The apostle Paul writes in his letter to the Ephesian church, saying:
“Let no corrupting talk come out of your mouths, but only such as is good for building up others, as fits the occasion, that it may give grace to those who hear.” Eph. 4:29
I’ve asked my students what they think is most important between a student and teacher. Many have answered respect, love, or even fear. For me, it’s trust.
Encouragement should be genuine, sincere, and honest. Life will challenge us and our students, professionally, personally, physically, or financially. Without encouragement, students can lose their way, doubt themselves, and rush to please without growth or patience.
Teachers shouldn’t crush students for personal gain. Insecurity is damaging, especially in leadership. Anger and frustration don’t help. Students want to learn, not to have a weekly unproductive review by an unkind critic..
Character matters more than talent. A hardworking student with mediocre talent can progress further than a naturally talented student with a poor work ethic. I’ve seen remarkable progress in less talented students who are diligent and inspired. Teachers should set plans, timeframes, consequences, and goals, but above all, inspire students.
Teachers must help students grow positively and strongly, becoming their own teachers. Even Liszt’s students had to navigate their paths after their master passed.
Some teachers are victims of poor and abusive teaching themselves, while others are either unable or unwilling to change. Teaching is a selfless and reflective profession. It’s impossible not to influence students, as they come seeking guidance. There’s no better way to lead than by example, showing them what works and what doesn’t. Time is the most valuable commodity, and students can’t afford to waste it on self-doubt, self-pity, or bad habits.
Like parenting, sometimes we wish for our students to embody specific traits, but we can be mistaken about their true potential. Our aim should always be towards achieving excellence and continuous progress, not perfection. In this sense, teachers are akin to doctors and should abide by the Hippocratic oath: “first, do no harm”.
In an age filled with distractions, the life of a young musician, particularly a pianist, can feel lonely. A doubting mind is a dangerous enemy right before stepping onto the stage. I was fortunate to learn under several loving teachers, with the most significant impact coming between 1993 and 1996, when Vsevolod Vladimirovich Demidov taught me at the Cairo Conservatory. I owe much of my pianistic knowledge to those three formative years.
Demidov was a true gentleman and product of the grand Russian school—serious, dedicated, and passionate about teaching. He was focused on detail and perfection; for him, technical flaws were obstacles that had to be eliminated. No matter a student’s talent level, he wouldn’t tolerate any showboating or pretentiousness, and he removed such traits without tact, a bit startling for a 13-year-old, but ultimately beneficial.
His encouragement came economically and cautiously but sincerely. A simple comment like, “you play like an artist, that’s what sets you apart,” meant the world to me. When another faculty member treated me unfairly, Demidov reassured me, saying, “don’t worry, this is all silly; in three years you’ll be Richter.”
He seldom offered grandiose praise; just saying, “this is very good,” with a smile was monumental. Towards the end of my time with him, he occasionally showed his admiration. During a farewell gathering, he remarked in the presence of all of his other students, “If I had Wael’s nature, talent, and determination, I would have been Horowitz by now.” To hear such words from someone renowned for their honesty lent me immense confidence and helped me withstand later challenges.
From the outset, he treated me as a mature adult, conveying the weight of a concert pianist’s responsibilities. He would say, “If your father works for seven or eight hours a day, you should spend as much time at the piano. Otherwise, you are not serious.” He had little tolerance for carelessness, and with a “tough love” approach, he consistently pushed me to a higher standard. In doing so, he instilled in me the values and work ethic that define a true musician.
The moments of encouragement I received, even amidst harsh criticism, were vital during trying times. A wise critic once said, “He (Demidov) gave me all that I needed to survive in the pianistic jungle.” That should be our goal—not only to develop accomplished musicians but also well-rounded individuals. What good is it to create a polished pianist if they are deeply insecure or unhappy?
These experiences fostered early maturity within me, fostering responsibility and organization, lessons that are best learned early. For all this, I am grateful, as were my supportive parents, which played a significant role in my journey. They encouraged me without pressuring me, or any thoughts or efforts to exploit or gain from my performances, quite the opposite, they tirelessly worked on providing support and balance in my pursuit.
I initially couldn’t understand why other students didn’t share the same joy and results. I assumed all my classmates had equally supportive teachers and parents and possessed similar talent and work ethic—I was naive.
I encountered teachers who belittled students, emphasizing their own superiority over us, but thankfully, I transitioned from such experiences after my time with Demidov. His lessons grounded me in supportive standards that were selfless in nature. He had his own doubts and struggles, but he refrained from projecting those onto impressionable young minds.
Today, I witness rising psychological fragility and isolation among students. It pains me to learn that some of my most talented pupils have physically harmed themselves due to intense pressure from parents and previous teachers. I’ve learned the importance of checking in with students when something doesn’t seem right, recognizing that we often lack the full picture.
Should we expect our students to achieve high standards? Absolutely.
Is civility synonymous with weakness? Certainly not.
Can we convey tough truths without destruction? Without a doubt.
We cannot force anyone to be responsible or mature, but we can lead by example, sharing our experiences to help them grow. I’ve realized that when uncertainty arises, it’s often best to default to kindness.