Opinion | Rethinking Education Beyond Jobs and Degrees

Why true education must create aware and questioning citizens who understand society, challenge injustice, and value dignity beyond salaries, status, and employability

What do you think education should produce workers, or citizens who can question? Last week, I was sitting with a group of college girls in Baramulla, and we were talking about careers. During the discussion, one of the girls, Subeena, said something that reflects what many of us have grown up believing. She asked, “Didi, degree ka matlab job hi hai na?” She was not wrong. Most of us have been conditioned to believe that the sole purpose of education is employment.

In Kashmir, for almost every family, a degree is seen as a ticket out of uncertainty. It means a job, a salary, and a way to stand on one’s own feet. Parents sell land, take loans, and make sacrifices so their children can become teachers, doctors, engineers, or secure government jobs. This pressure is real because society has attached status and value to certain occupations. We compete to climb the ladder of social and professional hierarchy.

But Subeena’s question also worried me. If a degree becomes only about getting a job, what happens to the part of education that teaches us to understand our own lives, question unfairness, and think critically about society?

This thought reminded me of a decision made in Florida, USA, where Sociology was removed as a general education subject in many state colleges. The Florida State Board of Education argued that the subject had moved away from objective instruction and had become too influenced by ideological viewpoints. Officials said education should focus more on rigorous scholarship, foundational knowledge, and true critical thinking. However, this is exactly where the deeper concern begins. From one perspective, this reflects the functionalist idea that education should serve the economy by producing skilled workers and keeping the system running smoothly. But from another perspective, it fits conflict theory, those in power shape knowledge in ways that prevent people from questioning inequality and authority. It also reminds us of Antonio Gramsci’s idea of cultural hegemony: control does not always come through force, but through controlling ideas and shaping what people learn.

Now the question is, why should we in the Indian subcontinent (Bar-e- Sagheer), especially in Kashmir, care about Florida’s decision? After all, Florida’s policies do not run our classrooms. But the thinking behind that decision is spreading everywhere, including here. Across the world, governments, institutions, and even parents increasingly ask one question: What is the return on investment for a degree? If a subject does not lead directly to a salary, it is often considered a waste of time.

We can already see this mindset around us. Arts and humanities seats remain empty, while students choose courses only because “they have scope.” Subjects that teach reflection, history, literature, and social understanding are often seen as less valuable than those that promise immediate employment.

I am not against jobs. Earning a livelihood is necessary and often becomes the foundation for personal and social development. A woman with her own income can say no to violence. She can send her children to school. Financial independence is real empowerment, and I would never argue against that.

But we have also seen what happens when we train students only for jobs and not for thinking. One year ago, I met a girl from Srinagar who had completed a six-month computer course and got a data entry job. After eight months, her in-laws told her to quit. “Ab shaadi ho gayi, ghar sambhalo.” She left her job. I asked her why she did not resist after working so hard to build that career. Her answer was simple: “What could I say? Everyone does the same.”

This is the reality of our society. Women are often expected to leave their careers after marriage, no matter how much time and effort they spent building them. She had the skill to earn, but she did not have the awareness or confidence to question why she had to stop. That is where education beyond employability becomes important. That is where Sociology, History, Literature, and critical thinking matter.

Sociology may not give you a job title, but it gives you a lens. C. Wright Mills called this the “Sociological Imagination”, the ability to understand that personal problems are often connected to larger public issues.

For example, if your brother gets a job and his sister does not, even though she scored higher, is that just bad luck? Or is there a pattern in how opportunities are distributed? We know about the glass ceiling, where women are often denied higher promotions because marriage and family responsibilities are assumed to interrupt their careers. My question is: should women hide behind marriage because they are incapable, or because social norms are designed against their progress?

Our mothers work all day inside the home, yet our fathers are called the breadwinners. Is that fair? Or is it because we have never counted domestic laboUr as real work? These are not political slogans. These are questions. And once we learn to ask them, we begin to see solutions differently.

Take domestic violence as another example. For generations, the common answer was: “Ghar ki baat hai, bardasht karo.” It was treated as a private family matter. But when we studied it more deeply, we found that economic dependence was one of the major reasons women stayed in abusive situations. That understanding led to self-help groups, legal aid clinics, and support systems. We did not just tell women to be strong, we changed the conditions that made them vulnerable. But to do that, we first had to name the problem correctly.

This is what we risk losing when we treat education like a factory. A factory produces workers; it does not ask workers to redesign the machine.

Some people say we need doctors and engineers, not thinkers. Yes, we absolutely need doctors. But we also need doctors who understand why a woman from a remote village does not come for prenatal checkups. Is it ignorance? Or is it because the PHC has only male staff and she is not allowed to travel alone? A doctor who understands society can save more lives than one who only knows medicine.

Similarly, we need engineers. But we also need engineers who ask why every bridge in the city gets built while the road to a tribal village remains broken for twenty years. Who decides these priorities? Who benefits? These are questions of justice, not only construction. In my own work, I have noticed that the strongest women are not always the most formally educated. They are often the most aware. They know how to speak in a panchayat meeting. They understand which facilities are missing in schools. They know that poor roads, weak schools, or lack of healthcare are not fate or bad luck, but issues of policy and budget. Knowledge of the system makes them stronger than many graduates who still ask permission to live.

That is why I believe awareness does not come only from technical courses or degrees. It comes from learning how to connect your personal story to the larger social story. A person facing unemployment may think it is only his bad luck, but when he understands unemployment as a structural issue, he stops blaming himself and starts questioning the system. This is why Florida’s decision matters. The concern is not only about one subject being removed. It is about slowly changing the purpose of education from understanding society to simply fitting into it. The danger is creating people who are job-ready, but question-free.

The same risk exists in our own society. We become so used to unfair systems that we stop noticing them. We follow traditions, roles, and expectations without asking whether they are just. A job can be taken away through transfer, illness, marriage, or circumstance. But the ability to think, to question, and to understand power cannot be taken away. That is real empowerment.

The real solution is not to reject education for employment, but to expand what we expect from education itself. In Kashmir, institutions produce thousands of graduates every year, but the job market cannot absorb them all. We must teach both girls and boys not only to seek jobs, but also to build independence beyond government offices and formal employment.

It is strange that for generations we have invested in degrees mainly for future salaries, even while knowing that education does not guarantee employment. If the economic value alone is removed, many people would stop pursuing degrees. That itself shows how narrowly we have defined education.

To conclude, empowering people through education means teaching them to think, question, and understand society without becoming its victim. Women’s empowerment is one part of that larger truth. A woman who can earn but cannot say no to injustice is still not fully free. A woman doing unpaid work at home who sees herself as dependent, without recognizing the value of her labour, is also denied dignity. Real empowerment is not just a paycheck. It is the ability to recognize one’s own worth, whether in an office or inside a household. Education should not only prepare us to survive within society, it should also prepare us to question it, improve it, and, if necessary, change it.

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