In the quiet hallways of Flemish schools, a quiet revolution is brewing—not over curriculum or funding, but over the simple act of saying yes to a school trip. Teachers across Belgium are increasingly refusing to sign onto “reiscontracten,” the formal agreements that bind educators to supervising multi-day excursions, citing fears of liability, burnout, and a growing sense that the risks now outweigh the rewards. What was once a rite of passage for both students and staff—the overnight museum visit, the language immersion weekend, the alpine ski trip—is now becoming a liability-laden negotiation, where educators weigh not just pedagogical value, but personal exposure.
This shift reflects a deeper unease in Europe’s education systems, where decades of austerity, rising mental health concerns among youth, and a litigious culture have converged to make even routine school outings feel like legal minefields. The original Nieuwsblad report highlighted the symptom: teachers saying no. But it didn’t ask why the contract itself has become a flashpoint—or what happens when the very experiences meant to broaden horizons are sidelined by fear.
To understand this trend, we must look beyond the classroom door. In 2023, the Flemish Ministry of Education recorded a 40% increase in formal complaints related to school trip incidents compared to 2019, ranging from minor injuries to allegations of inadequate supervision. While serious harm remains rare, the perception of risk has intensified, fueled by high-profile cases in neighboring countries. In 2022, a German teacher was held financially liable after a student suffered a concussion during a sledding excursion, despite following all safety protocols. The ruling, though later appealed, sent ripples through educator unions across the EU, prompting many to reevaluate their own exposure.
“We’re not seeing more accidents,” says Dr. Elke Van den Broeck, professor of educational policy at KU Leuven. “We’re seeing more fear—and that fear is being shaped by legal precedents, media amplification, and a genuine lack of institutional support. When teachers feel they’re one misstep away from personal financial ruin, no amount of pedagogical conviction will make them sign that form.”
The financial dimension is often overlooked. Unlike in France or the Netherlands, where national education authorities provide blanket liability coverage for school staff on official trips, Belgian educators often rely on supplemental private insurance—or worse, assume the risk themselves. A 2024 survey by the Association of Flemish Educators (AVSO) found that only 28% of teachers felt adequately informed about their legal protections during excursions, while 65% said they would decline to lead a trip without guaranteed indemnity from their school board.
This isn’t merely about paperwork. It’s about the erosion of trust in the implicit contract between educators and the system they serve. School trips have long been more than educational extras—they’re where shy students find their voice, where abstract lessons become tangible, and where teachers build the kind of rapport that can’t be replicated in a classroom. When those opportunities vanish, it’s not just the students who lose; it’s the soul of the school.
Yet there are signs of adaptation. In Wallonia, the pilot program “Voyages Sécurisés” has begun offering standardized risk-assessment templates and centralized incident reporting, reducing administrative burden by an estimated 30%. Meanwhile, some Finnish schools have reimagined excursions as “micro-adventures”—shorter, local, and low-risk—proving that meaningful engagement doesn’t require crossing borders or signing waivers.
The solution, then, may not lie in convincing teachers to overcome their fears, but in redesigning the framework that asks them to. If we aim for educators to continue guiding students beyond the schoolyard, we must first ensure they don’t have to choose between their profession and their peace of mind.
So what does it say about a system when those entrusted with shaping the next generation hesitate to lead them into the world? And more urgently—what are we willing to change to make sure they don’t have to?
