In this blog ISSA’s Program Director, Mihaela Ionescu, shows how the early years quietly lay the foundations for democratic life.
When does learning democracy begin?
If you want to know whether a society truly believes in democracy, I will not say read the constitution. I would say visit an early childhood education setting. There, among the tiny shoes and oversized imaginations, you’ll see democracy in its most radical, revealing form — if, of course, we choose to let it live there. Democracy in early childhood is not something we teach on Tuesdays between snack and outdoor play. It is something we practice, breath by breath, interaction by interaction, “a mode of associated living” as John Dewey insisted more than a century ago in “Democracy and Education” (1916). And, crucially, it begins long before children can spell the word vote.
Walking the talk (even when the feet are very small)
It may be surprising for many, but in early childhood education settings, democracy hides in plain sight. It appears in the way we greet a child in the morning. In whether we listen when they tug at our sleeve to show a scribble that they find remarkable. In whether their artwork hangs on the wall with their actual, chaotic, wonderful creations.
These details might seem trivial, but they are loaded. As ISSA’s Step by Step pedagogical philosophy reminds us, the image of the child—our deep-seated beliefs about children’s competence, rights, and agency—shapes everything: our interactions, our expectations, our classroom structures, the way we collaborate with families and connect with communities. Democracy is either embedded in these micro-moments or not at all. You cannot be ‘a little bit democratic’.
Let’s take, for example, the large group sharing activity type – a routine activity where children share news, feelings, interests, opinions, make proposals. If well facilitated, it is a daily ritual of democracy, a place where children share stories, negotiate plans, vote on activities, and practice really listening to one another. These are not warm-up exercises for later civic life—they are civic life.
The politics of play
A Romanian poet, Lucia Blaga, wrote in a nice poem (Three Faces, 1919): “The child laughs: Play is my wisdom and love! / The young man sings: Love is my play and wisdom! / The old man’s silence speaks: My wisdom is love and play.”
Play is often dismissed as an optional garnish in our lives, and sometimes also in early childhood education settings. Yet in a democratic classroom, play becomes a political act. A child deciding where to play is expressing autonomy. Two children resolving a disagreement over a block tower are practicing negotiation and participatory politics. A group creating rules in the dramatic play corner is drafting their own ‘constitution’. Even conflicts become teachable democratic moments. In some settings, for instance, conflict-resolution corners allow children to express emotions, negotiate fairness, and co-create solutions supported by visual tools and restorative dialogue.
This is not naïve idealism. It is democracy in action—messy, relational, and profoundly human. And it is present every day in the life of a child in an early education setting that understands the societal role it plays.
The classroom as a mini ‘republic’
A democratic early childhood classroom is a small, humming ecosystem of shared responsibility. In such settings, children can choose learning centres, propose ideas via “question of the day” boards, help plan projects, and engage in discussions that matter to them.
Adults, meanwhile, shift from being ‘directors’ to facilitators. They embrace “democratic professionalism,” entering the classroom not as all-knowing authorities but as co-learners willing to listen, interpret, question, and change.
It is far easier to run a tidy, adult-centred classroom where outcomes are predetermined and worksheets promise order. But, as Peter Moss warns, education framed as a technical delivery system — standardized, market-driven, efficiency-obsessed — is fundamentally at odds with democratic values.
Democracy is slow. It meanders. It asks for patience, curiosity, and negotiation. It takes longer to co-construct than to command. But in those moments of co-construction, democracy becomes lived, not lectured.
Democracy is a verb, and children are fluent much earlier than we think
When children are treated as competent citizens, with voices worth hearing, ideas worth exploring, and rights worth protecting, remarkable things happen. They become thoughtful collaborators, creative problem-solvers, and empathetic friends. They learn, not through slogans, but through relationships. And that is the key point: children learn democracy by living it. Not later, not someday, but now, while their hands are covered in paint and sand, their eyes are lit up reading a picture book stirring laughter and curiosity.
If we want societies grounded in participation, inclusion, and justice, then the earliest years are not the warm-up act, they are the opening chapter. And whether democracy thrives or fades may depend on something that might be considered small, such as listening to a very young child’s big idea.
After all, democracy isn’t built in parliaments, but in the everyday life of the youngest citizens, alongside their peers.
