Recently, I read an article in the Jamaica Observer that reignited a long-standing debate in Jamaican society: whether schools are right to lock students out for uniform violations. According to the article, an advocacy group condemned certain schools for enforcing strict dress codes, refusing entry to students whose skirts didn’t meet the knee or whose hairstyles included extensions. The group argued, rightfully, that no child should be denied an education based on how they look.
It’s an issue that strikes at the heart of how we view discipline, access, and identity.
To be clear, I’ve long criticized many of the outdated rules that still govern our public institutions. Rules like barring entry to government buildings because someone is wearing a sleeveless shirt, while perhaps rooted in notions of decency, feel increasingly out of touch with today’s realities. These policies often do more to alienate than uplift. They enforce compliance, not community.
But when it comes to children, I believe the conversation deserves a more nuanced tone.
Children are not miniature adults. They are in a sacred, formative stage of life where guidance, structure, and values matter deeply. The Caribbean household, at its best, has always understood this. We grew up in a time when “it takes a village to raise a child” wasn’t a cliché, it was a code of living. Standards were set not to oppress, but to shape. Respect wasn’t requested, it was expected. Modesty wasn’t mocked, it was modeled.
In that context, school uniforms weren’t just about appearance. They were a form of equalization, making sure that whether rich or poor, every child walked through the school gate on level ground. Uniforms represented discipline, pride, and unity. When properly understood and compassionately enforced, they can still serve that purpose today.
But here is where the tension lies: rules must be rooted in values, not vanity. When enforcement becomes punitive, when a child is barred from the very classroom meant to educate and empower them, then we have missed the point entirely. Discipline without empathy is not structure; it is punishment. And education, the great equalizer, should never be used as a bargaining chip.
We must ask ourselves: Are we upholding standards or simply clinging to tradition out of habit? Are we preparing children for a structured world or policing their bodies under the guise of order?
At the same time, let us not become so consumed by the language of “rights” that we abandon responsibility. Children do not need unfiltered freedom; they need thoughtful boundaries. In a world where sexuality is often commodified and childhood is being shortened by overexposure, we must protect their innocence, not suppress it, but safeguard it. And sometimes, yes, that means saying no to certain trends, styles, or choices that may seem harmless but carry messages they’re not yet ready to understand.
This is not a call for draconian school policies or outdated moral policing. It is a plea for balance. Let us evolve, but with intention. Let us modernize, but not moralize. Let us question rules, but not discard values.
Instead of locking children out of classrooms, why not open conversations? Instead of turning them away at the gate, why not build systems of support that preserve both their dignity and our shared values?
Progress and tradition don’t have to be enemies. In fact, the healthiest societies find a way to hold both.
Because a future without values is as dangerous as a past without vision.
