When classroom behavior turns volatile, the line between a lawful intervention and a criminal act is not semantic—it’s the difference between de-escalation and harm. In Flagler County, authorities say that line was crossed when a substitute teacher kicked a student with disabilities during a behavioral episode and then declared, “Now we’re square.”
The Short Version
- Flagler County deputies arrested a Matanzas High School substitute teacher on a child-abuse charge after witnesses reported he kicked a student with disabilities.
- Witnesses described forceful handling and a kick; one reported a large mark on the student’s leg.
- The substitute acknowledged physical contact, saying the student kicked first and his own kick was accidental; deputies attributed a retaliatory remark to him.
- The case sits within a national pattern: students served under IDEA are disproportionately subjected to physical restraint compared with their share of enrollment.
What Authorities Say Happened In The Matanzas Classroom
According to accounts summarized by local outlets from the Flagler County Sheriff’s Office, a behavioral incident unfolded at Matanzas High School that ended with a substitute teacher, identified in reports as Bryan Schewitz, being arrested on a charge of child abuse without great bodily harm. Witnesses told deputies they saw the substitute forcefully move the student into a chair; one added that he placed the student’s hands on a table and announced, “The gloves are off.” Another witness reported seeing the substitute kick the student’s leg, and later observed a large mark on that leg. After the contact, the sheriff’s office says the substitute remarked, “He kicked me and I kicked him. So now we’re square.”
The substitute, in multiple outlets’ summaries of his statements to deputies, did not deny contact occurred. He said the student kicked him first, that he stuck out his foot to block and accidentally kicked the student, and that he did not intend harm. Reports also note he initially denied making the “square” remark before qualifying his statements. He was booked on the felony child-abuse charge and released on bond. An arrest is an allegation, not a conviction, but the core event—physical contact during a behavioral episode—is not in dispute across the published accounts.
How Schools Draw The Line: Intervention, Prohibited Punishment, And Criminal Conduct
In special education practice, staff are sometimes permitted to use brief physical contact to prevent imminent harm—an emergency intervention—not to punish, retaliate, or coerce compliance. The distinction is clinical and legal: de-escalation techniques are designed to reduce arousal and risk; punishment and retaliation are categorically barred and, when they involve force, can become criminal. Language matters. A statement suggesting payback—“Now we’re square”—is not a technical detail; it speaks directly to intent, which is the fulcrum for charges like child abuse in many jurisdictions. That alleged remark, attributed to the substitute by deputies and reported across outlets, is one reason this episode moved from a disciplinary question to a criminal case.
Florida’s child-abuse statute penalizes the intentional infliction of physical or mental injury on a minor. In school settings, prosecutors look for three elements: the nature of the contact, the surrounding conduct (e.g., forceful handling), and contemporaneous statements that clarify motive. Witness accounts of a kick after forceful repositioning, coupled with an expressed “square” rationale, are the kinds of details that regularly drive charging decisions—even when an adult later frames the contact as defensive or accidental.
Why These Cases Recur: The National Picture On Disability And Physical Restraint
While the Matanzas facts are local, the scenario is painfully familiar to special-education administrators. National data show that students served under the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act (IDEA) account for a small share of public-school enrollment but a very large share of those subjected to physical restraint. In one federal civil-rights snapshot year, about 0.1% of students—roughly 61,000—were physically restrained, and approximately three in four of those restrained were students with disabilities. Subsequent federal analyses have reported a similar disproportion. These figures don’t adjudicate individual guilt; they explain why incidents like this surface repeatedly in the system.
Most crisis interventions rely on staff using their own bodies rather than mechanical devices—techniques that require training, teamwork, and situational judgment. When training is thin, teams are understaffed, or protocols are not followed, the probability that an intervention slips into prohibited force rises. That is especially true during “escalation curves,” the minutes when a student’s behavior becomes unsafe and adults must choose between space, verbal strategies, and, if necessary, trained holds. The wrong choice, or the right choice executed poorly, can produce exactly the sequence reported here: a chaotic episode, contested intent, and visible injury.
Where Responsibility Lives: Training, Supervision, And Words As Evidence
Two themes dominate post-incident reviews. First, training and supervision: districts that invest in evidence-based de-escalation curricula, routine drills, and clear role assignments during crises see fewer injuries and allegations. Administrators insist on two safeguards in particular—team-based response (so that no one adult improvises alone) and immediate after-action reviews to capture facts before memories harden. Second, documentation and language: contemporaneous statements often carry more evidentiary weight than later rationalizations. That is why allegations that an educator said “the gloves are off” and “now we’re square” loom large; they read as motive in real time.
Witness consistency also matters, but perfect harmony across recollections is rare in dynamic classrooms. Investigators prioritize overlap on core actions—forceful movement, a kick, a resulting mark—and then test competing narratives against policy: Was there an imminent safety threat justifying any physical intervention? Were approved techniques used? Did the adult’s words and actions align with de-escalation, or with retaliation? In this case, the charging decision indicates authorities concluded the conduct fell on the wrong side of those lines.
What This Means For Families And Schools
For families of students with disabilities, the risk calculus is intolerable: a child’s individualized education plan is supposed to be a shield, not a permission slip for rough handling. The disproportionate restraint statistics—IDEA students comprising a minority of enrollment but a majority of restraint subjects—underscore a systemic vulnerability. The remedy is not merely “more training” as a slogan; it is durable investment in specialist staffing, routine competency checks, and leadership that treats every restraint as a signal to improve, not just a form to file.
For educators, the lesson is equally clear. De-escalation is a practiced discipline, not an instinct. Blocking a kick with a foot can quickly become delivering a kick, and the words spoken in the moment may be read as intent by colleagues, administrators, and prosecutors. In fraught seconds, the safest choices are often the most unglamorous: increase distance, call for the crisis team, and return to verbal strategies that lower, not raise, the temperature.
Sources:
nypost.com, wftv.com, fox35orlando.com, observerlocalnews.com, gao.gov
