-By Abdul Mahmud
A few States have announced the ban on graduation ceremonies in public and private schools. Ekiti State, in particular, the ban affects pupils in kindergarten, nursery, primary, and secondary schools. These states say the practice is unnecessary, costly, and distracting. They insist that schools should focus on learning rather than ceremonies. On the surface, the ban sounds like discipline. In reality, it raises troubling questions about constitutionality, overreach, and the role of the State in shaping childhood experiences. At its heart, this ban is about memory. For many parents, school celebrations are not frivolous things. They are part of the social fabric. In the 1970s and 1980s, primary schools’ leavers were sent forth with assemblies, plays, prize-givings, and little parties. The schools gathered to applaud their efforts. Parents brought food and drinks. Teachers gave certificates of merit and School Leaving Certificates were handed out to pupils who performed plays and dances in turn. There was no degree involved. No official qualification. Yet, it was an important rite of passage. Those ceremonies marked a transition. From childhood to adolescence. From primary to secondary. From one stage of life to the next.
That is why the ban cuts deep. It tells families and children that memory and joy do not matter. It tells them that the state knows best how childhood should be experienced. It puts the government’s heavy hand where it should not be. The 1999 Constitution provides a clear framework for the limits of state power. Section 36 guarantees the right to freedom of thought, conscience, and expression. Section 40 protects freedom of assembly and association. Section 42 guarantees freedom from discrimination. The ban raises issues under these provisions. If parents, teachers, and pupils freely choose to organise an end-of-school celebration, does the state have the power to stop them? Is that not a violation of freedom of assembly? When the state prevents children and families from gathering to mark milestones, is it not infringing on rights that the Constitution protects? Supporters of the ban argue that many schools abuse the idea of graduation. They impose heavy financial levies on parents. They turn ceremonies into money-making events. They stage elaborate occasions, with expensive clothes and pageantry. There is truth in this complaint. Some schools exploit parents’ desire to celebrate their children. But is banning the answer? Must the government always reach for the instrument of ban when regulation or guidance could suffice? Couldn’t the states simply issue rules to prevent exploitation? A cap on levies. A code of conduct. A requirement that participation be voluntary. Instead, it reached for the axe.
This is not the first time our states have chosen prohibition over engagement. We live under governments that see control as the first reflex – a certain reflexivity which lies at the heart of ill-thought public policy. From banning Okadas to banning street processions to banning social gatherings, the instinct is the same: to stop, not to guide. But societies evolve. And when they evolve, governments should respond with care, not with bans.
But, how did we get to this point? In the 1970s and 1980s, our country was different. Schools were simpler. Communities were close-knit, and tighter. Parents came to watch their children march or perform a drama on the last day of school. Nobody called it a graduation. Yet, it was a celebration of achievement. These small events mattered. They created memories that stayed with children long into adulthood. They gave children a sense of recognition. A sense that their efforts were noticed. Fast forward to today. Society has changed. Education is more competitive. Families want to acknowledge their children’s progress. Celebrations have become more elaborate. Some are excessive. Some are modest. But at the root, they are about joy. A child leaves the crèche for nursery; and then for primary school. A girl completes junior secondary and moves to senior secondary. A boy finishes his WAEC examinations. Parents want to mark these steps. They are not trivial. They are phases in a child’s growth.
So the question arises: are these States responding to this evolution in the wrong way? Should governments tell families how to celebrate their children? Should they insist that childhood must be stripped of public markers of achievement? When governments deny children these moments, they risk creating a sterile environment where joy is suspect. This is why the ban feels cruel. It is not about education. It is about control. The state says: “We know what is best for your child”. Parents and proprietors of schools say: “We know how to mark our children’s and pupils’ growth”. The Constitution sides with parents and proprietors, not with arbitrary public policies and the whimsical actions of States’ governors. Unless a celebration violates public order, governments have no business forbidding it.
Critics will say, “But children are underage. They do not decide for themselves”. That is true. But parents and guardians do. And under Nigerian law, parents have rights to bring up their children in line with their values. The state should not interfere except where harm is clear. There is no harm in a modest school celebration. There is only joy.
To humanise this debate, we return to Ado-Ekiti and see the folly of the ban through the eyes of a ten-year-old girl, or picture it in the experience of an eight-year-old child in Orlu. She has finished primary school. She has worked hard. She has learned to read and write. She has made friends. On the last day, she expects a party. A small event where she will sing a song, receive a prize, and take photographs with her classmates. That memory will carry her forward. It will give her confidence as she enters secondary school. Now, imagine telling her: “No. There will be no party. No gathering. The government says it is banned”. What message does that send? That her effort is invisible? That joy must be regulated? That memory must be denied? What memory will that leave her with? What does she learn from this? That her progress is unworthy of celebration? That even childhood joy lies at the mercy of state decrees?
This is not trivial. Psychologists remind us that rites of passage are essential to human growth. They help children make sense of transitions. They provide closure and anticipation. They bind communities together. By banning them, the state undermines children’s social and emotional development. But, the larger issue is constitutional in my estimation. Our country is a federation. States have powers to administer schools. But those powers are not unlimited. They do not have authority to outlaw private gatherings of parents and children in schools. When they do so, they trespass into rights protected by the Constitution. They mistake administration for ownership. This is the heart of the problem. Our states often behave like masters of society rather than servants of it. They imagine they can dictate how citizens live their lives. But, governments exist to enable, not to disable. To guide, not to control. To facilitate joy, not to ban it.
The schools’ graduation ban is a small example of a larger malaise. The creeping idea that the state is wiser than the society. That citizens cannot be trusted to organise their lives. That every excess must be met with prohibition. It is a philosophy of fear. And it is wrong.
What should be done instead?
Governments can regulate without banning. They can set rules to stop exploitation, and to enthrone the regime of transparency in levies. They can encourage modesty in celebrations. They can even partner with communities to make events educational as well as joyful. Plays that teach history. Prizes that reward academic excellence. Speeches that inspire. That is how societies evolve. By guidance, not by prohibition. Come to think of it, how do governments that inaugurate every flyover and bridge with extravagant fanfare, that turn ribbon-cuttings into carnivals, and that dress up the most routine achievements as if they were feats of civilisation, suddenly presume to teach parents restraint? Is this not hypocrisy dressed as virtue? The same officials who convert public duty into private spectacle now lecture families about the dangers of celebrating their children. It is the old parable of the physician who refuses to heal himself. For what is more excessive, parents buying cake and fabric to mark the passage of childhood, or governments spending millions to stage ceremonies for projects already funded by taxpayers?
Truth be told, this is not just about graduation ceremonies. It is about how governments see citizens as children to be placed under control? Or as partners to be engaged? If the former, then bans will multiply. If the latter, then society will flourish.
Those governors rubbing their hands in premature triumph should stop and reflect on the shortsightedness of such a ban. Childhood is short. Memory is precious. Education is not just about books. It is also about community, recognition, and joy. States’ governors that deny this deny their own future. For today’s children will remember. And what they will remember is whether their society celebrated them, or silenced their joy. Think.