Student Agency (Until They Disagree With Us)

Let’s talk about student agency.

Not the poster-version with the smiling teen beside a vision board. Not the version some schools celebrate after running a single “voice and choice” lesson. Real student agency—the kind that has power. The kind that makes people nervous.

We love agency until it confronts us. Until a student calls out the system, questions our authority, challenges the curriculum, or simply says, “This doesn’t matter to me.” Suddenly, it’s not agency anymore—it’s defiance, disruption, entitlement. But here’s the truth: student agency that doesn’t push back isn’t agency at all. It’s compliance dressed up with a choice of assignment formats.

Let me tell you a story.

There’s a student—we’ll call her Ana. Smart. Curious. She’d been part of a school project about environmental justice. She researched, collaborated, presented. Her teachers were proud. But then she took it further. She asked why the school used plastic cutlery in the cafeteria. She emailed the Board. She rallied her peers. She proposed a sustainable procurement policy. The response? Suddenly, she was “too much.” Her passion became a problem. Her questions were seen as insubordination.

Now let’s look at the grown-up version.

There’s a woman—we’ll call her Jo. She’s worked in education for decades. She believes in agency—not just for students, but for educators, communities, and cultures. She’s sat in boardrooms and classrooms, spoken on global stages, and walked alongside rangatahi in their own journeys. But when she challenges policy, or asks who gets to define success, or says, “This system isn’t working for our students,” she’s labeled difficult. Or too idealistic. Or political.

Ana and Jo? They’re on the same path. They’re living the cost of agency in systems that love the word but not the reality.

And that’s why the world is in trouble now. We’re trying to teach agency, but we’re not modeling it. We preach empowerment, but default to control. We say we want change, but flinch when change actually knocks.

Real agency means:

• Learning who you are without apology
• Knowing how your voice, your culture, your experience matters
• Acting in ways that change the world, not just perform within it

It’s not just about offering students a seat at the table. It’s about redesigning the table—or better yet, letting them build their own.

In our work, agency means:

• Students co-designing assessments that measure what matters to them
• Teachers setting their own schedules in teams that trust each other
• Whole communities shaping what success looks like, not waiting for systems to define it

We see agency come alive in classrooms where students write policies, not just essays. Where they propose changes to school operations, question national curricula, or design learning experiences rooted in their family history, identity, and future aspirations. We see it in teachers who say no to burnout and yes to boundaries. We see it in communities that hold space for their histories, voices, and futures.

But here’s the challenge: if we only support agency when it makes us feel comfortable, we’re not supporting agency at all. We’re gatekeeping.

Look at our politics. Look at our schools. Look at what happens when people who’ve been excluded finally speak. Too often, they’re met with defensiveness. Performative inclusion. Or silence.

So let’s ask ourselves:

• Are we teaching students to fit into the world as it is—or shape the world as it could be?
• Are we ready to let their voices change us?
• Do we really want agency—or just agreement?

Agency is not safe. It’s transformative. And transformation is always uncomfortable.

But that’s where the magic happens.

Let’s stop settling for the easy version. Let’s make room for the kind of agency that upends systems—and rebuilds something better.

Let’s walk with Ana. Let’s walk with Jo.

And let’s mean it when we say students can lead.