Sexuality education in an age of resistance: Reflections at the nexus of education,health and rights

Framing of innocence

Widespread societal concern about the vulnerability of children and young people to sexual exploitation and objectification by others (whether adults, other young people or corporate interests) is well justified. However, the logic mobilised to protect young people from harm often takes a counterproductive turn by erasing sexual subjectivity, constructing them as inherently asexual beings and limiting their access to sexual information. The conflation of being sexualised by others and having an intrinsic sexuality ironically exacerbates the vulnerabilities this rhetoric seeks to prevent.

Scholars argue that the conception of childhood as a time of ‘innocence’, defined by an absence of desire, stress and disenchantment (Robinson and Bengtsson, 2024; Thompson, 2018), is not a ‘natural’ inclination, but a socio-historically contingent construct deliberated by those with power (Hasinoff, 2017; Robinson and Davies, 2014; Tsaliki, 2016). This framing ignores, represses and pathologises the continuum of developmentally typical sexual behaviours and curiosities of young people (Hackett, 2014; McClelland and Hunter, 2013; Robinson and Bengtsson, 2024). As McClelland and Hunter (2013: 66) remarked,

Children themselves are left with little ability to counter this discourse except, of course, by continuing to provide counter-evidence with every ‘age inappropriate’ conversation that displays sexual knowledge or ‘inappropriate’ behaviours that reflect the prepubescent sexual impulse, from hands down diapers to commonly played games of ‘doctor’.

Young people are not asexual beings whose sexuality flicks on at or around the legally determined age of consent, and it is also the case that they are vulnerable to predation and sexualisation by those with more power than them. Protecting young people from exploitation, sexual objectification and abuse does not depend on denying their subjective, autonomous and emerging sexualities. In positioning CSE as a threat to childhood innocence that could compromise a child’s perceived purity (Chronaki et al., 2025; Thompson, 2018), knowledge itself is constructed as dangerous.

During our panel discussion, we discussed how these framings delegitimise young people’s sexual knowledge and agency, while also constraining educators’ ability to engage in meaningful, age-appropriate teaching. For example, there is evidence indicating some divide between what is deemed sexually appropriate for young people by society and what feels sexually appropriate to young people themselves. Recent work led by G.W. with adolescents navigating online sexual content observed that young people actively seek out information to inform their negotiations of complex sexual realities (Woodley, 2025; Woodley et al., 2025). Yet these needs can often be dismissed by parents, educators and policymakers under the rhetoric of protecting innocence (e.g. Chronaki et al., 2025; Zen et al., 2025).

The ethical complexities surrounding young people’s sexuality are reflected in policymakers’ and the public’s escalating fears about early sexualisation. In Australia, these concerns crystallised in the 2006 Corporate Paedophilia report (Page Jeffery, 2017), which defined sexualisation as ‘the act of giving someone or something a sexual character’ and implicated marketing and media industries in allegedly exposing children to sexualised imagery (Thompson, 2018). The report generated widespread alarm and led to a Senate inquiry into the sexualisation of children in contemporary media, despite criticism that the report lacked empirical rigour, relying on anecdote over evidence and drawing sweeping conclusions from methodologically flawed analysis (Bragg et al., 2011; Page Jeffery, 2017; Thompson, 2018). In addition, the report (Rush and La Nauze 2006) largely ignored gender and sexuality diversity and perspectives, suggesting a focus on the innocent ‘white’ (Thompson, 2018), heteronormative child.

The report, and sensationalist media coverage that followed, fuelled an ongoing moral panic. Headlines lamented the loss of innocence, condemning depictions of young people as sexualised in advertising and media, while simultaneously reinforcing cultural anxieties about young people’s sexuality (Page Jeffery, 2017). That is, these narratives mobilised discourses of anxiety, prosecuting justified concern about nefarious sexualisation of young people by constructing them as asexual. By doing so, such discourses failed to distinguish between young people being sexualised and young people’s emerging sexuality, with their own capabilities and developmental needs (Tsaliki and Chronaki, 2020). Although the Corporate Paedophilia report is now two decades old, its legacy persists and continues to shape public assumptions about youth, sexuality and vulnerability, contributing to contemporary anxieties that resist evidence-informed, rights-based CSE.

