A few years ago, my daughter came home from school, weeping like something had died. Not just ordinary tears. Not the “I lost my pen” kind of tears.
The soul-piercing, dignity-stripping, “I want to disappear” kind of tears. I thought she had been beaten. Or maybe bullied. But no.
Her offence? She had failed mathematics. Apparently, her Mathematics teacher had pasted the end-of-semester exam results on the class notice board. A full list- Names and marks. No codes. No initials. Just plain public exposure. And the whole school knew. Not just the 21 pupils in her class.
Her name, along with ten others, had been posted on the classroom notice board with the words “FAIL” written boldly in bleeding red ink beside it. The teacher had taken it upon himself to separate the “failures” from the rest. In full view. As if it was a criminal list. Eleven names out of twenty-one- a good 50% of the class!
She was not just sad. She was ashamed. Mortified.
I do not want to go into the analysis of why 11 out of 21 pupils will fail a subject and the teacher is convinced he/she has no share of the responsibilities. Yes, it was my child that did not get good grades. Let me shut my “too know” mouth.
Now here’s the thing. I knew she wasn’t the strongest in maths. But she had never failed. And she had dreams. Big ones. Like studying science in senior high school. This result, and more importantly, the way it had been displayed, shook her. It was like the dream had been dragged to the wall and shamed along with her name.
Her mother wanted to go and “take action”. That special kind of parental action where handbags, shoes and wigs become weapons of mass destruction. Mama bear mode fully activated.
She angrily recounted her childbirth NICU experiences, her pre-term ‘wahala’ and how dare this school humiliate her precious baby. Mama Bear boasted (without evidence) about her prowess in maths during her schooldays. I could not ask her for proof, not in that anger. So, I still cannot confirm or deny her claims, but we move.
Every teardrop from her daughter’s face was like a gallon of petrol pouring into her burning rage. Adwoa Gyata with claws bared! I stopped her gently. I told her, “Let’s see what she does with this setback.” And my daughter did something all right.
She turned her pain and shame into obsession. For the next semester, it was all maths. No sleep without solving equations. No TV. No rest. No balance.
Her mission was singular: never end up on that wall of shame again. And she succeeded.
That term, she passed mathematics with flying colours. But here’s the plot twist. She failed two other subjects. And dropped her grades in three more. Subjects she used to shine in. Her joy was gone. Her confidence scattered across subjects she no longer had time for.
She came home with a report card that read like a story of misplaced priorities. She looked at me and said, “Daddy, I don’t understand what happened.” Then I knew. That wall. That red inked “FAIL” inscription against her name (with my surname). That public humiliation. It had done more harm than good to her young feeble mind.
It took my family a whole year, one full year of counselling therapy, guided study, and emotional rebuilding to restore her sense of balance. Her confidence and self-belief. Her love for learning. Her understanding that failing one subject did not mean she was a failure. And that’s when it hit me.
You see, those of us from the Bad Old Days, before Y2K virus, we are scarred unknowingly. We the mummies and daddies who attended schools of hard knocks before the modern sun of pedagogy rose, some of us are damaged. And I am sure I am, a bit, or a little more than a bit?
We assume that since we went through it, it must be okay. We forget how many of us carry academic trauma disguised as “discipline.” We forget that what shaped us wasn’t always good for us.
So, in 2025, we are managing Ghana schools and are still doing this harm. Still posting names of failures. Still using shame as a teaching tool. Still scarring children in the name of tough love.
Let’s be honest. This practice is not always about “motivating students.” The potential negative effects far outweigh the positive impact on the child. In my opinion, it is wrong. These children have a fundamental right to Privacy. And we must respect and protect it.
Many societies focused on training future generational thinkers have long discarded this name-and-shame approach. Educational psychology warns against it. The goal of assessment must be to help children grow, not to label them in red ink. Feedback must be private, constructive, and individualised. Preferably among parents, guardians and teachers only.
Children thrive in safe learning environments, not fear-filled ones. Motivation built on humiliation leads to performance anxiety, not excellence. Public display of failures does not inspire learning. It inspires dread.
Worse, it pushes pupils into performance traps, where they study not to understand, but to avoid shame. That’s not education. That is “Chew, pour, pass and forget” after the exam.
The real damage?
How many kids have developed anxiety because of public result boards?
How many have been laughed at, mocked, and isolated?
How many have given up because one teacher decided that embarrassment was a learning strategy?
How many children, like mine, redirected all their energy into a single subject out of fear, while silently drowning in others?
How many children with learning disabilities are being humiliated instead of being helped?
And how many parents never know what their children are going through?
For the sake of a “bright future” we focus so much on the best grades, we ignore the cost these fragile minds pay. The permanent damage they live with for the rest of their lives.
I am no expert in education or child psychology (although I have taught in all levels of education). My forte is Media and Television.
However, from the trauma of my daughter, I say let us fix this as a country:
(i) Abolish the Wall of Shame; No more public display of pupil performance. Full stop.
(ii) Promote Confidential Feedback: Use report cards, digital portals, or one-on-one sessions.
(iii) Train Teachers on Modern Assessment Ethics: Many still carry over outdated methods from their own school days.
(iv) Strengthen Emotional Support Systems: Schools must have guidance counsellors, not just grade keepers.
Let me sound like a preacher on the Accra-Kumasi bus and repeat these scriptures of parenting as if you do not already know. Our children are not just pupils. They are humans first; with emotions, dreams, and fragile self-worth.
We cannot continue sacrificing their mental health at the altar of “motivation.” We cannot keep justifying poor practices with phrases like “it toughened me up”.
It didn’t toughen you. It traumatized you. And now we’re passing the trauma down. Enough.
Education is not war. Teachers are not executioners. Classrooms are not courts. And failure is not a crime- it’s just a setback, a reversible setback.
Let’s build schools where learning is nurtured, not feared. Where pupils are supported, not shamed. And where no child ever has to come home weeping because their name was pinned to a wall in red ink.
Because at the end of the day, every child matters, even the one who failed maths this term.
And oh, my daughter passed Mathematics and all her subjects at BECE level. Hallelujah!
