I have been teaching in secondary schools across London for nearly 20 years. My Muslim faith has not previously been at the forefront of my day-to-day teaching.

And, yet over the past few years, I have watched in horror as my religion has been misrepresented in schools. The Prevent duty has been a fundamental part of that process.

While the original intentions behind Prevent were noble, I truly believe that the flawed implementation of the Prevent strategy means that it is now doing far more harm than good in our schools. Worse, it is creating the very conditions it aims to prevent.

We need to do something. Fast.

Back when we did not have a duty under Prevent, I knew a student who gave me and others reason for concern. He had become involved with a group at a mosque we had some reservations about and we alerted his parents. He was made aware that the group did not practise Islam, that they were using it as a tool to manipulate young impressionable minds. He moved away from them, with the help of his parents, his school and his community. A dialogue took place.

In my experience, since Prevent, those dialogues no longer happen.

Like most teachers, my first experience of Prevent came in the form of the standard after-school training session. I sat, a few months before the duty became legal, with my cup of tea and an open mind, ready to be “Prevented”.

The training was cringeworthy and crass at best. As it went on, it became painfully obvious that the behaviour that for most young Muslims is part of dealing with their faith as they move into adulthood, was being placed under the umbrella of “radicalisation”.

Internal struggles

In this particular school, the student population was at least 70 per cent Muslim. The staff were already highly experienced in dealing with changes in behaviour and in religious practices that students would demonstrate - often these are simply part of that strange time we call being a teenager and growing up.

For example, I had an instance where there was a young girl who was experimenting with wearing the hijab (headscarf). On some days, she would come in wearing it; on others, she would not. I felt that I could have a discussion with her about it, and I did. She, like many young Muslim girls in Britain, was finding her way; she wanted to be able to practise her faith and, simultaneously, to be considered attractive among her peers. It was an internal struggle. It was not a sign of radicalisation.

Except, the Prevent trainer seemed to suggest that actions such as hers would, under the incoming Prevent strategy, be something we should flag.

One experienced member of staff raised this issue, stating that many students going into key stage 4 tended to become more focused on practising in their faith. As they are finding their own way, they are experimenting with their religion and they could therefore become closer to the teachings of Islam.

So, she asked, instead of talking about this process with them, are we now going to penalise them by raising the radicalisation question instead? Worryingly, the trainer did not have a response.

A year later, in another school, in another part of London, I experienced Prevent training again. I was now teaching in a Catholic school in London with students from generally white Catholic backgrounds of a middle-class nature. I went in expecting a different approach, a different set of case studies, a different narrative.

But the training replicated my previous experience and referred to all the Muslim cases studied that had been involved in recent radicalisation stories. Worse still, the training didn’t mention the possibility of far-right extremism.

Muslim students still seemed to be the target of the duty. Even in schools such as mine without any Muslim students.

Prevent is now doing far more harm than good in our schools

As a female Muslim teacher wearing a headscarf, I felt nothing but frustration. Worse, I felt I was unable to say anything, or to raise concerns about the stereotypes that were being presented. I didn’t want to be the teacher that held sympathies with any of the groups that were being depicted in these case studies. So I said nothing.

My fear is that in schools where the staff body might not be as well versed in working with Muslim communities, or in the current climate where many schools have less experienced staff, there is a danger that they could see the model of the Muslim faith that I believe Prevent promotes as real, when it clearly misunderstands the nature of Islam and the nature of teenage development.

In these schools, as a result of a lack of knowledge and proper training, children will be unfairly targeted because of Prevent.

And it is also likely that far more children who do need help will be missed, no matter how good a school may be in terms of connecting with the Muslim community.

Why? Because the Prevent duty on schools impacts not just education but the communities in which we live, and the political and social environment in which we exist.

The current climate is incredibly difficult for Muslims. Every day brings another headline scapegoating Islam or Muslims in the UK or elsewhere in the world. As a young Muslim, how can a child feel a part of this society when they are being misrepresented in this way so frequently, to the point that it is acceptable and has become normalised?

Young people cannot discuss their fears. Muslim families tell me they are petrified. Parents say that they do not speak openly with their children. They are scared to say anything because they’ve heard about the high-profile incidents such as the child who spoke of a “cooker bomb” (they were actually trying to say “cucumber”) being reported under Prevent. They have advised their children not to partake in discussions in school. They worry that their homes could be raided, that their children will be removed from their home. Their defences are up. Their view is that the people behind Prevent are coming after their children.

Environment of fear

In this environment of fear, it should be teachers who provide the way out. Teachers are often the go-between, the alternative source of advice, or just simply a person to have a discussion or debate with outside of the family home.

But that won’t happen anymore, because Prevent has changed this relationship entirely. It has asked teachers to break that sacred bond between students and teachers by turning them into whistleblowers.

Clearly, the current approach is alienating our Muslim students and alienating their families, too. And, somewhat perversely, terrorist recruiters can use that alienation.

Yes there is an issue that needs to be dealt with. Discussions and debates need to take place in the open, concerns need to be aired and addressed.

But Prevent has led to the opposite happening. It has created a culture of distrust and surveillance - of Big Brother and worse.

Where do we go from here? Back to the drawing board. We need to be able to do a needs analysis before any such programme is created and implemented, then regularly review and evaluate the entire process to decide its viability and success.

We should be working in conjunction with the relevant communities to combat extremism in its many forms. This strategy should be implemented with those disengaged and disenfranchised segments of society. It should not be something that is done to them.

Evidence-based research should be conducted to support any statutory programme delivered to and affecting our young people.

Call me foolish or romantic, but I still believe that every child matters. I understand that teachers are in loco parentis while students are on site and, of course, that safeguarding is fundamental to well-being. However, we are also trying to do that life-changing thing: teach. We are trying to deliver an education and to give our young people the best possible start in life. I believe Prevent prevents us doing that.

Anjum Peerbacos is an English teacher in London