It didn’t take long to understand why. Many in the room had lived through an Irish education system that shamed them, told them they would amount to nothing, and in some cases, subjected them to physical and emotional violence. The Christian Brothers era loomed heavily in their pasts, and with it, the trauma of being made to feel small, unheard, and powerless. Here they were, decades later, in recovery from addiction, and being asked to engage in a system that had already failed them.
But this time, education looked different. This time, it was built on principles of empowerment, participation, and social justice—the very foundation of community development. The first step was unlearning the past: moving away from a top-down approach where knowledge is deposited into passive learners, and instead fostering a space where lived experience held value.
I structured the classes around open dialogue, collective problem-solving, and experiential learning. Instead of lecturing, we engaged in discussions that linked learning to emotions, feelings, and real-world issues. We debated topics like democracy, climate change, immigration, and corruption—not as abstract concepts, but as forces shaping their lives.
One moment stands out. I had introduced a case study on how communities in Sub-Saharan Africa use community development approaches to challenge inequality. What started as a lesson on grassroots activism soon spiralled into a passionate discussion about race, immigration, and Ireland’s own treatment of migrants. Initially, extreme views were voiced – unfiltered, direct, and in some cases, problematic. But rather than shutting down debate, we leaned into it. Through guided discussion and respectful challenge, participants began to reconsider their positions. They listened to each other. They saw the perspectives of others, sometimes for the first time.
That was the shift.
By the end of the module, conversations had evolved from reluctant engagement to deep, respectful debate. “I actually enjoy this,” Peter admitted, surprising himself. Another, who had started the course with visible reluctance, later reflected: “I never thought I’d be talking about politics and power, but now I see how it all connects to my own life.”
The change was tangible – not just in their understanding of community development, but in how they saw themselves within it. They began to see how they, too, could take back control, become active citizens, and shape their own futures.
What made this work? It wasn’t just the content – it was the approach. Learning was rooted in real-world experiences. We simulated social issues, engaged in role-play exercises where participants had to argue perspectives they disagreed with, and facilitated a deep sense of connection between peers. The key was shared power: recognizing that knowledge isn’t just held by the lecturer but is built collectively in the room.
This wasn’t the first time I had seen education transform people who had been excluded from traditional learning spaces. Previously, I had delivered in-reach education in Portlaoise Prison, the first of its kind in Ireland where university lecturers taught undergraduate modules behind bars. I saw the same shift there – initial scepticism giving way to engagement, empowerment, and a reclaiming of identity through education.
At the South East Technological University, we are now proposing to work with Common Knowledge, a build school where University of Sanctuary scholars – migrants and refugees – learn not just construction skills, but a philosophy of rebuilding: physically, psychologically, and socially. Community development, at its core, is about giving people a voice and making them feel heard.
The experience at Tiglin was not just transformative for the students – it changed me as an educator. It forced me to confront my own assumptions, to listen deeply, and to let go of power in order to empower others. In university settings, knowledge often flows in one direction. But in community education, learning is reciprocal.
Higher education institutions need to do more of this. Not just in name, but in real, community-rooted collaboration. Too often, education remains the privilege of the elite, while those who need it most are structurally excluded. But this model – one based on relationship-building, active participation, and respect for lived experience—shows what’s possible when we break down those barriers.
It’s time for universities to stop seeing outreach as an add-on and start seeing it as essential. More of this is needed. And the transformation isn’t just for the students – it’s for all of us.
* John Balfe is a lecturer with the Department of Humanities in the South East Technological University (SETU). E: john.balfe@setu.ie
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Community development spoke to me, says woman overcoming addiction
