There was a time when we fought to ensure children received an education (United Nations, 1948). One would think that recognising the power of education as a people, as nations, and as global citizens could only be beneficial – a thought echoed by Freire (1998), who argued that education is a transformative societal force tied to democracy, dignity, and citizenship and in Tagore’s (1961) vision of education as a pathway to universal human connection and shared belonging. Here, we are bringing Alberta’s Ministerial Order 030/2025 under the microscope and examining whether this remains the case today.

The Case

In July 2025, the Alberta Minister of Education and Childcare, Demetrios Nicolaides, issued the Ministerial Order 030/2025 directing schools to remove books containing what the government referred to as “explicit sexual content” from school libraries and classrooms. While framed as a neutral content review, many of the books removed featured 2SLGBTQ+ characters or centred on diverse cultural communities (Milberger, 2025). The minister’s office (2025) argued this decision was a way to protect children and ensure age-appropriate materials. Demetrios Nicolaides may be the public face of the decision, but mobilized senior bureaucrats, school division leaders, and librarians are also responsible for implementing the directive (Hooper et al., 2025).

This development is part of a broader gloabl trend. In the United States, similar battles over the curriculum have intensified during the past two years. PEN America documented 6,870 book-banning actions in the 2024–25 school year alone, most of which targeted books about race, gender identity, and sexuality. Many local and state bans cited critical race theory (CRT), even though the term is often misused to refer to any content that tackles racism or systemic inequality (PEN America, 2025). In May 2025, for example, a California appeals court temporarily halted a district-level ban on teaching content associated with critical race theory, ruling the policy “vague, unenforceable, and harmful to instructional clarity.” harmful to instructional clarity”. Though the ban cannot be enforced while the case proceeds, it remains active (Neff, 2025).

Similar patterns are emerging globally. In India, the National Council of Educational Research and Training (NCERT) removed or revised significant historical and scientific content between 2023 and 2025 as part of a national “syllabus reduction” initiative. By mid-2025, references to the Mughal Empire, Darwin’s theory of evolution, and several chapters on multicultural history were removed or rewritten. Critics argue these changes selectively narrow historical perspectives and advance a singular national identity (Asia Pacific Foundation, 2024; Economic Times, 2025).

Immediate and Long-term Repercussions

Reactions across Alberta have been sharply divided. Some parent and community groups support the order, viewing it as a necessary moral boundary to protect childhood innocence (Yeon & Dudak, 2025). The consequences of the ban unfolded quickly in schools and learning communities. In the immediate term, the order has created confusion, professional anxiety, and tension within school communities. Many have responded cautiously by removing books pre-emptively to avoid complaint, reputational harm, or potential disciplinary action (Hooper et al., 2025; Yeon & Dudak, 2025). This has resulted in uneven practices across the province, with student access varying depending on how individual leaders interpreted the mandate (Hooper et al., 2025).

The long-term implications extend beyond the shelves themselves. Policies that prioritize comfort over critical engagement shape future learners’ capacity to navigate complexity, disagreement, and diverse perspectives (Adelman et al., 2024). When certain stories are made inaccessible, students lose opportunities to practice empathy, develop critical thinking, and engage with real experiences beyond their own. Over time, these risks produce school cultures where avoidance becomes a norm—where difficult conversations about gender, identity, history, and equity are viewed as liabilities rather than necessary components of education. The result is a shift away from education as a space for inquiry and democratic learning toward one that emphasizes conformity, caution, and ideological control.

For students—particularly 2SLGBTQ+ students and those from racialized, Indigenous, or otherwise marginalized communities—the impacts are more personal. Losing access to books that reflect their identities signals that their stories are inappropriate or controversial. Research in comparable contexts shows that when representation disappears, so do feelings of belonging, safety, and legitimacy—as seen in recent U.S. book restrictions linked to bans on discussions of race and identity under the banner of critical race theory (PEN America, 2025). Similarly, in India, textbook revisions removed content on the Mughal Empire and Darwin’s theory of evolution under the justification of syllabus reduction, yet critics argue these changes selectively erase perspectives tied to national diversity and scientific inquiry (Asia Pacific Foundation, 2024; Economic Times, 2025). The Alberta case mirrors these patterns, where policy decisions framed as protection result in the narrowing of the worldviews students are permitted to encounter.

