Young Plato opens with a tonal montage, flashing back to the effects of a horrific 2001 explosion in front of the Holy Cross School for Girls, then bringing the focus to the present once again. In both time periods, the audience sees people doing the same things. There are kids running down streets, parents and their children holding hands, and chaos for two entirely different reasons. In 2001, the people are running away from violence. In the present, they’re running toward school in excitement. Two different experiences threaded together through the shared space of Belfast.

On paper, it’s a lofty goal to teach children philosophy. They can barely spell their own names, yet Principal McArevey is asking them to comprehend Heraclitus’ philosophical theories. And yet, these kids are able to understand concepts like why Heraclitus said it’s impossible to step in the same river twice. These are young boys, around ten years old, who are having intelligent conversations about whether or not they agree with Heraclitus. It’s easy to write kids off because of their age or their limited understanding of the world, but it’s a disservice to their intelligence. They might not yet have the ability to express all of their feelings, but that doesn’t mean those feelings are less valid. It just means that adults have a duty to make the space for children to feel comfortable to work through these emotions.

At every opportunity, the teachers at Holy Cross work to give their students the vocabulary to process their stresses and anxieties. This approach is clearly working, because an overwhelming number of the boys believe it’s okay to cry openly. It’s revelatory. A direct rejection of the multi-generational belief that, in order to be strong, men’s emotions must be bottled up. These kids are growing up in the shadows of The Troubles of Northern Ireland. Their distant family members (mothers, fathers, grandparents) experienced the violence firsthand, and there’s something hopeful in the way these students embrace Principal McArevey’s philosophy classes. There is visible pride in the faces of the children when they’re praised for their understanding.There’s Alfie’s bright smile when he calls his little sister his pride and joy and his tears when he talks about how diabetes changed him. Conor and Dylan, the feuding cousins who don’t quite understand how to be friends. And the man at the center of it all, Principal McArevey, whose heartfelt lessons can often be interrupted by his Elvis ringtones.

Even as headway is made at school, there’s the ever-looming outside world that also (of course) has an effect on the young boys. For all they’re taught about respecting emotions, not using violence, and making amends, that only goes so far if those same pillars of kindness aren’t upheld at home. It’s a testament to the grueling work of being a teacher. Despite the walls they are up against, they must keep trying to create a safe place for kids to grow up.

Young Plato isn’t flashy. There are no fanciful edits or infographics to get the point across. In many ways, the documentary mirrors its main subject. “It’s caring philosophy. Everyone’s opinion matters,” Principal McArevey tries to drive home. He wants to give these kids a sense of pride in themselves and a roadmap for the future.

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