Copyright dailypioneer
In classrooms across the country-urban or rural, elite or modest — there exists a peculiar breed of educators who have perfected the art of selective blindness. These are the practitioners of what might be called the Ostrich Effect: the time — honoured skill of ignoring inconvenient truths while claiming to see everything else with hawk-like precision. They can catch a whispered secret from the last bench with uncanny accuracy, yet fail to notice that half the class has mentally checked out. They spot a passing chit instantly but seem blissfully unaware that their lesson plan, crafted in the pre-smartphone era, now holds the relevance of a typewriter at a coding boot camp. The Ostrich Effect isn’t just a teaching quirk — it’s a full-blown lifestyle choice. For some, every issue in the classroom is blamed on a supposed “decline in student discipline.” When test results disappoint, the stars are at fault-Mercury’s retrograde, Jupiter’s misalignment, or, of course, the mythical “loss of moral values.” Anything but the possibility that their own approach might need an update. Why explore creative methods or technology-enhanced learning when one can cling to the comforting familiarity of dictation drills and the age-old threat of “I’ll call your parents”? The phenomenon shines brightest during classroom observations. Where reflective educators see feedback as a ladder for growth, the ostrich-style teacher perceives it as a personal attack. Suggest a more student-led activity, and the reaction is pure drama: “But this is how I’ve always taught!” they protest, mistaking longevity for excellence. It’s the educational equivalent of bragging about 25 years of driving experience while routinely ignoring traffic lights. Experience, after all, means little without evolution. Parent-teacher meetings provide yet another stage for this performance. These sessions-ideally moments for collaboration-often turn into exercises in intellectual gymnastics. Faced with poor test scores or unfinished work, some teachers twist and turn until blame lands squarely on the parents. “Your child lacks discipline at home,” they declare, conveniently forgetting their own ungraded assignments or absence of meaningful feedback. The student sits there silently, still unsure about integers, hoping someone notices. But that would mean lifting one’s head out of the sand, and we can’t have that, can we? Even professional development workshops-those rare chances to refresh and reimagine teaching-are treated by some with theatrical disinterest. Arms crossed, faces blank, they endure new ideas as if attending a lecture on the history of paperclips. Student engagement strategies? Emotional intelligence? Digital tools? Surely, they must be fads. After all, if chalk-and-talk worked forty years ago, why change now? Yet, beneath the stubbornness lies something human: comfort. Familiar methods feel safe. Reflection feels risky. Acknowledging blind spots takes humility and humility is rarely comfortable. But education cannot thrive in comfort zones. Today’s learners think, question, and process information differently. They need classrooms that evolve as quickly as the world around them. If teaching is truly about preparing students for the future, then teachers must model adaptability, curiosity, and courage. The classroom is not a museum of traditions but a living ecosystem. It needs gardeners, not ostriches-educators who nurture growth, tend to changing needs, and take responsibility for what they cultivate. And, unlike ostriches, gardeners keep their heads up. The writer is an educator and councillor; views are personal