Analysis of the Ban

Alberta’s Ministry of Education and Care has justified this decision through a discourse of protection—protecting children from “explicit sexual content,” maintaining age-appropriateness, and responding to parental concerns. On the surface, the order does seem to align with the ethic of care, explained by Hoare et al. (2024), which emphasizes empathy, compassion, and responsiveness in determining moral conduct, and in this case, they are safeguarding the well-being of vulnerable children. However, the speed of implementation and the specific categories of books affected suggest that political pressure, public moral panic, and personal ideology shaped the decision more than educational research or developmental evidence. Additionally, the decision-making process appears to be politically responsive rather than evidence-based. Hooper et al. (2025) argue that research on book bans shows that political actors often respond to mobilized parent groups and ideological campaigns rather than to empirical data on student learning, mental health, or library use.

The order also undermines the Ethic of Profession. Teachers and librarians are trained to evaluate materials for age-appropriateness, literary merit, and relevance. A blanket removal of books without leaning into the experience of any of these trained professionals narrows their professional autonomy. The decision also reflects deeper systemic biases. Adelman et al. (2024) argue that contemporary book bans often function to maintain white patriarchal norms by targeting narratives that challenge dominant views of gender, sexuality, race, and power. The Alberta ban quite disproportionately affects 2SLGBTQ+ content and stories about marginalized communities. Invariably, the content-neutral standard (such as “explicit sexual content”) is being applied selectively to silence particular epistemologies and lived experiences. Disguised as care and protection, the ban, in fact, weaponizes education. At the same time, discomfort is used as a tool, tapping into the human tendency to protect children from it to push political agendas.

Across these contexts, curriculum decisions reveal broader tensions between education, identity, and political authority. The Alberta case sits within a growing global pattern in which governments invoke protection or neutrality while exercising significant control over which stories, perspectives, and identities remain visible in schools.

Through the Ethical Lenses

To deepen our understanding of the Alberta book-ban dilemma, we applied multiple ethical lenses from Hoare et al. (2024): the ethic of critique, the ethic of care, the ethic of justice, the ethic of community and the ethic of discomfort. Together, they reveal how the same decision can appear protective to some and oppressive to others.

Ethic of Critique

Through the ethic of critique, we were reminded that educational decisions are never neutral. They reflect power, ideology, and whose voices are allowed to matter (Hoare et al., 2024). When we look at Ministerial Order 030/2025 through this lens, it becomes less about protecting students and more about protecting dominant norms. The books removed weren’t random—they often featured 2SLGBTQ+ identities, racialized experiences, or worldviews outside the majority (Adelman et al., 2024; Milberger, 2025). What troubled some of the us the most is that the very students who need to see themselves reflected— gay, trans, Indigenous, racialized youth—would be the ones to disappear first. Their stories become “inappropriate,” while familiar narratives stay untouched.

Ethic of Care

Hoare et al. (2024) explain that the ethic of care is about empathy, listening, and responding to emotional realities—not just making decisions on somebody else’s behalf. Supporters of the ban might truly believe they acted out of care, protecting children from material they see as confusing or harmful. But care isn’t just about intention—it’s about impact.

When we considered the identities of the characters who appear in the removed books, the story shifted. For a 2SLGBTQ+ student, this ban isn’t protection—instead, it gives out the message: you don’t belong here. What becomes clear is the imbalance: care extended to some students, while others—especially the marginalized youth—left out entirely. In this light, the ban feels less like protection and more like a failure of care—one that prioritizes adult comfort over students’ emotional well-being and sense of belonging.

