by Javad Javed
A student’s Kashmiri complaint about the Headmaster prompts reflection on questioning authority, critical thinking, language, democratic values and the true purpose of education
A complaint in a school complaint box would ordinarily make a Head of Institution curious, concerned or even apprehensive. Complaints are generally associated with problems, grievances, dissatisfaction or something that has gone wrong. But one complaint I received recently made me smile. In fact, it made me reflect on what education should really mean.
The complaint was addressed directly to the Head of Institution. A student had pointed out that the headmaster attends the morning assembly but remains under the shade while asking the teachers to attend the assembly. The student felt that this was not right. Yet, instead of expressing the concern openly, the child chose to put it in the complaint box.
There was nothing offensive in the complaint. It was a simple observation by a student who had noticed something and felt that it needed to be questioned.
What made the incident particularly meaningful was that the complaint was written in Kashmiri.
I was pleased for two reasons. First, the student had chosen to write in the mother tongue, a language that, sadly, many of our students and even some teachers struggle to write in. At a time when children are increasingly comfortable communicating through digital platforms but often hesitate to write in their own language, seeing a student use Kashmiri to express a thought was itself encouraging.
But the second reason was much more important.
For nearly eight months, I had been trying to encourage my students to ask questions. I had repeatedly told them that questioning was not a sign of weakness or disrespect. Rather, a good question was often the beginning of meaningful learning. That small piece of paper seemed to tell me that the message was beginning to reach them.
The student had questioned the Head of Institution himself.
There was no disrespect, no personal attack and no attempt to undermine authority. There was simply an observation, a concern and the courage to express it in a dignified manner.
For me, this was not an act of indiscipline. It was an act of learning.
Schools often devote considerable attention to teaching children how to answer questions. We prepare them for examinations, teach them expected answers and sometimes measure their learning largely through their ability to reproduce what has been taught. But perhaps we need to give equal, if not greater, importance to teaching children how to ask questions.
A child who asks a question is observing, thinking and engaging with the world around them.
A child who questions something has not merely memorised it. The child has noticed something, reflected upon it and developed the confidence to seek an explanation.
Unfortunately, many children hesitate to question their teachers. Some fear that their question may be considered foolish. Others fear being laughed at by their classmates. Some worry that questioning a teacher may be interpreted as disrespect. Gradually, children learn to remain silent even when they are confused.
This culture needs to change.
A question should not automatically be treated as an act of defiance. It should be welcomed as an opportunity to learn. The teacher should be confident enough to say, “I don’t know; let us find out.” The Head of Institution should be willing to listen when students point out something that may have gone unnoticed.
Authority becomes stronger, not weaker, when it allows itself to be questioned respectfully.
One of the distinguished guests who visited our school this year, Prof. (Dr.) Syeda Afshana, conveyed precisely this message during her interaction with our students. She encouraged them to ask questions and told them that even if a question was wrong, the answer would help correct their understanding.
Her message was simple but powerful: do not be afraid of asking.
Those words seem to have travelled beyond the classroom and into our complaint box.
The complaint also made me reflect on my own role as a Head of Institution. A headmaster, like every other human being, can make mistakes. At times, an action may appear different to a student from what it appears to an adult. At other times, a student may genuinely notice something that an administrator has overlooked.
Leadership should not mean being beyond questioning.
If we expect our students to develop critical thinking, we must also be willing to listen when they question us. We cannot tell children that their voices matter and then become uncomfortable when they actually use those voices.
The complaint about the morning assembly may appear insignificant to an outsider. It was, after all, only a few lines written on a piece of paper. But for me, it represented something much larger.
It represented confidence.
It represented observation.
It represented the willingness to question authority without being disrespectful.
And, perhaps most importantly, it represented the possibility of creating a classroom and school culture where children feel that their voices are heard.
I may agree with the student’s observation, or I may explain why the situation appeared different from the child’s perception. Perhaps there were circumstances the student was unaware of. But whether the observation was completely correct is not the most important issue.
The courage to raise the question is.
We often tell children that teachers are always right. Perhaps we should instead tell them that teachers are human beings who are expected to listen, learn and sometimes correct themselves.
The same applies to school heads.
A Head of Institution is responsible for leading the school, but leadership does not confer perfection. If anything, leadership demands greater openness to criticism. A school cannot teach democratic values to children while creating an environment in which authority is never questioned.
Constructive criticism can improve an individual, an institution and even a system.
I have always believed that complaints, when made with sincerity and received with an open mind, can become instruments of improvement. A complaint tells us that someone has noticed something. It allows us to examine our practices.
Instead of asking, “Who complained?” we should sometimes ask, “Why did the person feel the need to complain?”
And instead of punishing the person who raises a concern, we should ask whether the concern deserves our attention.
For nearly eight months at PM SHRI Government Secondary School Laharwalpora, I have been trying to tell my students that their voices matter. I have encouraged them to speak, question, disagree respectfully and express their ideas without fear.
That day, a small piece of paper written in Kashmiri told me that the message was slowly reaching them.
Perhaps the real measure of a good school is not merely how many correct answers its students can reproduce, but how confidently they can ask questions; not merely how obedient they are, but how thoughtfully they observe; and not merely how well they follow instructions, but whether they have developed the courage to ask when something does not make sense.
Education should produce thinking minds, not merely answering machines.
The complaint box, therefore, is not just a place for grievances. It can become a small democratic space within a school, a place where even the quietest child can speak without fear.
That little complaint did not disappoint me.
It encouraged me.
And I hope that the student who wrote it will continue to question, not only the headmaster, not only the teacher, but the world around them, even himself/herself. Because every meaningful change begins with someone asking a simple question:
“Why?”
(The author, a Best Teacher Awardee and Head of Institution, PM SHRI Government Secondary School, Laharwalpora, Bandipora. Ideas are personal.)
