working in post-war, post-colonial, or authoritarian societies, this can be especially disempowering.
Third, many curricula sidestep the political and historical forces that shape how human rights are understood and contested in learners’ world. I understand that there’s often pressure to avoid “politicising” the subject, or to steer clear of accusations that human rights are foreign, ideological, or incompatible with local cultures. But when we don’t talk about who holds power, who is excluded, and why, we miss the chance to help learners grasp the deeper roots of human rights violations in their own contexts. We end up skimming the surface, touching only the tip of the iceberg—and offering solutions that are difficult to implement and unlikely to bring any meaningful change. And when we fail to unpack the deeper structures of power and exclusion, we also risk perpetuating the cycle of oppression—where the oppressed, once victorious, may go on to become new oppressors themselves.
And last but certainly not least, many programmes are delivered in compressed timelines, with tightly sequenced lessons that leave little room for action, inquiry, or reflection. Yet we know that transforming hearts and minds doesn’t happen on a schedule. It requires time—for learners to engage, step back, try things out, reflect, and circle back again, each turn bringing not just deeper understanding, but also new questions that keep the learning alive and evolving.
The handbook you will find below on this page tries to respond to these challenges in three ways. First, it places compassion at both the starting point and the centre of human rights education. In my experience as a researcher and educator, compassion is often the quiet spark that brings learners to the classroom in the first place. It usually arises from anger at injustice, sorrow for others’ suffering, or a desire to make things right. When compassion is supported by critical thinking, historical awareness, and meaningful engagement, it does more than motivate—it sustains. It helps learners sit with difficult questions, gives them the courage to act, and invites them to reflect on those actions in ways that lead to deeper understanding and renewed commitment.
Second, in this handbook you will find a concise yet thoughtful analysis of the political and cultural contexts that shape how learners in authoritarian contexts understand (or, in some cases, contest) human rights. This allows educators to anticipate the difficult questions or tensions that may emerge in the classroom.
Third, this handbook encourages a pedagogy that empowers learners to take ownership of their inquiries, connect lessons to their lived experiences, and move through cycles of action and reflection at their own pace.
This approach is especially relevant in authoritarian or repressive contexts, where narratives of national sacrifice or cultural tradition may be used to justify violations, and where cycles of domination can be perpetuated even by those who were once oppressed. Human rights education, when rooted in compassion and context, and conducted in a mindful and reflective way, helps learners recognise those patterns, reimagine alternatives, and lead or participate in meaningful change.
By following this approach, human rights education can cultivate in learners:
- A deepened personal conviction to advocate for justice, equality, and human dignity—especially for those most marginalised;
- A stronger sense of agency and responsibility;
- A grounded understanding of the political, historical, and cultural forces shaping human rights struggles in their own societies.
- A sense of connection and relatability between human rights struggles in their own societies and the historical struggles that shaped human rights in the West—challenging the myth that Western societies were always ideal models, and showing that progress there, too, was hard-won.
Specifically, Chapters I and II of the handbook examine the nature of authoritarianism and the particular goals human rights education should serve in such contexts. Chapter III shares findings from a case study in Vietnam, where compassion emerged as a powerful force in the journeys of young activists. Chapter IV lays out key pedagogical principles for the learning process.
Before you begin diving into the handbook, I invite you to approach it not as a curriculum, a checklist, or a guide to instructional technique. Instead, think of this handbook as a philosophical compass—shaped by research, reflection, and the voices of courageous individuals I’ve had the privilege to learn from. It also draws from the work on critical pedagogy by Paulo Freire, cultural hegemony by Antonio Gramsci, and “The Power of the Powerless” by Vaclav Havel.
Thank you for the work you do—in places where freedom is fragile, truth is often contested, and courage grows quietly, between the lines. I hope this handbook offers support and strength, however small, as you continue your vital work.
Download the full handbook here.
Once you have finished reading, you can leave some feedback via this form. I will really appreciate it.
The Commons Notebook 