A school is supposed to be a child’s first introduction to the world beyond home -- a place where curiosity is nurtured, mistakes are forgiven, and trust is built.
That is why the recent incident at a so-called English-medium school, where a very young child was physically hit by teachers should shake us to our core.
This was an act that no one knew about at the time, and which only came to light after CCTV footage was discovered and circulated in the media.
This was the child’s first school. Instead of learning letters, colours, and friendship, the child learned fear. Instead of security, the child now carries trauma.
This is not merely an isolated case of “misconduct” or “poor judgment.” It is a systemic failure -- of ethics, of pedagogy, and of basic humanity.
Reports indicate that the child was taken away from the classroom into an office space -- a closed room of authority -- where the teacher, along with another adult man, physically tortured the child.
No other teachers or students witnessed the act directly; it occurred entirely behind closed doors. The presence of a second adult not only escalates the gravity of the act but also exposes a chilling abuse of power exercised behind closed doors.
When educators raise their hands against a child, and when institutions respond with silence or justification, we must ask: What kind of learning culture are we building?
Early childhood education is not just about academics; it is about emotional safety. Neuroscience and developmental psychology are unequivocal on this point: A child’s early experiences shape their sense of self, trust in adults, and relationship with learning.
For a child entering school for the first time, teachers replace parents for a significant part of the day. When that trust is violated through physical punishment -- especially by multiple adults -- the psychological impact is deep and enduring. Fear becomes associated with learning. Authority becomes associated with pain.
What makes this incident even more disturbing is not only the act itself, but the deliberate removal of the child from a public space into a private office -- an act that suggests premeditation rather than impulse.
The truth emerged not because adults spoke up, but because CCTV footage later revealed what no one claimed to have seen. Violence does not always begin with the strike; it often begins with bystanders who look away.
When teachers witness abuse and say nothing, they become complicit. Silence normalizes cruelty. Silence tells children that their pain does not matter. Silence teaches them that power is unaccountable.
In Bangladesh, corporal punishment in schools is legally prohibited. Yet, it persists under the guise of “discipline,” “control,” or “tradition.” Too often, very young children -- who cannot articulate their suffering or defend themselves -- become easy targets.
In English-medium and private schools, there is an added irony: Institutions that market themselves as modern, global, and child-centred often reproduce the same authoritarian practices they claim to have left behind.
Let us be clear: Hitting a child is not discipline. It is violence. Discipline is about guidance, patience, and consistency. Violence is about power, frustration, and control. When teachers resort to physical punishment, it signals a failure of training and an absence of accountability mechanisms within the institution.
The aftermath of such incidents is equally telling. Too often, schools prioritize their reputation over the child’s well-being. Parents are pressured to “settle the matter,” incidents are downplayed, and internal inquiries -- if any -- remain opaque.
Meanwhile, the child goes home changed: Withdrawn, fearful, refusing to return to school, waking up crying at night. Trauma does not end when bruises fade; it lingers in the mind.
This incident should force us to confront uncomfortable questions. Who is allowed to teach our children? What kind of psychological training do early childhood educators receive? Are schools evaluated only on academic results and infrastructure, or also on ethical conduct and child protection policies?
Teacher training in Bangladesh, particularly at the pre-primary and primary levels, often neglects child psychology, trauma-informed pedagogy, and non-violent classroom management. Many teachers enter classrooms without adequate preparation to handle children’s emotional needs. When overwhelmed, they fall back on what they know -- or what they themselves experienced as students. The cycle of violence thus reproduces itself.
Breaking this cycle requires more than outrage. It requires structural change. Schools must adopt and enforce zero-tolerance policies on physical and psychological abuse. Mandatory reporting mechanisms should be in place so that teachers, parents, and even staff can safely report misconduct without fear of retaliation. CCTV cameras, while not a complete solution, can serve as deterrents when combined with transparent oversight.
Equally important is parental vigilance. Parents must feel empowered to ask questions, demand clarity, and withdraw their children from environments that feel unsafe -- without being gaslighted or intimidated. A school’s prestige, fees, or English curriculum can never justify harm to a child.
At a broader level, society must stop romanticizing “strictness.” Obedience achieved through fear is not education; it is conditioning. If we want future citizens who can think critically, act ethically, and treat others with dignity, we must begin by modelling those values in our classrooms.
For the child at the centre of this incident, the priority must be healing. That child deserves care, reassurance, and time to rebuild trust in adults. Justice, too, matters -- not out of vengeance, but to send a clear message: Children are not powerless, and schools are not above accountability.
A child’s first school experience should be remembered for crayons, songs, and laughter -- not for pain and terror. When we fail our youngest learners, we fail our future. Silence is no longer an option. It is time to speak, to act, and to ensure that schools remain places of safety -- not fear.
Nasrin Pervin is a Faculty member at North South University.
