What safeguarding, schools and the Netflix series Adolescence keep getting wrong about young people, power, and protection.

As you probably know by now, at Class 13 we love a good film or TV programme.
(Class 13 Gogglebox, anyone?)

Every session in our unapologetically thought-provoking Foundational Learning is named after one. Session 1 ,  aptly named The Big Short, as like the housing bubble, Deficit ideology is seldom seen– is “showing” in our Brixton training space on the evenings of 22nd and 23rd May (you’ll need to come to both), or you can catch the full-day version on 7th or 10th May. You can join our Foundational Learning programme for as little as £35/month. Shameless plug? Absolutely.

And unless you’ve been living under a rock, Adolescence has had the UK gripped. I’ve lost count of how many times we’ve been asked what we think about it. At this point, I’ve got a stock answer ready:  “The best thing about Adolescence? The way it was shot.”

Because while the cinematography was genuinely brilliant, the narrative? That’s where things get messy.

Let’s Talk About Jade

The series leans hard on lazy stereotypes: macho, emotionally stunted men and women framed as either passive victims or collateral damage. Even Jamie waking up toddler-like in his dino PJs, having had an accident, stands in stark contrast to how young boys are constructed in shows like Top Boy. 

And like all “good” TV, the girl who is brutally murdered becomes a plot device. The real focus, of course, is on the tortured men, working through their own unresolved issues while the women around them are expected to absorb the damage.

The stereotype that frustrated me most was around Jade is the only Black girl in the show. And, predictably, she’s cast as the “angry one.” Confrontational. “Hard to reach.”(even her mum is constructed in a similar way)  What education settings often code as “aggressive” or “disrespectful” is, in Jade’s case, grief and frustration wrapped in urgency. She isn’t allowed to grieve for her best friend. She asks the teacher if she’ll get in trouble, and without hesitation, the answer is yes. Zero empathy. Zero pause. Zero curiosity about why she wants to help.

This isn’t just poor communication, it’s adultification. Jade’s actions are read through the lens of order, not justice. She’s not treated like a grieving teenager—she’s treated like a grown woman who should know better.

Milk Honey Bees See Us, Hear Us, a 2025 report on Black girls in London schools, puts this in plain terms:

“Black girls are adultified and stereotyped by teachers which denies them the protection and care usually afforded to children… their emotional responses misinterpreted as defiance or aggression, rather than hurt or distress.”

That’s exactly what happens to Jade. And it’s what happens to thousands of Black girls in UK classrooms every day.

This isn’t about one teacher. It’s about a system that has no space for Black girls to be soft, or sad, or complex. A system where Black girls aren’t given permission to cry, but are always expected to comply.

This Isn’t New 

One of the most bizarre things about the response to Adolescence is the way people are talking about coded emojis like it’s some shocking new phenomenon. They have their own language! They hide things from adults! They use phones in ways we don’t understand!

Let’s be clear: young people have always found ways to communicate that adults don’t get. Whether it’s slang, secret notes written in lemon juice, MSN statuses, BBM, Snapchat or Instagram – it’s not deception, it’s adaptation.

It’s the oldest dynamic in the book: those with less power finding ways to talk without being watched.  So the knee-jerk response of more surveillance will only drive up their long-term vulnerability to exploitation.

The idea that this is something new is either lazy or disingenuous. Either way, it positions young people as inherently suspicious and that’s where the safeguarding panic begins.

As one of our facilitators put it: “If what we take from this is more surveillance and ‘social media is the problem,’ then we still haven’t paid attention.”

It’s Not About the Phones

The real issue isn’t that young people are online. It runs much deeper than that.

It’s clear that Jamie is searching for external validation. His value, especially in his dad’s eyes, is tied to whether he can throw a punch or score a goal (another lazy stereotype).

It doesn’t matter whether a young person’s “value” is linked to football, boxing, maths or science. When someone’s worth is conditional when they’re only seen as successful if they tick the right boxes, they will go looking for validation elsewhere. That’s not a character flaw. That’s survival.

And when schools prioritise control over curiosity and individual performance over community, when young people are constantly surveilled but rarely seen?

We leave them wide open to manipulation.

So when an Andrew Tate shows up, offering recognition, power, and a sense of belonging—they’re not “ripe.” They’re exposed. And we left them there.

Placing tighter restrictions on what young people can do, say and think. That’s not safeguarding, that’s control. And it directly contradicts the four equity principles we stand by: Affirming, Critical Thinking, Community, and Democracy.

A Final Thought—and an Invitation

Adolescence wants us to see this as a pivotal moment—a wake-up call for parents, teachers and policymakers.

But if you’ve worked with young people for more than five minutes, you’ll know these issues aren’t new. What’s new is the spotlight. So the real question is: what are we going to do with it?

If you’re ready to go deeper, to think seriously about how we reduce harm and increase possibility in schools, not through fear, but through equity—you’ll want to read our upcoming report.

It drops on 1st May and breaks down everything we’ve learned about building schools around the Class 13 principles.

Sign up to our mailing list now, and be the first to get it.