“Sir, Can I disagree with this interpretation?”
A few weeks ago, in one of my classes, a student raised his hand after a discussion on a poem and asked, almost apologetically.
As I look back, I realise how deeply entrenched conformism has been in our society. Right from primary or pre-primary schooling days, a child is, almost unapologetically, taught and trained to be respectful, obedient and careful about selection of words and expressions. In real world, all attributive qualities of a good student actually lead to what we call: Conformism. Listen, understand, critique and then find ways to adjust. Isn’t this quite unbecoming of an education system which promotes, at least on paper, critical thinking?
In India, students are often taught to be respectful, obedient and careful. These are not bad values. No teacher wants a classroom full of noise, arrogance or casual disrespect. But somewhere along the way, we have confused respect with silence. We have trained students to think that disagreement is rude, that questioning is rebellion, and that a “good student” is one who listens, writes down, memorises and reproduces.
A classroom that does not allow disagreement may produce disciplined students, but it does not necessarily produce thinking citizens.
Dissent, by no means, is the enemy of education. It is one of its deepest foundations. Every meaningful act of learning begins with some form of disagreement: disagreement with what one previously believed, disagreement with a textbook explanation, disagreement with a popular assumption, or even disagreement with the teacher. When a student says, “I don’t see it that way,” the class does not collapse. In fact, that may be the moment when education truly begins.
Indian classrooms, especially at the school and undergraduate levels, still carry a strong culture of authority. The teacher speaks; the students receive. The textbook states; the students underline. The examination asks; the students reproduce. This system rewards correctness more than curiosity. It values the final answer more than the process of arriving at it. As a result, many students learn very early that safety lies in agreement.
Disagreement, contrary, teaches students that knowledge is not a fixed object handed down from above. It is something examined, tested, revised and sometimes challenged and contested. In a literature classroom, two students may read the same poem differently. One may see a poem as romantic; another may see it as political. One may interpret a character as heroic; another may see that character as deeply flawed. These differences are not distractions. They are the life of the subject.
The same is true in terms of literature. A science classroom needs students who can question assumptions. A history classroom needs students who can examine sources. A management classroom needs students who can challenge case studies. An engineering classroom needs students who can ask why design must work in one way and not another. Innovation does not come from passive agreement. It comes from the courage to ask, “Is there another way?”
Dissent in classrooms is, therefore, not merely a political value. It is an intellectual skill. But dissenting must be taught. It cannot be reduced to shouting, mocking or winning an argument. Many people make disagreement for aggression. That is precisely why classrooms must become safe spaces to practise it. Students need to learn how to disagree with evidence, with patience and with humility. They must learn to say, “I see your point, but I read it differently.” They must learn that a strong argument is not the same as a loud voice.
In a healthy classroom environment, disagreement is not personal. It is directed at ideas. A student should be able to challenge an interpretation without insulting the person who offered it. A teacher should be able to accept a student’s objection without feeling that authority has been attacked. This requires maturity from both sides.
Teachers play a pivotal responsibility here. The tone of dissent in a classroom is often set by the teacher’s first response to disagreement. If a student challenges a point and the teacher becomes visibly irritated, the class learns a lesson: do not question. But if the teacher says, “That is interesting—what makes you think so?” the classroom changes. Students understand that thinking is welcome.
This does not mean every student opinion is equally valid. Classrooms cannot become spaces where any statement, however careless, is celebrated in the name of free expression. Disagreement must still be accountable to reason, evidence and ethical responsibility. If a student makes a claim, the teacher can ask: What is your basis? Can you support it from the text? Is there another way to look at it? What are the consequences of that argument? In other words, the answer to weak thinking is not silence. It is better questioning.
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One reason disagreement is often discouraged in Indian classrooms is the pressure of syllabus and exams. Teachers are expected to “complete portions.” Students are expected to “score marks.” Under such pressure, discussion appears inefficient. Why spend twenty minutes debating a line from a poem when the exam requires a short note? Why allow multiple perspectives when the answer key rewards one? But this is exactly where the problem lies. If education becomes only preparation for examination, the classroom becomes a coaching mechanism. It may produce marks, but it weakens independent judgment. We then complain that students lack originality, communication skills, confidence and critical thinking. But these qualities cannot be produced in classrooms where students are never allowed to disagree.
There is also a cultural dimension. Many Indian students come from families and institutions where questioning elders is seen as disrespectful. They carry this hesitation into classrooms. For first-generation learners, students from rural backgrounds, or students with limited English fluency, the fear is even greater. They may have ideas but lack the confidence to express them. In such cases, encouraging dissent is also an act of inclusion.
A student who disagrees in imperfect English is still thinking. A student who questions in a regional language is still engaging. A student who hesitates before speaking may still have the most powerful insight in the room. If classrooms recognise only polished agreement, they exclude many forms of intelligence.
Encouraging disagreement also prepares students for democracy. A democratic society cannot survive if citizens are trained only to obey, repeat and remain silent. At a time when public debate is often noisy, polarised and impatient, classrooms can teach a better model of disagreement. They can show students that one can oppose an idea without humiliating a person. They can teach that doubt is not weakness, and changing one’s mind is not defeat. They can help young people understand that disagreement is not a threat to community; it is often the only way a community remains honest.
To make this possible, we need small but meaningful changes. Teachers can begin by asking open-ended questions instead of only factual ones. They can invite alternative readings. They can occasionally say, “Convince me.” They can reward well-argued disagreements in assignments. They can create discussion norms: listen first, respond with evidence, avoid personal attacks, and be willing to revise your view. Most importantly, teachers can admit that they too may not have the final word. This does not reduce their authority. It makes their authority more humane.
The student who asked me whether he could disagree had already understood something important. He knew that disagreement required courage. What he needed was not permission alone, but a classroom culture that treated his question as normal.
We must build more such classrooms: when students learn to disagree well, they do not become less respectful. They become more responsible. They learn that knowledge is not obedience. They learn that citizenship is not silence. And they learn that education, at its best, is not the art of repeating what is known, but the courage to examine what is taken for granted.
Contributed By – Amlan Baisya
Assistant Professor , Department of Literature and Languages, Easwari School of Liberal Arts, SRM University AP
