My Gen Z Teachers’ Day: When Students Teach Teachers

BY: DR. FIAZ MAQBOOL FAZILI

Teachers’ Day arrives each year with predictable ritual—greetings, classroom photographs, earnest tributes. Then the posts fade, and life returns to “Chalta Hai.” This September 5 was different.

While preparing my weekend column, I visited my clinic in Mubarak Hyderpora. A friend invited me to a Teachers’ Day gathering where students portrayed their teachers’ classroom styles—communication, discipline, punctuality, tolerance. The hall laughed. They called it “just for fun.”

Yet young people often tell the truth best through laughter.

The Classroom from the Other Side

The first skit portrayed the principal. A student enters late. “What is the time? Why are you late? Aren’t you serious? Below 80 per cent attendance and you cannot sit for the examination!”

The students had captured not only the words, but the tone and expression. They mimicked a lesson that began with tissue, wandered through several turns and ended at the digestive system—only to restart with revision the next day.

The students’ dilemma? “Sir, should we study tissue or the digestive system?” Laughter.

Another skit portrayed a strict disciplinarian teacher stressing hard work—and his own achievements. Then came another teacher: “Stop using your mobile! Where is your homework? Why haven’t you done it?”

“Madam, the Wi-Fi wasn’t working.”

“No excuse.”

Then came the teacher who is also a coordinator, juggling academics, discipline and fees: “Who has not paid the fees?”

“Madam, the online payment isn’t working.”

“What will I do with the accounts?”

She spots a student sitting improperly. “Sit properly!” Then another student on the cell phone. Chuck chuck of key strikes. “You! What are you doing?”

“Madam, I’m checking whether the online system works—you just said it didn’t!”

The hall erupted, again.

But I had stopped merely laughing. I was watching the students. They had been watching us.

They knew our habits, expressions, communication style, body language and contradictions—learning even when we thought they were not listening.

Perhaps that is one of the most important lessons for a teacher: Students learn not only what teachers teach, but how teachers behave.

When a Student Questions Authority

A brief exchange revealed more about the changing classroom than many speeches. A student stood up and asked: “Madam, my fees were one week late, but our ID cards took six months.”

I imagined the classrooms of our youth, where such a challenge might have ended with: “Don’t talk.” “Sit down.” “Who asked you to get up?” “Shut up and listen.” End of discussion—even harsher: “Exam aa raha hai—don’t talk much, agley exam main tum fail bhi ho saktey ho; I remember your face.” Not exaggeration. We in our times have faced such unruly behaviours too from our teachers.

But this was a different classroom. Here, a student could question without causing disorder. Discipline had gained dialogue. A question is not always indiscipline; it may show that a student is thinking. And if we want thinking students, we must be prepared to hear them, listen compassionately, with promising ears and instincts—before they assume the shade of cockroaches.

“If You Were a Teacher for One Day”

This was my favourite theme of a dream debate, but it never materialised—risk was too heavy. But today, the second presentation went deeper.

The students asked: If you taught for one day, would you only finish the syllabus—or also teach character, responsibility, citizenship, respect, social duty and faith? Would you teach what examinations cannot measure?

That question stayed with me. We call Gen Z impatient, intolerant, using shortcuts, the man in hurry and distracted—yet they were educating the educated and showing that learning cannot be one-way.

We Cannot Teach Gen Z Yesterday’s Way

The old model—dictate, lecture, check, test and leave—is no longer enough. Classrooms, students and information have changed. A phone can distract, mislead and expose young minds to harmful content—but also open doors to knowledge and opportunity worldwide.

Before saying, “Put away your phone,” perhaps we should ask whether we have taught students to use it wisely. The challenge is not excluding technology but bringing wisdom into technology. Young people are already connected, updated. Dealing with Gen Z requires care.

FOMO: “Am I missing something I want or need?”
JOMO: “I’m comfortable opting out.”

FOMO—the fear that meaningful or socially important experiences are happening without you—can be amplified by social media, group chats, trends, and pressure to stay informed. Yet FOMO does not define Gen Z. Young people can be highly connected while selective with their attention; opting out or responding later may reflect choice, not anxiety or isolation.

JOMO—the joy of missing out—is the satisfaction of stepping away from social pressure to focus on what matters. Still, opting out may simply reflect different priorities, boundaries, interests, or ways of participating.

The better question is not, “Why does Gen Z fear missing out?” but: “In an age of constant connection, who decides what deserves our attention—and what happens when we opt out?”

The real question is: What are they connecting to?

The First Teacher Is at Home

To me, who has observed society, environment, behavioural science closely, the first teacher is at home. Education does not begin at the school gate. The mother is the first teacher, followed by the father, family, neighbourhood, school, friends, media and society.

Children learn by watching adults speak, treat others, resolve conflict, keep promises and practise honesty.

The school has a timetable. Life does not. The phone can answer almost any question but not always identify the right answer. That is where teachers, parents and society still matter.

Young people follow examples more than instructions. Preach honesty while keeping what is not yours, respect while humiliating others, or punctuality while arriving late. They will remember the contradiction. Teachers, parents, administrators, doctors, officers and community leaders are all role models. And Gen Z is watching.

Authority Anywhere Must Learn to Listen

Watching them recalled the well-known account of Hazrat Umar ibn al-Khattab RA. As Caliph, Umar proposed a restriction concerning women; a woman challenged him, noting that the Prophet had imposed none. She spoke before the Caliph. Syedna Umar RA listened—and accepted the correction.

The lesson is larger than the incident itself: Authority does not diminish by accepting truth. No position or power is larger than the Truth. Strive to learn till you have last breath. A leader can learn from a follower. A parent can learn from a child. A teacher can learn from a student.

That is not a weakness. That is humility. Perhaps our classrooms need more of it.

Not All Hope Is Lost

When I was invited to speak after the presentations, I had little preparation. Perhaps that was appropriate. I could not resist standing up again, taking the microphone, applauding and appreciating our new teachers—telling the students they had shown more than performance: observation, courage, communication, respectful humour and, above all, thought.

That is hope. Not the ceremonial hope we express every September 5 by saying, “Children are the future.” Real hope is more demanding. Real hope is young people questioning respectfully, disagreeing without hostility, using technology wisely and demanding better because they seek to improve.

But hope also demands something from teachers. We must embrace technology, communicate rather than merely instruct, teach beyond the syllabus, preserve curiosity, correct without humiliating, and pair knowledge with wisdom. And above all, we must remain students ourselves.

Because the best teacher is not the one who knows everything. It is the one who remains willing to learn.

That Saturday made my day—not a consultation but consolation fees. I went expecting to hear teachers speak about teaching. Instead, I listened to students teach their teachers. And I left with one thought:

Not all hope is lost. Perhaps hope sat in the front row—laughing, questioning, observing and applauding. Hope is not a guarantee. Hope is a promise.

Perhaps Gen Z reminds us that tomorrow’s promise begins by listening today.

Dr. Fiaz Maqbool Fazili is a lifelong observer of Kashmir’s social change, civic life, and intergenerational challenges.