I’ll pass. Come back to me;
Do I have to? Not today.
Chains not of iron, but thought,
hold them tighter than history’s yoke.

A voice unused
becomes a whisper,
a whisper fades to silence,
and silence is its own cage.

Freedom waits,
not in noise, not in rebellion,
but in daring to shape a word
and letting it stand tall.

Commentary

Much has been said about “giving students a voice” and creating space for them to express themselves. I’ve taken that charge seriously throughout my teaching career, and I can honestly say, I have given them many platforms to speak, and I have seen real success.

Public speaking contests, both within my own classrooms and across schools. Persuasive writing that transformed into spoken speeches. Panel discussions where students took on roles as moderators, guest speakers, and panelists. Debates that sharpened their reasoning. Mock trials and research-based presentations that demanded both preparation and confidence. A Mock United Nations Assembly where they represented countries and negotiated global issues sch as poverty. Literature circles where they owned the conversation. Even in the everyday classroom I invited them to help shape the rules, and at the end of each year, they appraised my efforts as their teacher.

And yes, I’ve witnessed quiet students blossom into voices of conviction. I’ve seen hesitant thinkers become persuasive debaters. I’ve seen young people learn the power of words to inform, persuade, and inspire. These are the victories that keep teachers going, that kept me going during those years in the classroom.

But here’s the tension: even with all these opportunities, resistance often lingers. The excuses come: “I’ll pass.” “Come back to me.” “Do I have to do that?” “Not today. Or outright, “I am not doing that”. Some students prefer silence over risk, even when the space is safe and welcoming. Others mistake rudeness for courage, noise for voice. And then there are those, unfortunately some of my Black students, who carry invisible chains, not of slavery but of the mind, chains that whisper, your voice doesn’t matter, better stay quiet.

This is the paradox of student voice: they want to be heard, yet sometimes choose silence. They claim oppression, yet sometimes oppress themselves.

So, what do we as teachers do? We keep pushing. We prod, encourage, insist, and create again. We make the topics relevant to their lives, we lower the stakes while raising the value of contribution, and we normalize imperfection so that fear doesn’t silence them. Above all, we help them see that speaking up is not just an academic exercise, it is preparation for life.

Because here’s the truth. A student who learns to be silent in class may carry that silence into boardrooms, courtrooms, community meetings and relationships in general. But a student who learns to use their voice with courage, respect, and conviction has already taken a step toward freedom — the freedom to think, to question, to lead, and to change the world.

Conclusion
Giving students a voice is not enough; they must learn to claim it. Our role as educators is to create the spaces, provide the tools, and do the relentless nudging, but ultimately the courage to speak must come from within. When students realize that their words carry weight, that silence is not safety but surrender, only then will they discover the true power of voice, one that can shapes not just their classrooms, but their future.