In these ways, innocence and protection become adult-imposed constructs that sideline young people’s agency and exclude them from political debates about sexuality. While protection of children and young people is necessary in a world that increasingly threatens their safety, such protections require a delicate balance, acknowledging their sexual citizenship and rights to information and avenues of expression. In addition, there is little differentiation made between children and teenagers on their way to becoming emerging adults, muddying the complexities of these issues. When childhood is imagined as individuals without desire, complexity or agency, any acknowledgement of young people’s emerging sexual selves becomes framed as dangerous or corrupting (Angelides, 2019; Kitching et al., 2020). This leaves little room for nuanced, evidence-informed approaches to CSE, and instead legitimises restrictive policies and censorship. Moreover, withholding critical CSE and body safety information in the name of innocence compounds the vulnerability for children and young people who are already exposed to sexual harm, including abuse and coercion. This dimension arose during the panel, when discussing backlash to CSE globally and rising calls to maintain children’s innocence. G.W., for example, reflected on her experiences of communicating CSE research in the media while advocating for CSE resources to fill gaps in formal sexuality education settings. Her actions were followed by personal backlash and attacks, including: doxxing, bank account hacking, vilification, humiliation and even death threats. Much of the outrage claimed that CSE advocacy encouraged the loss of childhood innocence, and that G.W. was a groomer or ‘paedophile’.

Ironically, the insistence on innocence does little to protect young people from harm and instead can deprive them of the language and support needed to navigate relationships, friendships, digital cultures and their own identities safely and ethically (eSafety Commissioner, 2025; McGinn et al., 2016; Robinson, 2008). Instead, such positioning renders young people easily governed and ultimately serves to bolster conservative, heteronormative frameworks that restrict the scope of CSE, when it is such information that can antidote the very threats of concern.

Backlash to gender and sexuality diversity

Despite some advances in sex, innate variations of sex characteristics, gender and sexuality equity and diversity, Australia has a long history of LGBTQ+ exclusion in schools (Hillier et al., 1998; Ullman, 2021). Most notable was public controversy over Safe Schools, an inexpensive, federally funded education programme launched in 2014 to support LGBTQ+ school students (Law, 2017). A subsequent highly organised, right-wing media campaign fuelled discourses of anxiety and peddled disinformation about the programme, provoking intense political debate (e.g. Hamilton-Smith, 2017; Nicholas, 2016).

During this campaign, Safe Schools opponents deployed emotive rhetoric and sweeping claims – many demonstrably false, others deceptive by distortion at best. These included the suggestion that ‘Marxist indoctrination’ was the aim of this ‘gay lifestyle promotion programme’ which ‘taught masturbation techniques’ and ‘penis-tucking, chest-binding and gender fluidity to primary-school kids . . . handing them tips on where to buy sex toys online’. Such claims have since been roundly debunked (Law, 2017). However, at the time they enjoyed priority in public discourse and were inadequately challenged. On the panel, H.S. highlighted how this type of dishonest rhetoric exploits fears, ignoring evidence that inclusive education is protective for all young people’s mental health, and helps build skills for respectful relationships, anti-bullying and ethical bystander attributes. Indeed, the Safe Schools programme was derailed by the campaign against it, with demand for support services for LGBTQ+ youth doubling, and Safe Schools staff routinely harassed, at the height of the public debate (Law, 2017). A decade on, the safety and inclusion of LGBTQ+ young people in Australian schools remains threatened.

In Australia and internationally, public backlash towards trans, nonbinary and gender-diverse young people in particular has intensified, creating hostile conditions directly – and typically adversely – shaping young people’s experiences of healthcare and education (Sengul and Shannon, 2025; Shannon, 2022). Globally, trans, nonbinary and gender-diverse young people can also be denied access to affirming healthcare (Abreu et al., 2022; Moore et al., 2025; Veale, 2025), compromising their capacity to participate in school life. Resistance to gender-affirming care often coexists with resistance to inclusive CSE, as the same ideological and political forces that seek to restrict healthcare access also oppose curricula that affirm gender diversity (e.g. Hendriks et al., 2025b; Moore et al., 2025; Vladyka, 2025). Limiting young people’s ability to understand themselves and each other, or see their identities acknowledged and recognised in classrooms, undermines well-being and the right to equitable education (Hill et al., 2021). For instance, research consistently shows that when students cannot see themselves reflected in curricula, they face a greater risk of disengagement, absenteeism and poor mental health (e.g. Ferfolja and Ullman, 2017; Jones, 2017). In this context, inclusive CSE functions as a critical countermeasure to support mental health, enhance belonging and ensure that all young people can thrive and feel safe in their school environments.

