A Season of Discrimination: The Price of Education today is Dignity or Money?

What should have been a season of fresh beginnings has turned into something darker — a season of discrimination. I see it unfolding in classrooms, in the corridors, and even in the very tone of voices that should be nurturing and inspiring. It is not about marks or discipline, but about money — and the absence of it.

The first quarter since the reopening of schools and colleges has barely passed, and already, so many students are struggling to keep up with the financial demands. Fees remain unpaid. Uniforms are missing or worn-out. Textbooks are incomplete. For many families, these are not matters of neglect but of survival — the parents are working hard, but life’s hardships are pressing harder. Yet instead of kindness, these children often receive humiliation. They are called out in front of their classmates, told to sit aside, or made to feel that they do not belong.

I have watched the faces of these children. There is a quick attempt to smile, to act unaffected, but the hurt is unmistakable. Being shamed for something beyond their control carves deep wounds — the kind that stay long after the day’s lesson has ended. In their hearts, they start to believe a terrible lie: that their worth is measured by what they can afford, not by who they are.

This is not just about school fees. It is about the quiet erosion of compassion in our society. There was a time when communities came together to ensure every child had what they needed for school. If a neighbour’s child lacked a book or a pair of shoes, someone would step in without a second thought. Today, we are far too often wrapped up in our own struggles and ambitions, blind to the struggles of those right next to us.

Educational institutions have always been more than places to learn arithmetic or grammar. They are meant to shape character, to nurture values, to inspire dreams. But when money becomes the first priority, that noble purpose is lost. Teachers and school leaders have a choice in how they handle these moments. A quiet, private conversation with a parent can preserve a child’s dignity. A small act of understanding can replace shame with hope. Even a smile, instead of a scolding, can make a world of difference.

I believe we can do better. Imagine a school where no child fears walking through the gate because they haven’t paid their fee yet. Imagine classrooms where students are valued for their curiosity and kindness, not for the crispness of their uniforms. Imagine communities that quietly rally to support those in need, not out of charity, but out of a shared belief that every child deserves a fair start.

This season of discrimination does not have to remain. With a little empathy, a little humanity, we can turn it into a season of understanding. That choice lies not only with institutions, but with all of us.