There was a time when schools were the beacons of light, the temples of learning, and the nurseries of character. Today, those same institutions have turned into profit centers — where education is not a mission, but a market. The very places that once built nations now calculate profits, issue fee slips, and burden parents with endless “policies” and “charges.”
Take, for instance, The Educators (National Campus G-8/1, Islamabad) — a project of Beaconhouse. Every year, parents are forced to bear new financial burdens under fresh names: an annual fee of Rs. 7,500, a monthly tuition fee of Rs. 6,200, exam fee of Rs. 1,500 (which used to be Rs. 1,000), stationery charges of Rs. 3,000, and additional payments for events like Iqbal Day, Teachers’ Day, Colour Day, and Sports Gala. The list never ends.
But the real question is: why an “annual fee” every year? When parents already pay admission charges, tuition fees, book and stationery costs — what exactly is this annual fee for? Does the school rebuild its campus every year? Do they buy new furniture, train their teachers, or invest in children’s development? Or is it just another name for legalized extortion?
I speak not as a critic, but as a father. My son is in Grade One, and my daughter has just passed Grade Five. I know what it feels like when the fee slip lands on the table — a silent thunderclap in a middle-class home. For salaried parents, these fee slips are not paper; they’re pressure. Every month, we sacrifice necessities — electricity bills, groceries, even medical needs — just to keep our children in school.
And yet, when we try to raise our voice, we are silenced.
The most painful part? The Principal. In all these years, I don’t even know her full name — I don’t have her number, and no parent is allowed to speak to her. She doesn’t meet anyone, doesn’t answer any query, doesn’t even appear in meetings. A few underpaid staff members, visibly embarrassed yet helpless, are made to face frustrated parents and repeat the same robotic line: “Sir, this is the policy.”
What kind of institution hides its head from the very parents who pay for its existence?
A school should be a place of openness, empathy, and dialogue — not a fortress where the Principal reigns like a silent monarch.
This is not just one school’s story; this is the collective agony of millions of parents across Pakistan. The Private School Registration Authority and the Ministry of Education remain silent spectators. The cries of parents get buried under files, while schools continue to mint money without fear of audit or regulation.
It’s time for the government and education authorities to wake up. There must be a public record of every private school’s fee structure — including annual, exam, and event charges. A mandatory audit system must be implemented, and every parent should have direct access to the Principal. Parents have the right to know where their hard-earned money is going.
Education is supposed to enlighten minds, not exploit wallets. When schooling becomes a business, society begins to decay from within. Parents are not ATMs, and children are not commodities.
This is not merely a complaint — it is a cry from the heart of every struggling family. If the Ministry of Education and relevant authorities still remain silent, remember: a cry ignored today will turn into a movement tomorrow.
Education must return to its essence — a sacred mission, not a commercial venture. Because the day learning becomes a luxury, the nation’s future becomes a tragedy.
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