Teachers and school leaders frequently report fear of complaints or political pressure when addressing gender diversity as part of CSE. Apprehension about embedding gender and sexuality inclusive policies and practices due to potential backlash from parents and communities can lead to delayed or diluted efforts from schools (Andrews, 2025). Across H.S.’s and S.V.’s research and practice-based work, they have encountered moments of institutional self-censorship, where educators expressed support for inclusive CSE in principle, but described quietly omitting gender diversity content for fear of parental, community or political backlash. H.S. described this on the panel, as well as the harmful consequences they have seen for their LGBTQ+ students, in online or in-school bullying and discrimination. Yet evidence shows that this backlash comes from a small, but vocal, minority. National research surveying Australian parents (n = 2427) found that the majority (86%) supported the inclusion of gender diversity and same-sex attraction (89%) in CSE (Hendriks et al., 2024). Similarly, in a study of Australian teachers’ attitudes towards the inclusion of gender diversity and same-sex attraction in school policy and environment, support for trans inclusion was overwhelming (Burns et al., 2023). Recognising this gap between public support and political noise is essential. Teachers, parents and school leaders should be provided with support to enhance the inclusion of gender and sexuality discussions within CSE and respond to backlash.

Rights denied

The denial of CSE reflects broader ideological attempts to restrict bodily autonomy, gender equity and freedom of information. Framing these constructions through a human rights lens highlights both the ethical and legal dimensions of current resistance. During the panel, this lens was offered by K.M., whose own research journey challenged her criminal-lawyer perspective on CSE as a violence prevention tool, leading her to consider it a right belonging to its recipients rather than its gatekeepers. That Australia largely eschews this framing became increasingly apparent to K.M. during the course of her political engagement and media appearances and became the subject of her doctoral inquiry.

Scholars have argued, and human rights bodies have recognised, that CSE is indicated by existing human rights (Bourke et al., 2022; Campbell, 2016; Kossen, 2012; Muñoz, 2010). For example, Campbell (2016) demonstrates that, while there is no direct provision for CSE in United Nations (UN) human rights conventions and treaties, the right to such education derives from other rights in those treaties, particularly those relating to children, women and girls. The suggestion that CSE is an ‘integral part of the human right to health and the right to access appropriate health-related information, as enshrined in a number of international instruments’ (BZgA, 2017: 13) is supported in the literature (Bourke et al., 2022; Cumper, 2006). The World Association for Sexual Health declares that, insofar as they relate to sexuality, existing human rights extend to the right to CSE (Kismödi et al., 2017). Article 19 of the Convention on the Rights of the Child requires states to take all appropriate educational measures to protect the child from violence, abuse, maltreatment or exploitation, including sexual abuse, and research demonstrates CSE has an important protective role to play in this respect (Bourke et al., 2022).

In 2010, the UN Special Rapporteur on the Right to Education stated that CSE ought to be considered a right itself (Muñoz, 2010). Building on this analysis, Campbell (2016) argued there is a positive obligation on the state to provide CSE. Yet a human right to CSE is contested and argued not to exist because no treaty or custom has rendered it in international law (Curvino and Fischer, 2014). Such a right could sit in tension with, for example, freedom of religion (Article 18 ICCPR), and the liberty of parents to choose their child’s school and to have ‘the religious and moral education of their children in conformity with their own convictions’ ensured (Article 13 ICESCR). However, these freedoms arguably yield to the positive obligation to provide CSE (Campbell, 2016; Liu, 2023), particularly where the state aims to provide knowledge ‘correctly, precisely, objectively and scientifically’, without attempting ‘indoctrination aimed at advocating a specific kind of sexual behaviour’ (Kjeldsen, Busk Madsen and Pedersen vs. Denmark (1976) at [54]). Regardless, contention on the boundaries of human rights is an enduring feature of the human rights project and is not unique to the question of CSE (Theilen, 2021).

