When learning is reduced to a market commodity, society pays the price

YAWAR NABI Education in Kashmir has long been spoken of as the ladder to dignity, empowerment and social mobility. For generations, families across the Valley have invested in schooling with the hope that their children would rise above hardship, think independently and contribute meaningfully to society. But somewhere along the way, this noble purpose has been steadily overtaken by a more troubling trend: the commercialization of education. What should have remained a public good has increasingly become a profit-driven enterprise, where fees rise faster than standards, and branding often matters more than learning. This shift is not unique to Kashmir, but its consequences here are especially serious. In a region already burdened by economic fragility, and unemployment the growing commercialization of education creates new barriers instead of removing old ones. It widens inequality, weakens merit, pressures families and turns education into a race for certificates rather than understanding. The result is an environment where access to quality learning depends less on talent and curiosity, and more on the ability to pay. Across the Valley, one can observe the steady growth of private schools, coaching centres and tuition-driven learning ecosystems that market themselves as the only route to success. In the absence of consistently strong public education, parents are often pushed into a costly compromise. They pay for school fees, transport, books, uniforms, annual charges, activity fees and then additional tuition on top of that. For many middle-class and lower-income households, this becomes a severe financial burden. Education, instead of being an equalizer, starts functioning as a pressure system that reproduces privilege. The deeper problem is not private participation in education by itself. Private initiative can play a useful role if regulated properly and aligned with public purpose. The problem begins when education is treated primarily as a business opportunity. In such a model, institutions are incentivized to expand marketing, charge more, and promise results rather than strengthen pedagogy. Parents are sold aspirations; students are sold rankings; teachers are often reduced to deliverables. The classroom becomes a marketplace, and learning becomes secondary to performance metrics. In Kashmir, this commercialization has also reshaped the culture of education. The pressure to excel in exams has intensified, while critical thinking, reading habits, creativity and emotional development receive far less attention. Many students are pushed into an endless cycle of tuition, test preparation and academic competition from an early age. This narrows the meaning of education. Instead of forming well-rounded individuals, the system often produces anxious students who know how to answer questions but not how to ask them. The consequences are visible in the widening gap between elite and ordinary learners. Children from affluent families can access better schools, more coaching, digital resources and personalized support. Those from poorer households, meanwhile, remain dependent on underfunded public institutions or low-cost private schools that may struggle with infrastructure and teaching quality. Over time, this creates an education hierarchy that mirrors social inequality. Those who already have advantages gain more, while those with fewer resources are told to work harder in a system tilted against them. Another troubling aspect is the commercialization of hope. In a society where education is seen as the main route to stability, institutions often exploit parental anxiety. Promises of “guaranteed results,” “top ranks,” and “career success” are used as sales tools. But real education cannot be guaranteed like a product. It requires patience, consistency, trained teachers and a supportive environment. When education is sold like a commodity, disappointment is inevitable, because the deeper responsibilities of teaching cannot be replaced by glossy advertisements and aggressive admissions campaigns. The coaching culture deserves special scrutiny. While supplementary learning has its place, the mushrooming of coaching centres across the Valley reflects a larger failure of the regular schooling system. If students need heavy dependence on tuition merely to keep pace with their syllabus, then the core system is clearly not functioning as it should. Coaching has become not an exception but an industry. And like any industry driven by competition, it thrives on fear, urgency and the belief that without extra payment, success is impossible. This is not healthy educational development; it is a market built on insecurity. At the heart of the issue lies the weakening of public education. No discussion on commercialization can be complete without acknowledging the responsibility of the state. When government schools lack adequate teachers, infrastructure, discipline and accountability, families naturally look elsewhere. That vacuum is then filled by private players. In that sense, commercialization is not merely the result of greed; it is also the result of neglect. If public education were strong, affordable and trustworthy, the market would not have such an easy opening. A serious response, therefore, must begin with revival and reform. Public schools must be improved in both quality and credibility. Teacher training should be prioritized, infrastructure upgraded, and classroom learning made more meaningful. The education department must move beyond paperwork and inspection rituals to real accountability. Private schools, meanwhile, must be regulated transparently so that fee structures, admission practices and academic standards are not left entirely to commercial discretion. Education cannot be left to the free market alone, because the market does not naturally protect equity. Parents too have a role, though theirs is often a difficult one. Many are under immense social pressure to choose the “best” school, even when the definition of best is shaped more by branding than substance. A society obsessed with labels eventually forgets values. We need to ask not only which institution sends students to top ranks, but which one teaches them to think, to question, to empathize and to grow with confidence. That is the larger purpose of education, and it should not be sacrificed at the altar of competition. The Valley needs an education system that serves society, not one that merely sells success. It needs institutions that nurture knowledge, not just performance. It needs classrooms that encourage understanding, not anxiety. And it needs a policy environment that treats education as an investment in the collective future, not as a lucrative business segment. If Kashmir is to move toward a more just and stable future, education must be rescued from excessive commercialisation. The classroom should not be a marketplace. It should be a place of discovery, discipline and hope. That is where the real battle lies. And that is where the future of the Valley will be decided. (The author is an educationist and a freelance writer)

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