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Consent Beyond Sex-Ed: Weaving Respect and Autonomy in Classroom Culture

Three middle school children in uniform poses for the camera with their arms crossed.

A student once asked me, “Can I say no to a teacher when I don’t like something or don’t agree with them?” They paused, and then added, “Can I say no to you?”

The question paved the way for me to introspect and revisit various ideas in the context of classrooms: how do we view students, what rights do they have, can all students say ‘no’ without repercussions, how do the identities we hold shape student–teacher interactions, and, what are the possible influences of sociocultural narratives?

In Indian educational spaces, respect in relationships is hierarchical rather than reciprocal; it significantly rests with teachers, often engendering expectations of conformity and compliance from students. This implicit and ingrained hierarchy hinders practising consent, because consent is then assumed rather than sought. I vividly remember the evening when a young person I was counselling, called me urgently to say, “They were clicking pictures at school today for the school’s social media account, and I didn’t want to get photographed. I often get bullied about my skin colour and the way I appear in the pictures. When I said no, my teacher didn’t look very pleased. I am scared if I made her angry. I didn’t mean to. You know I always carry that teacher’s notebooks for her from class to the staffroom, but today she asked someone else. What if she is upset with me? What if tomorrow she asks me the most difficult questions in front of the whole class? Our exams are approaching; what if she fails me?”

A feared reaction to a mere ‘no’ can make one feel a loss of what is safe, familiar, and comfortable; it can affect a young person’s sense of agency. This further extends to body autonomy, setting boundaries, and expressions of sexuality – young people, as well as many adults, find it difficult to verbalise a clear, assertive ‘no’ to unwanted physical advances, especially when they are from people who are perceived to be in positions of power. If we are unable to create safety, towards seemingly small requests like that of a photo, how can students assert their boundaries in intimate relationships later in their lives? How do our students feel empowered, have fulfilling relationships, and contribute towards responsible citizenship – the fundamental purpose of education – if they are constantly responding to skewed power dynamics in a place like school, which is expected to be nurturing?

The dynamics in teaching-learning relationships are further shaped by our identities of caste, class, gender, sexual orientation, and abilities. In one of the schools I was visiting, I noticed that as a part of ‘classroom roles’, students from the Dalit community were given the chore of cleaning their classrooms at the end of the day. Who assigned the roles? The class teacher. Would the roles periodically be revised? No, they were set for the year. Similarly, many folks from the queer community experience discomfort and distress when tasks or roles assigned to them are not aligned with their preferred ways of being. For example, a friend, who identifies as a transgender man, once shared that during annual day performances or plays at school, they were consistently assigned female roles, despite expressing their preference to play a male character. The lack of choice and rigidity in our processes once again silences students, particularly when it comes to their gender expression, sexuality identity, and personal autonomy, further marginalising those who are already on the fringes.

These examples underscore the need for educators to engage with two perspectives so as to collectively move towards equitable relationships.

Acknowledging that children have rights. Children hold the right to participate and express themselves freely, without fear. Upholding these rights for the young people we serve opens up possibilities of dialogue and partnership, fosters safety, lays the groundwork for responsible decision-making, adopting different perspectives, and supports student engagement in the learning process.

How do we live and realise these possibilities? What would practising them look and sound like?

Consent cannot be a singular lesson plan. We need to reimagine the ways in which consent can be integrated into our curriculum content, conversations, and how we role-model it.

Meditations from my practise and observing my co-educators have helped me to identify several ways to integrate consent into our language. For example, when making decisions about participation or duties, engaging in a dialogue can be impactful. A simple question like ‘what do you think?’ invites collaboration. Helping students learn age-appropriate words and phrases for boundary setting as well as measures to initiate and navigate conversations when those boundaries are overstepped are essential. These can be co-created by the classroom and school community. In addition, you could introduce visuals in language that is accessible to the students. Likewise, if you’re asking a student to help you with carrying classroom materials, such as notebooks, ask them if they are open to the idea. You could also sometimes offer to carry their bags or materials. Reflecting on your own relationship with the concept of consent is valuable – consider the kind of personal triggers and emotions which visit you when you’re able to adequately practise it and when you are not. To role-model a culture of respect, seek permission when clicking photographs of students and inform them about the purpose and how the photos will be used. Similarly, before offering reassurance through a pat on the back, a gentle nudge on the shoulder, or a hug, ask them, “Is it okay with you if I gave you a pat or a hug?” It supports their sense of agency. In the classroom, many subjects offer a chance to integrate consent education through pedagogy and/or content. For example, many language-based subjects include stories and poems, where prompts could be designed to initiate a dialogue. For example, “We see that the character said no; what could have prompted this choice? What should be done if they change their mind about this decision halfway?”

For far too long, conversations around consent have been reactive, initiated only after a harmful incident has occurred – for example, in the case of physical or sexual abuse. Too often, such discussions are not only rushed but also squeezed into a single session in sexuality education or adolescent awareness programmes, limiting their impact and making consent seem like a topic that is relevant only to older students or in light of specific dangers. This approach not only diminishes consent to a set of warnings but also fails to instill a deeper understanding of personal boundaries, respect, and bodily autonomy.

Instead, we need a proactive, holistic approach – one that recognises consent as a fundamental life skill, much like communication, empathy, or problem-solving. Teaching consent from the early years, even in pre-primary education, can help foster a culture of mutual respect and understanding. Doing so, in turn, lays the foundation for more nuanced conversations about consent as children grow up, making it an integral part of their development rather than an isolated or awkward topic.

Moreover, embedding consent education into multiple facets of schooling – such as classroom interactions, playtime, and discussions on emotions – ensures that it is not limited to a classroom subject but also becomes part of lived experience. When students are consistently encouraged to express and respect boundaries, they grow into adults who are better equipped to navigate relationships, personal choices, and social situations with confidence and empathy. This shift in perspective helps create safer, more inclusive, and accessible spaces where everyone’s autonomy is valued, thus making consent a norm rather than an exception in how we interact with one another.

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Cover Image by Anil Sharma on Pexels