Modern Barndom – more than just a magazine

For me, Modern Barndom has been more than just a magazine. It has been a place, a direction, a conversation that never really ends. There are moments in a professional life that stick with you—meetings, experiences, ideas—and for me, Modern Barndom was just such a moment. It was a place where words and people, practice and theory, thought and action came together.

As one of the early voices on the editorial committee, I found Modern Barndom to be a place where professional passion could share space with intellectual curiosity—where reflection could meet the practical work of everyday life in preschool.

The magazine grew out of a desire for deeper understanding—out of the conviction that words can build bridges between the everyday and the visionary. From the very beginning, there was a desire to carry on the tone of conversation that had been born in the network letters once sent out by the Reggio Emilia Institute: fragmentary, lively, ideologically engaged.

However, Modern Barndom had a greater ambition—to speak to a wider audience, to open up the conversation to those who wanted to think along with them, without simplifying it. 

I came there as a defender of the slowness of text and of language's ability to accommodate complexity. I wanted to make room for texts that dared to take time, that lingered in contradictions and deepened them. It wasn't always easy reading, but it led to a richer, deeper presence. In this, I saw a kind of resistance—a belief that language, in its careful form, can become an action in itself.

At the same time, the text gained new power when it encountered more voices—educators, researchers, artists, parents. From these encounters grew something greater than a single text: a shared belief that childhood questions are at the heart of our democratic life.

Being part of Modern Barndom also meant living with a sense of tension. On the one hand, there was a desire to think deeply and theoretically, to engage in intellectual discussion about views on children, language, and society. On the other hand, there was a grounding in the concrete: in everyday life, in the encounters between children and educators, in the importance of the environment. From this grew a tapestry of voices, where respect became both the starting point and the underlying tone. 

I saw how text could become action—how words created space for reflection, and how reflection in turn inspired responsibility. We began to understand that children's right to participation was not just a question of method, but the very essence of the idea of democracy. Listening to children means defending the dignity of conversation, reclaiming the public space as a place for reflection.

Modern Barndom provided space for this slow thinking. Contradictions were allowed to remain. Questions did not need to be answered quickly, but could mature in dialogue. The magazine became a kind of training ground for attention—seeing in the spaces between, where the child's gaze meets the educator's ethical responsibility. Language became not only a tool for describing reality, but also for creating it.

We have been in constant dialogue about how to reach new readers, people with changing reading habits and expectations. Making Modern Barndom relevant without simplifying its intellectual core was a balancing act that required great respect for our different roles – both as writers and committed educators, but also as thinkers who wanted to reflect a broader social movement.

I particularly appreciated those moments when the magazine's articles resonated beyond our own sphere—when someone told us that an issue had become a discussion book at a preschool or that an article had raised new questions in an academic setting.

In an age that often rewards speed and simple answers, Modern Barndom became a dissenting voice. A reminder of the value of taking time, conversing, and experimenting. For me, it became clear that serious writing is a form of care—a respect for both the reader and the world we share. Writing for the magazine was contributing to a collective way of thinking, where precision of language became an ethical stance.

Looking back, I can see how crucial it was to allow intellectual exploration to coexist with practical experience. Modern Barndom has helped us understand childhood not as a state, but as a movement—a living, critical, and socially significant force.

Within the international Reggio Emilia movement, Sweden has contributed something special: a desire to combine aesthetics and ethics, theory and everyday life, thought and action in a common endeavour to defend children's right to participate.

It is a voice that has emerged in a specific context—shaped by Nordic public education, social trust, and a deep democratic ethos. Now, as Modern Barndom is coming to an end as a magazine, I see how this particular voice must find new forms, new forums, and new languages.

We need to strengthen our position in the international dialogue – not as a voice that wants to dominate, but as a voice that nurtures the different perspectives in the dialogue.

To speak of Reggio Emilia today is to speak of the world as it is: fragmented, global, digital, ecologically vulnerable, and yet full of hope. We need to formulate how Reggio Emilia can be a living impulse in this era—how respect for the child's perspective and the social power of learning can revitalize the struggle for both education and democracy.

The Swedish voice in the conversation should not represent a definitive answer, but rather a stance. A belief that democratic qualities are defended and developed precisely through education based on listening, through dialogue across political, ethnic, aesthetic, and ethical boundaries. Modern Childhood has taught us how. It has trained us to pause, to dare to slow down, to let complexity speak.

For me personally, Modern Barndom has been both a breathing space and a form of resistance. A way of holding on to the idea that words can still change the world—not by shouting the loudest, but by creating space for reflection, precision, and respect. 

The magazine has taught me that democracy always begins with language, where listening is its innermost core. As I now say goodbye, it is more than just a farewell. I do so with gratitude.

The challenge is to ensure that the conversation continues—in new spaces, in new forms, but always with the same mission: to keep alive the question of what childhood is—and what kind of world we choose to build together with our children.

Text: Harold Göthson, one of the founders of the Reggio Emilia Institute and the magazine's first editor-in-chief, who for more than 20 years was a regular voice on the editorial committee and a columnist. He has also been a board member of Fondazione Reggio Children – Centro Loris Malaguzzi since its inception.