Ethic of Community

Building from the ethic of care, the ethic of community reminds us that schools shape not just individual well-being, but our shared future (Furman, 1998). It asks us to think in we. Supporters of the ban may believe they are protecting children and safeguarding community values, but—just like with care—intention and impact don’t align. When we remove books that reflect 2SLGBTQ+ identities or marginalized cultures, we aren’t building community—we’re drawing boundaries around who gets to belong. The message becomes painfully clear: some students are part of the “we,” and others are not. Furman (2002) posits that community is a process based on relationships, which in turn depend on respect, reciprocity, collaboration, and dialogue. If our goal is a community where every student sees themselves as valued and included, exclusion cannot be our tool.

Ethic of Justice

The ethic of justice foregrounds rights, fairness, and equitable access. It raises questions about students’ rights to information, freedom of expression, and equal educational opportunity (Frick et al., 2012; Shapiro et al., 2014). Under this lens, the Alberta ban fails miserably. The procedural fairness, i.e. the decision-making process, was neither transparent nor collaborative. The students who are affected the most had no representation at the table.

Also, access to published material that experts have evaluated to provide support for curricular goals and identity development is denied. Even more concerning, since the interpretation of the ban is left to the professionals, it has created an uneven playing field. Where some schools have removed entire categories of books, others are following a spectrum based on their own understanding of the order (Hooper et al., 2025).

Ethic of Discomfort

The ethic of discomfort challenges us to move beyond what feels safe or familiar and to confront the beliefs and assumptions we often protect without question (Boler, 1999). And honestly, this is where the ban feels especially troubling. Rather than creating space for students—and adults—to wrestle with difference, identity, and complexity, the order removes the very texts that could spark those difficult but transformative conversations. We say we are protecting children, but in reality, we’re protecting certainty and comfort. Instead of creating opportunities for students and educators to engage with challenging ideas, identities, and narratives, the order removes the very content that can spark reflection, empathy, and growth. And, note this, like with the ethic of care and community, there’s a pattern: comfort is preserved for those already centred, while 2SLGBTQ+ students and other marginalised groups are told, without saying it aloud, that their existence is the discomfort to avoid.

Zembylas (2017) reminds us that discomfort isn’t the opposite of safety—sometimes it is the pathway to transformation. But this ban chooses certainty and control over learning and dialogue. If we hope to build an education system capable of equity and courage, avoiding discomfort cannot be our ethical response—it must become our starting point (Hoare et al., 2024).

The Proposed Solution

It is important to note that as a group we did not reach a consensus. Some of us agreed with the ban. Others disagreed but thought that though students can be exposed to some literature, but it should be done under stricter guidance. Others still proposed that rather than looking at more changes in teaching practices, it is essential to look at the process of making these decisions and make it more inclusive and put more voices on the table.

The Ethical Dialogue Framework (EDF) is grounded in the ethic of care, justice, profession, community and discomfort. We are hoping for a leadership approach that replaces censorship with a courageous, community-based decision-making process. Rather than vesting authority in one entity, this model proposes to set up an Ethics Council in every school. The council must include teachers, librarians, students, parents, administrators, and Indigenous and other community representatives. Following the ethic of community this shared leadership structure recognizes that responsibility for students’ learning and well-being belongs to the whole community, not to a single “heroic” leader (Furman, 2004; Hoare et al., 2024)

This council would also be responsible for facilitating dialogue circles, classroom discussions, and town-hall meetings where multiple perspectives are heard especially when particular content or subject is flagged as concerning. The idea is to keep an open mind and not erase or censor without listening to the voices that matter most in context. Drawing on Zembylas’(2015) “ethic of discomfort,” this component treats discomfort as a pedagogical resource rather than a threat, supporting students and adults in learning how to talk about sensitive topics ethically and respectfully.

The EDF proposes to upskill teachers and librarians in trauma-informed practice, identity-affirming pedagogy, and ethical decision-making. This move aims to equip educators to navigate complex content responsibly and ethically. Rather than stripping educators of authority, this would support the ethic of the profession and address the big concern of developmentally inappropriate content being introduced without context.

Most importantly, this framework’s goal is to maintain transparency with the families as well as the community. Schools would not only share the criteria of adding books to the curricula but also the process for raising concerns and the rationale behind the decisions made. This should ensure fair access to information, clear procedures and appeal processes. Apart from building trust, it should also strengthen the ethic of justice through fair dialogue.

