What Italy’s New Sex Education Bill Means For Child Abuse Prevention: A Teacher’s Perspective
Last Wednesday, I sat across from 13-year-old Lila at the sticky plastic-topped bar across from my middle school in Bergamo, her iced tea sweating through the paper coaster and her scuffed white sneaker twisting nonstop under the table. She’d stayed after school to talk, and it took 20 minutes of twisting that sneaker and picking at the label on her water bottle before she said it: her mom’s brother had touched her inappropriately on a family camping trip in August, and she didn’t know who to tell.
Her mom had pulled her out of all upcoming sex education lessons two weeks earlier, after seeing a segment on a prime-time talk show calling age-appropriate boundary education “gender propaganda.” “Mom says all that talk is just to confuse kids,” Lila mumbled, staring at her iced tea. “I didn’t want to say anything because I thought she’d say you put the idea in my head.”
That’s the reality of this new bill no politician talks about on the campaign trail. I’ve taught health education here for 12 years, and I have a 9-year-old of my own, so I’ve watched this bill wind through parliament for months. What most people outside Italy don’t grasp is how intentionally the legislation conflates “gender propaganda” with sexual abuse prevention. The bill labels any content that deviates from teaching strictly biological reproduction as harmful propaganda, cuts 20% of annual funding from any school that hosts it, and even frames that content as a form of “mental abuse” against minors. So instead of protecting kids from harm, the bill puts the life-saving work of abuse prevention in the same box as the content it’s banning.
I saw this clash play out at a PTA meeting last month. One dad stood up and yelled that he didn’t want his 12-year-old being “taught to change genders” at school, and a quiet mom I’ve known for years stood up next. Her 11-year-old son was abused by his soccer coach three years ago, and she said the only reason he told her what was happening was because he’d learned in school that “it’s not okay for any adult to touch you and make you keep it a secret.” That lesson was part of the same program the bill now calls propaganda. She sat down crying, and half the room didn’t know what to say.
A lot of parents I talk to are genuinely confused. They hear “gender” and “propaganda” and “grooming” tossed around on the news, and they just want to keep their kids safe. They don’t stop to ask what content actually gets cut when schools can’t afford to run these programs anymore. It’s not just lessons about trans identity, though that’s what politicians fixate on. It’s the lessons that teach 5-year-olds that no one can touch their private parts, even a relative. It’s the lessons that teach 10-year-olds that you can say no to a hug from a great-aunt if it makes you uncomfortable, and that your “no” will be respected. It’s the lessons that teach 16-year-olds that consent has to be enthusiastic, every time, and that an abusive partner isn’t just someone who hits you—it’s someone who pressures you into things you don’t want to do. You can’t teach any of that without talking about bodily autonomy. And bodily autonomy, in the bill’s framing, is propaganda.
I haven’t stopped doing this work, I just do it differently now that we don’t know if funding will be cut next year. At the start of every health class, even the ones that only cover basic biology now, I write three questions on the white board and leave 10 minutes for kids to write down anonymous answers if they want: 1) Is anyone making you feel unsafe in your body right now? 2) Do you have a question about boundaries you’re too scared to ask out loud? 3) Do you need help talking to an adult about something that happened? Last month, a seventh grader wrote that his stepdad was making him take off his clothes to shower in front of him, and we were able to get him help before anything worse happened. That’s 10 minutes a week, no extra funding needed, that works.
For parents I talk to at conferences and on the playground, I give them one small thing to add to their day that doesn’t require any special training. Instead of just asking “how was school” every night, add one line: “Did anyone cross your boundary today, big or small?” Boundaries don’t have to be about sexual abuse right off the bat. It can be a friend that took your phone without asking, a relative that pinched your cheek too hard, a coach that made you run even when you said you were hurt. It just gets kids used to talking about when something makes them uncomfortable, and that you’ll listen when they do. Most kids don’t tell about abuse the first time it happens, but if they’re used to talking about small uncomfortable things, they’re more likely to speak up when something big happens.
If your school cuts sex ed programs, I tell parents, you don’t have to figure it all out alone. The Italian Pediatric Society has free 10 to 15 minute videos for every age group, available on YouTube, that cover the basics of body safety and consent. You can watch it with your kid once a year, it’s no big deal. I also keep a list of local, low-cost social workers who will meet with kids one on one if they need to talk, and I give that out to any parent who asks.
We connected Lila with a social worker I’ve worked with for years, and we sat down with her mom to explain what Lila had been through. Her mom agreed to let Lila meet with the social worker, but she still won’t let her attend any school sex ed lessons. She still believes what she saw on the news, that all that talk is harmful. There’s no big win here, no neat resolution. I don’t know if next year the school will lose its funding and we’ll have to cut all these extra check-ins entirely. Right now, all I can do is keep leaving those questions on the board, keep connecting kids to people who can help, keep talking to parents one at a time. That’s enough for today, even if it’s not enough for all the kids who need this.
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