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Let our children sing and dance

importance of music and dance classes in primary schools
In a classroom where children come from different socioeconomic backgrounds, it is the collective song or dance that brings them under one roof and unifies them. FILE PHOTO: ORCHID CHAKMA

The demand to ban music and dance classes from primary schools should worry every parent, teacher and policymaker in Bangladesh. This is not just about whether little hands can beat a tabla or little feet can step to a rhythm; it is about the kind of childhood we want to give our children, and the kind of citizens we want them to become. For many children in Bangladesh, school is the only place where they will ever experience music, dance or theatre. For families already struggling to meet basic expenses, private lessons are a luxury. A harmonium, a set of tabla, a dance teacher—all of these require time, transportation and access, in addition to financial costs. Remove them from schools, and you erase a whole dimension of childhood for the children of rickshaw-pullers, garment workers and day labourers—those who cannot afford to send their children to art institutes.

Children are born with rhythm. Studies show that even six-month-old babies instinctively sway or kick to a beat. Our very first rhythm is the heartbeat we hear in the womb, a steady percussion carrying us into the world. To deprive children of movement and music is to silence something primal in them. The repercussions are not only emotional but also physical: stifling movement, coordination, and joy can affect motor skills and confidence during childhood development and even mental health later in life.

We often refer to music and dance as "extra"-curricular, associating with "extra" credit and "extra" effort. However, for children, they are both central and essential. Neuroscience shows that rhythm, melody, and coordinated movement wire the brain for language, memory, and creativity. For instance, a song teaches more vocabulary than a worksheet, and a folk dance teaches teamwork more effectively than any lecture on "group work."

There is a reason our villages have always had pala gaan, jatra, baul gaan, alpona—traditions that are not just entertainment but carriers of memory and meaning. The sound of the ektara or the beat of the dhol stitched communities together long before school bells did.

Attempts to erase music and dance from schools are not neutral. They are part of a project to police joy and dictate how children think, feel, and imagine. When you ban a child from dancing, you teach them to be afraid of their own body. When you ban a child from singing, you tell them their voice should be silent unless approved by someone else.

Bangladesh's cultural identity has always resisted narrowness. We are the country that defied bullets in 1952 for the right to speak our mother tongue, and we did not chant slogans in silence. We sang, we recited poetry, we painted the streets with the art of conviction. Our Liberation War songs carried entire villages, instilling courage and love for our land.

School-based music and dance are also levellers. In a classroom where children come from different socioeconomic backgrounds, it is the collective song or dance that brings them under one roof and unifies them. The boy who struggles in mathematics may discover he is the best drummer; the shy girl who never raises her hand in class to ask questions may find her confidence leading a dance circle.

To deny these opportunities is to widen an already cruel gap, where the privileged would still find ways to learn harmonium or kathak, while the underprivileged are being told that joy and creativity are only reserved for the privileged group. 

Our job as adults is not to shrink children's worlds but to expand them. Yes, teach them science, mathematics, religion, but also teach them to sing in harmony, to move to rhythm, and to clap in unison. They are the foundations of our nation's future, and they must build emotional intelligence, empathy, and resilience.

A child who learns to express anger through drumming is less likely to express it through violence. A child who learns to dance learns discipline, posture and pride.

We cannot allow fear to dictate education policy. The school stage must not go dark, nor must the classrooms fall silent. Music and dance are not threats to morality; they are its companions. They teach patience, practice, and respect. If we give in to those who wish to erase them, we are not just robbing children of art; we are also robbing them of wonder, confidence, and the tools to become whole human beings.

This is not a small skirmish over timetables; it is a fight for the soul of childhood itself. Dear parents, teachers, and policymakers, speak up now, before the music stops.


Naziba Basher is a journalist at The Daily Star.


Views expressed in this article are the author's own. 


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