Exams, uniforms and things that stay with us

JUST when I thought we were done talking about school uniforms, another old school memory comes knocking at the door.

You are right – the Ujian Pencapaian Sekolah Rendah (UPSR), and the Pentaksiran Tingkatan 3 (PT3) (PT3).

Of course, I did not go through these two examinations.

A galaxy ago, we had Common Entrance Examination for Primary 6, Lower Certificate Exam (LCE) for Form 3, and Senior Cambridge Exam (SCE) for Form 5.

Whether Senior Cambridge, UPSR or PT3, these are names that can still raise heart rates among the parents, and strangely, even among adults who sat those exams decades ago under whatever names.

This week, the Education Ministry announced that it was studying whether to bring back the Primary 6 and Form 3 assessments.

The minister, YB Fadhlina Sidek, asked for time, saying that the ministry would want to listen, evaluate and align any decision with what had already been implemented.

But reactions are fast, and sharp. Some say we don’t need another study; others want exams now.

Amid the debate, Sarawak Premier Datuk Patinggi Tan Sri Abang Johari Tun Openg put it plainly at a recent townhall: “First it was abolished, now it’s back.

“There seems to be no clear direction. It’s confusing for the teachers, and the students are confused too.”

He stressed that the constant back-and-forth was leaving everyone unsure of what to expect, and urged for a consistent national exam system that could help students master basic skills rather than muddle through uncertainty.

Even before the policymakers finish debating, the conversation and debates are fierce in kitchens, staff rooms, ‘kopitiam’ and WhatsApp groups.

A mother of two primary school children said she didn’t mind the exams, but wanted clarity.

“If there are no exams, then tell us clearly how our children are being assessed.

“Right now, we don’t know whether they are doing well, or just doing enough.”

A retired teacher, who taught through multiple education reforms, was more blunt.

“We keep changing the system, but children are the ones who have to adjust each time. Consistency matters more than ideology.”

Another parent admitted she never liked UPSR, but now finds herself strangely missing it.

“I hated the stress, but at least there was a structure.

“Now everything feels vague. You still end up sending your child for tuition, but without knowing what they’re preparing for.”

A secondary school student, when asked, surprised me with his honesty.

“Exams are scary, but not knowing where you stand is worse.

“At least with exams, you know when to push yourself.”

And perhaps the most telling comment came from a working mother, juggling school schedules and expectations.

“We keep saying we don’t want pressure on children. But uncertainty creates a different kind of pressure for the parents, teachers, and students alike.”

And there we are again – caught between study first and do now, between caution and conviction.

Last week, I wrote about uniforms – black-and-white, conformity, equality, the strange comfort of looking the same while growing up differently.

I didn’t expect it to resonate so widely, but perhaps I should have because uniforms were never just about clothes; neither are exams just about marks.

For many of us, UPSR was the first time we learned that effort could be measured, compared, and put on record.

It was stressful, but we could not deny that it was also a milestone.

A rite of passage; a moment when parents hovered a little closer, and teachers looked a little more serious.

PT3 came later, when adolescence was already confusing enough, offering another checkpoint – not necessarily to label us, but to tell our students where they were.

When these exams were abolished, the intention was noble: reduce pressure, move away from exam-centric education, trust schools to assess holistically.

But somewhere along the way, many parents began to feel untethered.

If there is no common benchmark, how do you know where your child stands – not just within a school, but across schools, districts, states and even nation?

Uniforms told us we belonged. Exams told us where we were.

Of course, not all memories are fond. Some remember tears, tuition overload, the quiet fear of disappointing parents; others remember discipline, routine, a sense of direction.

That is why this debate refuses to go away.

Those calling for more time are not being unreasonable.

Education policy should not swing with every public outcry.

But those asking for structure are not wrong either.

In the absence of clear national markers, anxiety does not disappear – it simply relocates into WhatsApp groups, into ‘kopitiams’, and even fights in the living room!

What strikes me is how similar this debate feels to the uniform discussion.

On the surface, it is about policy. Underneath, it is about reassurance.

Parents want to know their children are not drifting.

Teachers want tools that help them teach, not just manage.

Students want clarity.

Perhaps the real question is not whether to bring back UPSR or PT3, but what kind of assessment that we believe our children deserve.

One that measures memory alone?

Or one that balances structure with humanity?

And maybe, just maybe, this is why these old topics keep returning.

Uniforms. Exams. Discipline. Belonging.

They are not relics; they are reminders – that in education, as in life, freedom works best when it is anchored.

And structure, when done right, does not imprison; it steadies.

Sometimes the most read stories are not about what’s new, but about what we are still trying to figure out – together.