Though we recognize that implementing a model with so many layers would take time and courage, it would be an appealing option as it acknowledges the genuine parental concerns without marginalizing the already marginalized.

Table: The Alberta Book Ban vs. the Proposed Ethical Dialogue Framework

*Derived from an anonymous participant (Personal Communication, November 2025).

Author’s Positionality

Jasmeet

As an Indian Punjabi woman and an M.Ed. student, my background shapes how I interpret the Alberta book ban. Growing up in a diverse and multilingual environment, I have seen how stories from different communities help people understand one another and build empathy. This perspective informs my view of removing books about Indigenous peoples, 2SLGBTQ plus communities, or racialized experiences, as it silences important voices students need to learn about diverse perspectives. It is reasonable to limit books that are not appropriate for a child’s age. Removing books that reflect real-life experiences and diverse communities can be harmful. I value inclusive education, open dialogue, and access to multiple perspectives, which shapes my analysis of leadership decisions in Alberta and similar cases worldwide.

Bunmi

Participating in this project has expanded my understanding of what ethical leadership requires in complex educational environments. As I examined the Alberta book-ban dilemma, I realised that decisions made “to protect children” can unintentionally silence important stories and marginalise already vulnerable groups. This pushed me to reflect on how leaders must balance community concerns with the responsibility to uphold justice, care, and inclusive learning. Working on the solution section together allowed me to see the importance of shared leadership and transparent communication. The Ethical Dialogue Framework that we developed illustrates how open conversations, trauma-informed practices, and ethical courage can transform discomfort into meaningful learning. I was especially influenced by the ethic of discomfort, which highlights that growth often emerges when we confront difficult truths rather than avoid them. This assignment strengthened my belief that ethical leadership is not simply about making people comfortable, but about guiding communities toward equity, understanding, and respect. I am proud that our group created a solution that promotes dialogue over censorship and centers student well-being at its core. This work has reinforced my commitment to inclusive, student-centered leadership in education.

Tianshi

Personally, I agree with the ban. I come from a relatively conservative area. In my country, at the national level, we have strict prohibitions on sex related content; the government does not legislate any pornographic books or websites in society. For example, some websites can be accessed overseas but cannot be opened or downloaded in China. Especially in school with children who are not yet adults, I support the government taking measures to remove or censor some of the unhealthy books. I believe if I were a parent, I would also complain to the school to ban these kinds of books.

Vineeta

Coming from a country where the hegemonic power places me at the lowest level and then moving to one where I suddenly, in some respects, am at the highest level has really made my worldview shift in terms of how safe one can feel when this paradigm moves. To me, this ban represents how much the majority matters. The majority is where power lies. And how much more the majority then has the responsibility of making sure that the minorities have voices and do not get marginalized. Sadly, more often than not, power is heady, and it becomes so easy to believe that just because there are more of you, your position and thought is the right one. This makes me focus hard on the ethic of discomfort because to give other people their due place in society, it is really nothing more than being uncomfortable. It is uncomfortable to share your space of privilege. It is awkward to recognize that your reality is not the only reality. It is uncomfortable to adjust your idea of right and give space to another way of right, and most importantly, let it reshape your idea of right. It is a lot easier to stay in your own comfort zone and think that this is what care looks like. It is not painful or terrible – it is just uncomfortable.

Some may argue that it is more than uncomfortable; in fact, it could be terrifying. But to me, it just brings home the point that it’s because there is no uncomfortable dialogue, no creation of spaces where feeling discomfort is normalized and facilitating learning through that discomfort that makes it terrifying. The Alberta Ban, though fails on many ethical lenses, but it’s the lens of discomfort that makes me realize how, if only we learnt as a society to be able to sit in discomfort and let it channel the reshaping of perspectives without feeling guilty about changing, about adjusting and not fitting under a particular label, we may just find the ethic of justice, care and community getting aligned automatically, systemically and effortlessly.

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