Children in custody have a right to education – but they average less than nine hours a week

By law, children in young offenders institutions in England must receive at least 15 hours of education per week. Between January and August 2025, though, the three youth offender institutions in England delivered an average of just six to nine hours of education per week. This is less than one third of the government target of 32.5 hours for children in schools. In 2024-25 an average of 22% of children in custody said they were not doing any education, training, work or taking part in activities such as offending behaviour programmes. At Feltham youth offender institution in London, this rose to 39%. My colleagues Professor Adeela ahmed Shafi, Professor Neal Hazel, Professor Stephen Case and I have put together The Palgrave Handbook on the Education of Children in Criminal Justice Settings. It sets out what children in custody are missing out on, why this matters, and what we should do about it. What is going wrong? Children usually arrive in custody having had significant disruption to their education already, and school has often not been a positive place for them. They may have experienced multiple school moves. They may have been excluded from school, attended alternative provision education and internalised feelings of not belonging in education. Children in the youth justice system may have had negative experiences with education. Rawpixel.com/Shutterstock They have also often experienced family dysfunction and may have been in care. Children in youth custody are more likely to have experienced poverty, trauma, abuse. They may have a parent who has been in prison. They may have been marginalised because of their race. Children in youth custody are far more likely to have a special educational need or neurodevelopmental condition than the general population. Often, these complex needs have not been recognised or catered for in their previous education. They may have been punished, rather than offered support. Education in custody matters because it is a chance to repair some of these harms that children have experienced, and to give them back opportunities that they have been denied. There are some knotty questions unique to children in the justice system that teachers in mainstream schools may never have to consider. How can teachers convince a 15-year-old that their GCSE matters, when they are facing a sentence of ten or more years, and don’t think they have any place in the outside world? There is also a deeper tension about what education in custody is really for. One view is that it is a tool for reducing reoffending: a way of shaping children into the citizens we would like them to be and preparing them to contribute to society in life after custody. Another view sees education as valuable in its own right. It is a chance for children to grow, discover what interests them, and build a sense of identity. When the first view dominates, education can become another form of control, judged by how compliant a child is and not by what they have learned. But in practice, these ideas need not be conflicting. A child who discovers (despite what they may have previously been told) that they are capable, interested in learning, and can build a sense of identity as someone who can contribute meaningfully to the world, has more of a chance at building a better life once they leave custody. Re-engaging children Education in custody must become child-friendly. Learning should be collaborative: children are capable of shaping what and how they learn, which can rebuild trust and a sense of belonging. Most children in custody have very complex educational needs, shaped by neurodevelopmental conditions and histories of trauma and adversity. These needs have often never previously been identified, so comprehensive and developmentally appropriate assessment is needed, and teaching should be built holistically around what that assessment finds. Children in custody have been excluded and marginalised from mainstream education and opportunities. Education in custody must look to undo this. Inclusive education means delivering teaching that reflects children’s cultures and identities and recognises how trauma and learning needs can show up differently in girls or children minoritised by their race. It should actively looks to bring children into the opportunities of education, rather than look for reasons to exclude them from it. What’s more, a good curriculum extends far beyond traditional exams. There is educational value in learning life skills from peer mentors, and in learning conflict resolution and communication skills from restorative justice approaches. Curricula should feel relevant to the interests of the child. This might look like a deep-dive research project into a hobby, or lessons in entrepreneurship and business skills. And children should be seen as children, even when they have caused serious harm. Education should sit within a wider system that recognises that children have an innate vulnerability due to their developmental maturity, and that they are still highly capable of change. There are signs that education in custody could move in this direction. A 2026 white paper – a government document proposing possible future policy – discusses a shift to smaller, more child-centred custodial settings which would support this. However, turning this vision into a reality will need sustained funding and political courage. A regime that punishes and alienates children provides little value in turning their lives around. However, an education offer where children feel that staff care, that their learning matters, and that they have value, can lead to real change.