Notwithstanding formal or institutional status as a right, CSE is conducive to the human rights project. It is well established that CSE supports well-being and self-determination over the life course (Future of Sex Education Initiative (FoSEI), 2016; Goldfarb and Lieberman, 2021; UNESCO, 2018). Moreover, by virtue of its approach, CSE itself enables children and young people to develop respect for human rights (UNESCO, 2018). Thus, access to CSE can readily be characterised as a human rights issue for young people and the future adults they will become. Doing so can contribute to a holistic approach, moving the purpose (and therefore the focus) of CSE beyond public health outcomes – such as STI prevention or reducing teenage pregnancy – and the avoidance of violence. Instead, the goal can become more aspirational, implicating higher ideals of human dignity and worth, and relating CSE to freedom, justice and peace for all (Preamble UDHR). Furthermore, framing CSE this way invokes the moral authority that human rights tend to carry, casting the denial of CSE as a denial of human rights, and suggesting that the right to access such education is enduring and inalienable.

Through our reflections, we encourage educators, policymakers, curriculum developers and researchers to consider CSE a human rights issue, rather than a health measure or educational tool, and to resist attempts to curtail rights while advocating for structural and pedagogical supports that uphold young people’s dignity and freedom.

Economic benefits

Health, safety and economic participation are deeply interconnected. Preventable harms, including gender-based violence, poor mental health and inequitable access to sexual health information, carry substantial social and financial costs (Australian Government, 2021; Australian Institute of Health and Welfare, 2025; National Mental Health Commission, 2017). Evidence consistently demonstrates that high-quality CSE improves sexual well-being, strengthens communication and decision-making skills, and can reduce unwanted sexual experiences (Kauer et al., 2025; Schneider and Hirsch, 2020). These outcomes have long-term economic implications by reducing healthcare expenditure, supporting safer interpersonal relationships and enhancing young people’s capacity to participate fully in education and employment (Goldfarb and Lieberman, 2021; UNESCO, 2018). Rather than viewing CSE as a cost, it should more accurately be recognised as an upstream investment. CSE reduces the burden on health, justice and social services over time by equipping young people with the capacity and confidence to navigate relationships, sexuality and well-being. Thus, CSE functions as a preventive infrastructure that promotes individual flourishing and collective economic benefits.

Workplace and life skills

For workforces to remain relevant in rapidly developing industries, skills grounded in humanness, such as interpersonal competence, critical thinking, collaboration, empathy and ethical judgement, must be prioritised (World Economic Forum, 2025). These skills are central to CSE’s pedagogical approach. Through discussions of consent, respect, boundaries, communication and inclusion, CSE can help young people develop the social and emotional capabilities that underpin workforce readiness and positive participation in diverse professional environments (UNESCO, 2018). The emphasis on agency, respect and relational ethics present in CSE mirrors the competencies identified in contemporary labour market analyses as essential for future workforce adaptability (Borland and Coelli, 2021; World Economic Forum, 2025). CSE can contribute to a more emotionally intelligent, adaptable and socially cohesive workforce by supporting young people to understand themselves and others, manage conflict and navigate complex social environments.

Contribution to the sustainable development goals

CSE also functions as a catalyst for broader global development goals. UNESCO and other international bodies recognise CSE as integral to achieving several SDGs, particularly those focused on health (SDG 3), quality education (SDG 4) and gender equality (SDG 5). CSE supports these goals by ensuring equitable access to information that enables young people to make informed decisions about their health and relationships. The ripple effects of CSE extend to other development priorities, including reduced inequalities (SDG 10) and the cultivation of inclusive, safe institutions (SDG 16). At its core, CSE bolsters critical thinking, empathy, respect for diversity and a commitment to social justice (Goldfarb and Lieberman, 2021). CSE’s contributions to sustainable development are practical and cultural, shaping health and education outcomes alongside the values and social conditions that support collective well-being.