Modern Childhood – more than a journal

Modern Childhood has, for me, been more than a journal. It has been a space, a direction, an ongoing conversation that never truly ends. There are moments in a professional life that leave a lasting imprint – encounters, experiences, ideas – and for me, the magazine became such a point of convergence. Words and people met here, as did practice and theory, thought and action. As one of the early voices on the editorial committee, I found in Modern Childhood an arena where professional passion could coexist with intellectual curiosity; where reflection could meet the concrete realities of everyday life in early childhood education.

The magazine emerged from a desire for depth – a conviction that words can build bridges between the everyday and the visionary. From the start, there was a wish to carry forward the spirit of the early network letters once sent out by the Reggio Emilia Institute: fragmented, alive, and ideologically engaged.

But Modern Childhood carried a broader ambition – to speak to a wider audience, to open the conversation to those who wanted to think with us, without simplifying it. I arrived as a defender of textual slowness, of language as a vessel for complexity.

I wanted to create space for writing that dared to take its time and that lingered in contradictions and deepened them. It was not always easy reading, but it offered richer, more mindful presence. For me, this was a form of resistance – a belief that language, in its careful shaping, can become an act in itself.

At the same time, the written word gained new strength when it met other voices – educators, researchers, artists, parents. From these encounters grew something larger than any single text: a shared belief that questions of childhood belong at the heart of democratic life.

To be part of Modern Childhood was to live within a productive tension. On one hand, there was a desire for deep thinking and theoretical exploration – a discourse on views of the child, on language, on society. On the other, a commitment to the concrete: to everyday life, to the interactions between children and teachers, to the role of environment. From this grew a web of voices where respect became both foundation and guiding tone.

I saw how writing could become action – how words created room for reflection, and how reflection, in turn, awakened responsibility. We began to understand that children’s right to participation was not merely a methodological question but the very nerve of democracy itself. To listen to children is to defend the dignity of dialogue, to reclaim public space as a place for reflection.

Modern Childhood provided space for slow thinking. Contradictions were allowed to remain. Questions did not demand quick answers but were given time to mature in dialogue. The magazine became a kind of training ground for attentiveness – to see in the in-between, where the child’s gaze meets the educator’s ethical responsibility. Language became not only a tool for describing reality but for creating it.

We constantly reflected on how to reach new readers – people with different reading habits and expectations. Keeping Modern Childhood relevant without diluting its intellectual core required deep respect for our diverse roles – as writers, as dedicated educators, and as thinkers seeking to mirror a broader social movement.

I especially valued the moments when our texts resonated beyond our own circle – when someone wrote to tell us that an issue had sparked dialogue at a preschool, or when a piece stirred new questions within academic training.

In a time that often rewards speed and simplicity, the magazine became a counter-voice – a reminder of the value of slowness, dialogue, and exploration. For me, it became clear that serious writing is a form of care – a mark of respect for the reader and for the world we share. To write for Modern Childhood was to contribute to a collective thinking process, where linguistic precision itself became an ethical stance.

Looking back, I see how crucial it has been to let intellectual inquiry live side by side with practical experience. Modern Childhood has helped us to understand childhood not as a static state but as a movement – a living, critical, and socially sustaining force.

Within the international Reggio Emilia movement, Sweden has carried something distinct: a will to unite aesthetics and ethics, theory and everyday practice, thought and action, in a shared effort to defend children’s right to participate.

This voice has grown from a particular context – shaped by Nordic traditions of popular education, social trust, and a deep democratic ethos. Now, as Modern Childhood concludes its life as a magazine, I see how this very voice must find new forms, new venues, new languages.

We need to strengthen our place in the international conversation – not as a voice seeking dominance, but as one that protects dialogue’s multiplicity. To speak of Reggio Emilia today is to speak of the world as it is: divided, global, digital, ecologically fragile – and yet still full of hope. We must articulate how Reggio Emilia’s respect for the child’s perspective and for learning as a social force can revitalize the fight for both education and democracy.

The Swedish voice in this dialogue should never stand for a ready-made answer but for an attitude – a belief that democratic qualities are sustained and renewed through education rooted in listening, and through dialogue across political, ethnic, aesthetic, and ethical boundaries. Modern Childhood has taught us this. It has trained us to pause, to embrace slowness, to let complexity speak.

For me personally, Modern Childhood has been both refuge and resistance – a way to hold on to the belief that language can still change the world, not by shouting the loudest but by creating space for thought, precision, and respect. 

The magazine has taught me that democracy always begins in language, and that listening is its deepest core.

As I now say farewell, it is more than a goodbye. I do so with gratitude. For the conversation continues – in new spaces, in new forms, but always with the same purpose: to keep alive the question of what childhood is, and what kind of world we choose to build together with children.

Text: Harold Göthson, one of the founders of the Reggio Emilia Institute and the magazine’s first editor-in-chief (legally responsible publisher in the Swedish press system), as well as a recurring voice in the editorial committee and columnist for more than twenty years. 

Member of the board since the founding of Fondazione Reggio Children – Centro Loris Malaguzzi