Who Controls Your Child? The Fight for Britain’s Families Begins Now

Behind the Government’s soft promises lies a quiet takeover of parental authority — and the Schools Bill is its weapon

Let’s be honest. When a Bill arrives in Parliament wrapped in words like “wellbeing,” “modernisation,” and “equity,” it’s time to check your pockets. Because in politics, as in magic tricks, the shinier the language, the more you should watch what the other hand is doing.

The Children’s Wellbeing and Schools Bill currently winding its way through the House of Lords is no exception. On the surface, it looks like a curious patchwork of ideas: proposals about uniforms, free school meals, audit trails, and even phone bans.

Throw in some amendments about SEND funding, Ofsted tweaks, and school mergers, and you’d be forgiven for thinking this was the legislative equivalent of a spring clean — cluttered, but harmless.

But it’s not harmless. It’s calculated. And it’s time to come clean.

Because beneath the policy jargon and the sea of amendments lies the real purpose of this Bill — and no, it’s not about sandwiches or ties. It’s about power. Not ordinary, administrative power. We're talking about the kind of power that quietly rewires the relationship between parents and the state.

Like the famed Trojan Horse, this Bill arrives draped in the language of goodwill — but hidden within is a mechanism designed to breach the walls of parental authority and quietly take control from within.

Let’s not pretend otherwise: the heart of this legislation is the state’s attempt to decide, define, and ultimately dictate how your children are educated — and by extension, who they become. It hands over broad, sweeping authority to bureaucrats to determine what constitutes a “suitable” education, what "wellbeing" looks like, and whether faith-based or home-based models align with their evolving ideology.

And the irony? They’re not even trying to hide it well. They're just hoping we're too distracted by side debates — over branded jumpers and admissions appeals — to notice.

Yes, hundreds of amendments are now flying across the red benches. And many of them are thoughtful. Some genuinely seek to rein in the more aggressive clauses. But let’s not fool ourselves into thinking that a concession here and a tweak there means we’re being heard.

The state may be happy to bargain over uniforms and inspection forms. But what it absolutely wants to keep is the authority to intrude into your home, into your school, into your community — and into your child’s life.

Now, let’s face a further truth. This Bill didn’t emerge from nowhere. It has the fingerprints of anti-faith campaigners all over it — groups who have long regarded religious education as a problem to be solved, not a contribution to be respected.

The language may be soft, the smiles polished, but the aim is not reform — it is realignment.

To make sure that every child, regardless of their upbringing, is shaped by one worldview: the state’s.

So let’s stop pretending this is about “standards.” It’s about substitution — replacing the authority of parents, faith communities, and independent educators with a new central authority whose moral compass spins to the tune of the latest cultural consensus.

In that context, the amendments currently being debated may seem like victories. And yes, some may stick. But if the core structure remains — if the government retains the right to define what is “suitable” and who gets to teach it — then we’ve just rearranged the furniture in a house the state now owns.

So what do we do?

We sharpen our message. We stop chasing every amendment down a rabbit hole. We thank those peers — like Lord Carter and others — who see the danger, and we make sure the public sees it too. We remind this government that liberty isn’t something you trade for administrative efficiency, and that faith is not a problem to be managed, but a right to be defended.

And above all, we call on the government to come clean. If this Bill is about centralising control, let them say so. Let them stand at the despatch box and tell the country plainly: “We no longer trust parents. We no longer trust communities. We no longer trust faith.”

But they won’t say that. Because they know that if the public understood what’s really at stake, the outcry would make Sunday’s protest look like a dress rehearsal.

So it falls to us — the citizens, the parents, the educators — to pull back the curtain. To reject the camouflage. To expose the language of wellbeing for what it is: a velvet glove over an iron fist.

Let’s not lose focus. Let’s not trade our rights for policy crumbs. And let’s never forget: once the state holds the pen that writes our children’s future, there may be no going back.