Adrift in Reform: When Shifting Policies Leave Students Behind

There’s something deeply unsettling about how swiftly our education system changes course. As if it were a ship steered not by the stars of vision, but by the tides of power. In Indonesia, educational policy—particularly at the primary and secondary levels—has become a carousel that spins too fast, too often, and too recklessly. With each new minister or administration comes a new curriculum, a new assessment method, a new pedagogical fashion. But amidst this whirlwind, we seem to forget one crucial thing: the child at the centre of it all.

Education is not a laboratory experiment. Children are not test subjects. They are individuals—each with dreams, fears, and the quiet hope that school will help them make sense of the world. Yet today, what they often find is confusion. A lesson plan replaced mid-year. A test that measures something different from what was taught. A teacher unsure, overwhelmed, and exhausted. Is this the education we promised them?

Our Constitution—Article 31—declares education a right. The Universal Declaration of Human Rights echoes this promise. But rights are not fulfilled by access alone. They are fulfilled by dignity, consistency, and quality. When policies shift without a compass, without dialogue, without anchoring in reality, we risk turning a generation into casualties of our indecision.

Children, by their very nature, seek patterns. According to Piaget, they move from concrete to abstract thinking gradually. They need structure to feel safe. Maslow reminds us: before a child can learn, they must feel secure. If the ground beneath their classroom keeps shifting, how can they build anything lasting? How can they grow when even the rules of the game change without warning?

Teachers, too, are caught in the crossfire. They are expected to adapt overnight—to translate dense policy documents into meaningful learning experiences. But education is not just about knowledge transfer; it is about nurturing the soul. When a teacher spends more time ticking boxes than engaging hearts, something sacred is lost. Freire taught us that education should liberate. But how can it, when the educators themselves are bound by systems that change faster than they can breathe?

And let us not forget our school leaders—the principals, the administrators—juggling countless mandates from above while trying to hold the ground steady below. Their energies are drained not by student needs, but by bureaucratic pivots. Meanwhile, schools in remote regions, where internet is a luxury and books are shared treasures, are left further behind. A policy that works in Jakarta might collapse in Papua. Justice, as our Constitution promises, must be equal—but how can it be, when the system is built unevenly?

We need to pause.
To breathe.

To ask ourselves: what kind of nation are we shaping, if even our schools are uncertain of tomorrow?

Education cannot be a trophy project for each passing leader. We need a national blueprint that transcends politics and persists across generations. One that listens—to research, to teachers, to students, to parents. One that places the child, not the ego, at the centre.

Curriculum changes must be rooted not in slogans, but in science. We must consider developmental psychology, classroom realities, and local wisdom. Train teachers not just in content, but in compassion. Allow them space to reflect, to grow, to teach from the heart. After all, a good teacher is not the loudest voice in the room, but the one who listens deeply.

Take the shift from the 2013 Curriculum to the Merdeka Curriculum, for example. It promised freedom, creativity, and student-centred learning. But for many schools, especially those with limited resources, it brought confusion and fatigue. Research shows that adaptation was uneven, rushed, and often unsupported. The dream was noble, but the road was rocky.

We must learn from this. Policy must not be built solely on vision—but also on patience, preparation, and presence.

Let us build an education system that is psychologically safe, socially fair, and structurally sound. One where reform is not disruption, but evolution. Where change is not feared, but embraced wisely. And where every policy is written with a child in mind—a child who may one day lead this nation, not with cynicism, but with hope.

Because education is not merely about shaping minds.
It is about shaping humanity.
And in every classroom, in every lesson plan, in every policy memo, we are writing the story of our future.
Let’s make sure it’s a story worth reading.