SIBGHAT SHAFI
In every age, thinkers have asked what truly holds a society together. Is it the Constitution, the economy, the courts, or the market? We are told that strong institutions, good governance and robust infrastructure are the pillars of a stable social order. Yet beneath all these visible structures lies a quieter, older and more fragile foundation: the home, and at the centre of it, the parents.
A society is not an abstract entity hovering above our heads. It is the sum of families, neighbourhoods and everyday relationships. It is built in living rooms, classrooms, playgrounds and mosques long before it ever appears in parliaments or policy papers. If the home is fractured, no amount of legislation can fully repair what is lost. If the home is nurturing, even an imperfect political order can be endured and gradually reformed.
In our context in Kashmir, we are quick to blame politics, leaders and “the system” for the ills we see around us: rising intolerance, anger, addiction, alienation and the erosion of basic respect. These are real problems, and they do demand structural responses. But it is intellectually lazy, and morally convenient, to forget the role of the first school each of us ever attended: the home in which our parents raised us.
The first classroom
Before a child can read a book or listen to a sermon, he or she has already absorbed a powerful curriculum from the behaviour of parents. How father speaks to mother, how elders treat domestic workers, how adults talk about neighbours and about “the other” — all of this silently shapes the child’s understanding of dignity, justice and compassion.
We worry today about a coarsening public culture. Social media has made anger performative and cruelty cheap. But a child who has seen patience at home is less easily swept away by the mob. A young person who has watched their parents apologise, forgive and share is more likely to carry those habits into school, work and public life. The foundations of a humane society are laid not in abstract lectures on values but in the daily, often unnoticed, conduct of parents.
In Kashmiri families, we inherit a rich tradition of respect for elders, hospitality to guests and care for neighbours. Yet these values face new pressures. Economic stress, political uncertainty and the race for status and marks often push parents into a narrow focus on material success. Children are coached to crack exams, but rarely taught to manage emotions, respect differences, or serve their community. A society that produces high scorers with low character is building on sand.
Between protection and preparation
Modern parenting everywhere, including in our valley, is caught between two extremes: overprotection and neglect. On one side, parents shield children from every discomfort, completing their homework, resolving every conflict, and excusing every mistake. On the other side, economic and social pressures leave many children effectively raising themselves, with little emotional presence from adults.
Both extremes weaken the foundations of society. Overprotected children grow up unprepared for the realities of life. They are easily disillusioned, quick to blame others, and often lack resilience. Neglected children, meanwhile, may carry wounds that later erupt as rage, addiction or despair.
The role of parents is not merely to protect but to prepare. That means allowing children to face appropriate challenges, to take responsibility, to experience the consequences of their choices — while standing beside them as guides and moral anchors. A society of citizens who can think, feel and act with maturity begins with homes where parents neither abandon their role nor suffocate their children.
Values in an age of confusion
We live in a time of rapid change. Technology has brought the world into our pockets. Children in Srinagar can, with a few clicks, watch the same content as children in New York or Tokyo. There is much to learn from this global exposure, but there is also much to fear if it is not filtered through a stable moral compass at home.
Here, parents have a delicate but unavoidable task: to transmit enduring values in a language their children can understand. This does not mean turning the home into a place of harsh moral policing. It means creating an atmosphere where questions are welcomed, doubts are heard, and faith and ethics are explained with love rather than fear.
When parents outsource this responsibility entirely to schools or religious institutions, the result is confusion. One voice at home, another at school, a third on the internet — and the child is left to stitch together a personal philosophy from scattered, often contradictory pieces. A firm but gentle parental presence can provide coherence, helping the child to navigate multiple influences without losing themselves.
Rebuilding trust, one family at a time
There is much talk these days of a “trust deficit” in our society: between citizen and state, between communities, even within extended families. Trust cannot be legislated into existence. It grows slowly from countless small experiences of reliability and care.
When a child sees that promises made at home are kept, that anger does not explode into violence, that differences are resolved with dialogue, a template of trust is formed. When, instead, promises are broken, tempers flare into abuse, and disputes are settled by humiliation, that template is shattered.
Parents, therefore, are not just raising individuals; they are shaping future colleagues, neighbours, leaders and spouses. Every harsh word normalised at home makes it easier to justify harshness in public life. Every act of kindness or integrity makes its quiet contribution to a more decent society.
A call for self‑reflection
It is tempting, in an opinion column, to end with demands addressed to others: the government must do this, the schools must improve that. Those demands are sometimes justified. But perhaps the more urgent appeal today is to parents, including those of us who write and read these lines.
If we are disturbed by what we see around us — the anger in our thoughts, the emptiness behind many young faces, the erosion of truth in public discourse — we must ask an uncomfortable question: what have we, as parents and elders, modelled within our four walls? Have we reduced success to rank and salary? Have we treated domestic workers with the same respect we preach in public? Have we taught our children to listen as well as to argue?
The foundations of a society are not rebuilt through slogans alone. They are repaired at dinner tables, in patient conversations with adolescents, in the decision to switch off the television and truly listen, in the courage to apologise to our own children when we err.
Kashmir has survived many storms. Our resilience is legendary. But the strength we will need for the future will not come only from politics or policies. It will come, quietly and steadily, from homes where parents choose to be the society they wish their children to inherit.
( The Author is a sociologist working in an International NGO)
