Denmark's new law on the use of physical restraint in schools has drawn sharp concern from educators, even as Education Minister Mattias Tesfaye downplays fears, acknowledging that mistakes will happen. The legislation, which allows teachers and pedagogues to use physical force in certain situations involving students, comes amid growing reports of violent or dangerous incidents in Danish primary schools.
A recent survey by think tank DEA paints a troubling picture: many teachers and pedagogues say they regularly face volatile situations requiring immediate intervention. Some describe being pushed, kicked, or threatened by students, often without adequate training or support to respond safely. These accounts have fueled unease about the new legal framework, which formalizes when and how staff may physically intervene.
Minister Acknowledges Reality on the Ground
Tesfaye, who has visited numerous schools over his three years as minister, says he recognizes the challenges educators describe. "I’ve seen it myself," he said, referring to the difficult classroom dynamics reported in the DEA survey. He emphasized that the new law isn’t meant to encourage restraint but to provide clarity for professionals already operating in high-stress environments.
"There will always be errors, and errors happen today too," Tesfaye added, suggesting that the current system—without clear legal guidelines—leaves staff vulnerable both legally and emotionally. His comments reflect a broader government stance: that regulation is preferable to ambiguity, even if imperfect.
Still, many teachers worry the law shifts responsibility onto them without addressing root causes like underfunded support services or insufficient mental health resources for students with behavioral issues.
A Law Born From Daily Crisis
The legislation emerged after years of anecdotal and documented cases where school staff felt forced to act—but feared legal repercussions. Before this law, Denmark lacked specific rules governing physical intervention in educational settings outside special needs institutions. General principles from child protection laws applied, but these offered little practical guidance during emergencies.
Under the new framework, staff may use “necessary and proportionate” physical force to prevent harm to a student or others. The law requires immediate reporting of any incident and mandates follow-up evaluations. It also obligates municipalities to ensure staff receive training—a provision critics say is only as strong as local budgets allow.
Teachers’ unions have welcomed the attempt at clarity but stress that training and staffing levels must match the law’s demands. "You can’t legislate safety without investing in people," one union representative noted, echoing widespread sentiment among frontline educators.
Voices From the Classroom
In Copenhagen and other urban centers, where classrooms often include students with complex social or psychological needs, the pressure is especially acute. One primary school pedagogue described intervening during a meltdown that turned physical: "I had to hold him so he wouldn’t run into traffic. I did what felt right—but afterward, I was terrified I’d done something wrong."
Such stories are common in the DEA survey, though exact numbers weren’t released. What stands out is not just the frequency of incidents but the emotional toll on staff who feel caught between duty and doubt. Many say they’ve considered leaving the profession due to stress and lack of backup.
Municipalities vary widely in how they prepare staff. In Aarhus, some schools conduct monthly de-escalation drills. In smaller towns, teachers might go years without updated training. This patchwork reality raises questions about whether a national law can function fairly without standardized support.
Balancing Safety and Rights
The debate touches on deeper tensions in Danish society: how to uphold children’s rights while ensuring adult caregivers aren’t left defenseless. Child advocacy groups caution against normalizing physical intervention, even when well-intentioned. They point to international research showing restraint can retraumatize students, particularly those with histories of abuse or neglect.
Yet school leaders argue that ignoring the issue isn’t an option. "We’re not talking about punishment," said a principal from Roskilde. "We’re talking about stopping a 12-year-old from throwing a chair at another child’s head. Sometimes words aren’t enough."
The Ministry of Education insists the law includes strict safeguards. Force must be a last resort. Documentation is mandatory. And crucially, the student’s perspective must be included in post-incident reviews—a requirement meant to center their dignity even in crisis moments.
What Comes Next?
Implementation begins this school year, with municipalities responsible for rolling out training and protocols. The ministry plans to monitor outcomes through annual reports, though it remains unclear how compliance will be enforced or how data will be shared publicly.
For now, many teachers remain wary. They appreciate the intent behind the law but fear it places more burden on already stretched professionals. As one put it: "We want to help kids, not become security guards."
Minister Tesfaye maintains that the law reflects real-world needs. "We can’t pretend these situations don’t exist," he said. "Better to face them with clear rules than leave people guessing in the moment."
Whether those rules bring reassurance or new anxieties may depend less on the text of the law and more on what happens in hallways, playgrounds, and staff rooms across Denmark in the months ahead. One thing is certain: the conversation about safety, authority, and care in Danish schools is far from over.