The question sounded simple: Would she go back to school? For Mawish, a fifth-grade girl in Balochistan, the answer has become no. Her father has tried to persuade her to return to the classroom. But according to her family, Mawish remains afraid of the teacher who allegedly hurt her at school. During the incident, she suffered an injury to her arm.

Her family says the injury caused significant pain and frightened her deeply. For an adult, an injury may eventually become a painful memory. For a child in the fifth grade, being hurt by a teacher can transform the meaning of the place where it happened. For Mawish, that place was school. After the incident, she stopped going. Mawish is a pseudonym used to protect the child’s identity.

Before that day, school represented something very different. She wanted to study. She had imagined herself becoming a doctor. Education was part of a future she had already begun to picture. Then, according to her family, one incident changed the way she saw the classroom. When her father encourages her to return, she reportedly tells him that she is afraid the teacher will hurt her again. The injury may be healing. The fear has not. Her family says Mawish no longer wants to return to school and has also lost interest in becoming a doctor.

Mawish’s experience is one child’s story. It cannot establish how common violence by teachers is across Balochistan. But it raises a larger question: What happens when a child who has finally reached school no longer feels safe enough to stay there?

The question is particularly important in Balochistan, where getting children into classrooms remains one of the province’s biggest education challenges. UNICEF estimates that around 3.5 million children aged 5 to 16 in Balochistan are out of school — nearly 69 percent of the province’s school-age population. That is the highest proportional exclusion among Pakistan’s provinces. For children who are already inside classrooms, however, another challenge begins: How do you make sure they stay?

In June 2026, UNICEF, the European Union and the Government of Balochistan announced that the five-year Balochistan Education Support Programme-II had provided improved learning opportunities to more than 760,000 children. Nearly 335,000 girls benefited from improved learning opportunities. The programme also supported efforts to bring out-of-school children back into education. These efforts address one side of the education crisis: getting children into school. Mawish’s story raises another side: What happens inside the school once a child gets there?

Pakistan does not have a single comprehensive national database recording every incident of corporal punishment by teachers. Available evidence nevertheless shows that violent discipline remains a significant child-protection concern. The National Commission on the Rights of Child’s State of Children in Pakistan 2025 says the legal framework on corporal punishment remains uneven across Pakistan. It notes that Islamabad Capital Territory and Sindh have explicit statutory prohibitions, while Punjab, Khyber Pakhtunkhwa and Balochistan have relied largely on general child-protection laws, administrative measures or education-department notifications rather than comprehensive provincial bans covering all settings.

The same report notes that the Balochistan Child Protection Act 2016 prohibits violence and abuse against children, but does not explicitly define and prohibit corporal punishment in educational or domestic environments. This distinction matters. A child may have protection in principle, but protection becomes meaningful only when a child and family know where to complain  and when the complaint leads to action.

In July 2026, the Balochistan Education Department took a significant administrative step by imposing a complete ban on corporal punishment in all public and private schools across the province. The notification said corporal punishment and degrading disciplinary practices were still being reported in some educational institutions despite earlier directives. Teachers were prohibited from using slaps, sticks or other objects to physically punish students. Humiliating, threatening or mentally abusing students was also identified as punishable misconduct. Schools were directed to use positive and non-violent methods of discipline instead.

The notification also required schools to maintain complaint registers so incidents could be reported and investigated, with findings submitted to the relevant district education officer. Disciplinary action was warned against teachers and other responsible officials who violated the ban. The policy change came after years of concern over corporal punishment and child protection. But a ban on paper raises another question: Can a child trust the system enough to report what happened? For Mawish’s family, that question is not theoretical. It is personal.

Rules can change overnight. Fear does not. A government notification can prohibit hitting. A complaint register can create a reporting mechanism. A disciplinary procedure can establish consequences. But for a child who has already been hurt, returning to school can require something more fundamental: trust. Trust that the teacher will not hurt her. Trust that another adult will listen. Trust that her complaint will not be ignored. And trust that going back to school will not mean facing the same experience again.

This is where child protection becomes inseparable from education. A school cannot be considered successful merely because a child is enrolled. The child must also be able to learn in an environment where she feels physically and emotionally safe.

Research cited in Pakistan’s child-rights literature has repeatedly highlighted the normalisation of physical punishment. The State of Children in Pakistan 2025 notes that corporal punishment remains present across different educational and care environments and that children in settings with limited oversight can face greater risks. The challenge is not simply whether an individual teacher should be punished after an incident. It is also whether schools have effective alternatives.

Teachers need training in positive discipline. Parents need accessible complaint mechanisms. Children need to know whom they can approach. And school authorities need systems that allow allegations to be investigated without forcing children or families to navigate the process alone. Organisations working on child protection have also promoted positive discipline and teacher training as alternatives to physical punishment. The principle is simple: Discipline should correct behaviour without creating fear.

Balochistan already faces one of Pakistan’s most difficult education challenges. With an estimated 3.5 million children aged 5–16 out of school, almost seven in ten children in that age group are outside the education system. At the same time, programmes such as BES-II have invested in bringing children into classrooms and improving learning opportunities, including for hundreds of thousands of girls.

That creates a basic policy challenge: Getting children into school is only the beginning. Keeping them there requires safety, dignity and trust. For a girl like Mawish, the distance between those two goals can be measured in something much more personal than statistics. It can be measured in fear.

A database can record an injury. A school register can record an absence. A government programme can count the number of children brought into classrooms. But none of these records can fully capture what happens when a child who once dreamed of becoming a doctor begins to associate school with fear.

Mawish’s case cannot tell us how widespread teacher violence is in Balochistan. But it can show what one incident can cost. Her family says she stopped attending school. Her dream of becoming a doctor was shaken. And a place that once represented her future became a place she was afraid to return to. That is the part of the education crisis that numbers cannot easily show.

Balochistan has now formally prohibited corporal punishment in public and private schools and established mechanisms through which complaints are supposed to be recorded and investigated. The next test is implementation. Will every school maintain a functioning complaint mechanism? Will children and parents know about it? Will teachers receive practical training in non-violent discipline? Will complaints be investigated promptly? And will families believe that reporting an incident will actually protect their children?

These questions matter because laws and notifications do not enter classrooms by themselves. They have to be understood, implemented and enforced. For Mawish, that process may determine whether school can ever become a place of possibility again.

Mawish is still a child. Her experience has interrupted her education, but it does not have to determine her future. She once imagined becoming a doctor. Perhaps that dream will return. But for that to happen, returning to school must mean more than putting a school uniform back on or carrying a schoolbag through the gate. It must mean knowing that the adults inside the classroom will protect her dignity. It must mean knowing that if something goes wrong, someone will listen. And it must mean knowing that discipline does not have to come through fear.

Balochistan’s education challenge is often described in millions and percentages. But behind every number is a child. A child with a dream. A child with a right to learn. And, above all, a child with a right to feel safe while learning.

For Mawish, the road back to education may begin not with a classroom, but with rebuilding trust.

Because sometimes the biggest barrier between a girl and her education is not the distance to school.

It is the fear waiting inside it.