By Claire Chisholm, Principal
There is a question I have been turning over in my mind recently — one that feels both ambitious and, perhaps, slightly uncomfortable:
What role does education play in preventing conflict?
It is, on the face of it, a rather large claim. Schools, after all, do not make policy, negotiate treaties, or command armies. And yet, when we look closely at the roots of conflict — misunderstanding, intolerance, fear of difference, the inability to see beyond one’s own perspective — it becomes harder to argue that education is not deeply implicated.
Perhaps the more honest question is not whether education can prevent conflict, but whether it can afford not to try.
At a school like Lomond School, we are in a uniquely privileged position. Our community is not theoretical; it is lived. Multiple languages are spoken not as an academic exercise, but across lunch tables and in boarding houses. Faiths and traditions sit alongside one another not in textbooks, but in daily life. Difference is not something to be studied at a distance — it is something to be encountered, negotiated, and, ultimately, understood.
And this matters.
Because the habits of mind that shape global leaders are not formed in moments of crisis; they are formed much earlier, often in far quieter settings. In classrooms. In conversations. In the way disagreement is handled. In whether a student learns to win an argument, or to understand another person.
If we are serious about preparing young people for the world they are inheriting, then we must ask more of education than academic success alone. Knowledge, while essential, is not sufficient. The world does not lack information; it struggles, at times, with interpretation, empathy, and judgment.
So what might it look like to educate not only for achievement, but for peace?
It begins, I think, with perspective. The ability to recognise that one’s own view is not the only view — and, crucially, that it may not always be the correct one. This is not about diminishing confidence, but about deepening understanding.
It requires us to cultivate in our students a genuine curiosity about others — not as an abstract ideal, but as a daily practice. To ask questions before making assumptions. To listen with the intent to understand, rather than to respond. These are deceptively simple skills, but they are foundational.
There is also a moral dimension. Education must help young people develop a sense of responsibility — not only for themselves, but for the communities they are part of, both local and global. Service, in this sense, is not an optional extra. It is a way of grounding learning in real-world impact, of helping students see that their actions, however small, matter.
Of course, we should be cautious about grand claims. Schools do not “produce” peacemakers in any guaranteed sense. Young people will go on to lead lives shaped by countless influences beyond our gates.
But we can create the conditions in which certain qualities are more likely to flourish.
We can create environments where diversity is genuinely valued, where dialogue is encouraged, and where students learn that disagreement need not lead to division. We can model what it means to engage respectfully with complexity, rather than retreating into certainty.
And perhaps most importantly, we can nurture a belief — quietly but persistently — that the future is not something that simply happens to them, but something they have a role in shaping.
If that sounds ambitious, it is. But education has always been, at its heart, an act of optimism.
An investment in the idea that the next generation might not only understand the world as it is, but have the courage and wisdom to make it better.
And in times such as these, that feels not only worthwhile, but essential. Doesn’t it?
