The lie we told our brightest students, by Stephanie Shaakaa

The first time I told my secondary school guidance counselor that he had failed us, he looked stunned. In his mind, he had done his duty, sorted the bright into Science, the average into Arts, labeled us A, B, C, D, E like neatly arranged files. He thought he had guided us. I thought we had been boxed.

“Sir,” I said, “you never told us it was okay to be an A student and read the Arts. You never told us it was okay to be an average student and excel in Science. You never taught us that passion matters more than prestige.

He was quiet. Then he said softly, “I’m sorry.”

That apology was the closest thing I have to closure from a system that measured us by letters before it knew us as human beings.

We were sold a myth, only the brightest belong in Science, Arts is a consolation prize, Class A students carry quiet superiority while B and C learn humility early. Alphabet hierarchies. Invisible ladders of worth. The psychological wounds were subtle but real.

Let me confess something uncomfortable. When I was in secondary school, I was part of the problem. I was in Science. We did not insult Arts students openly. We internalized superiority. We walked with the calm confidence of those told they were the best. Even within Science, there were layers: A1, A2, A3. Labels within labels. Hierarchies within hierarchies.

It was a quiet caste system dressed as academic organization. You could feel it in the corridors, in the way teachers unconsciously affirmed some and overlooked others. A1 students stood taller. A3 students learned to apologize for not being exceptional. Arts students were spoken about as though they had settled. And we thought it was normal.

At fifteen, we were already ranked in a social order of worth. Curiosity competed with comparison. Achievement was no longer about growth but position. Prestige was loud, purpose was quiet. Purpose always wins.

A school is not meant to be a sorting factory. Intelligence is not a straight line. It is a constellation. When we divide children too early, we do not raise excellence; we manufacture insecurity. Compartmentalization is never neutral. It seeps into self-concept. It tells children their place is fixed, that excellence belongs to a few, that movement across categories is rare.

Life, however, does not operate in A1, A2, A3. The courtroom does not ask your secondary school stream before trusting your judgment. The newsroom does not check whether you were Science or Arts before assigning responsibility. Leadership does not request your alphabet before assigning authority. What matters is competence, passion, discipline, character.

Many we once looked down on have risen not in spite of being in Arts, but because they owned their path fully. Former Arts students are today lawyers, chartered accountants, diplomats, journalists, economists, entrepreneurs, doctors, and engineers. Many labeled Science elite struggle quietly because they were pushed into paths they never chose. Life dismantles the hierarchies we build in adolescence.

The system was wrong. Not them. And it still exists. Alphabet hierarchies. Quiet rankings. Illusions that separation equals excellence. We are still sorting children into boxes and calling it order. Our educational system must find a way to carry every student along without building invisible walls. Excellence should inspire, not intimidate. Organization should guide, not oppress.

Across the country, children are still sorted by exam scores and parental prestige. Guidance counseling is reduced to classification. Aptitude mapping is rare. Career exposure is minimal. Mentorship is inconsistent. Destinies are assigned like uniforms. The consequences are national. Misplaced talent weakens the workforce. Glorifying certain paths while stigmatizing others distorts economic development. A nation that convinces its brightest writers they belong in laboratories and its analytical thinkers to avoid humanities misallocates human capital.

Youth unemployment is not only an economic issue. It is an alignment issue. How many graduates are disengaged because they pursued prestige over purpose? How many innovative minds were dulled by comparison instead of nurtured by curiosity?

Intelligence is multidimensional. Howard Gardner called it multiple intelligences linguistic, musical, logical-mathematical, spatial, bodily-kinesthetic, interpersonal, intrapersonal, and naturalistic. Our schools rarely acknowledge this richness. Yet intelligence is not a straight line, it is a constellation. Some minds shine through numbers. Others through words. Some through empathy, strategy, movement, persuasion, or insight. Reducing brilliance to a single academic stream confuses organization with hierarchy.

Guidance counseling should begin with conversation, not categorization. It should explore strengths, interests, temperaments, and long-term aspirations. Students should be exposed to diverse careers without attaching moral value to them. Your grade reflects performance in a moment, not the limits of your destiny.

Imagine a classroom where a student hears, It is okay to be brilliant in Arts. Another hears, It is okay to pursue Science even if you are not the highest scorer. Imagine confidence built on authenticity rather than comparison. How many leaders would emerge? How many innovators would stay the course? How many young people would move into adulthood without the quiet shame of a letter assigned at sixteen?

Our children deserve guidance, not gatekeeping. Mentorship, not hierarchy. They deserve to discover who they are before being told who they should be. Letters fade. Exams end. Rankings dissolve. But the child told she is “average” carries that word long after the report card is forgotten.

He apologized. But the system never has.

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