The present education system What should it be like?

The last rays of the afternoon sun filtered softly through the barred classroom windows. Around forty students sat inside, yet their attention seemed scattered elsewhere.

One glanced at a mobile phone beneath the desk, another twirled a pen absentmindedly, while a third stared out into the distant sky-as if searching for answers that lay beyond the classroom walls.

On the blackboard, the teacher had written: “Education is the backbone of a nation.”

But a quiet question formed in his mind: is education still truly the backbone of humanity, or has it gradually been reduced to a mechanical system of examinations, certificates, and employment-driven competition?

Across Bangladesh, and indeed much of the world, education is undergoing a profound transition.

The system is no longer the calm, predictable river it once appeared to be.

It is breaking its banks, reshaping itself, and searching-often uncertainly-for new directions.

There was a time when education largely meant memorisation. The teacher spoke; the student listened.

Questions were rare, and fear often filled the gaps where curiosity should have been. Discipline existed, but it frequently came at the cost of independent thought.

Today’s learners are different. They are not confined to textbooks. In their hands lies access to the wider world.

A smartphone can open the doors to classrooms in Tokyo, educational philosophies from Finland, or lectures from Harvard.

Knowledge is no longer the exclusive domain of the teacher.

Yet, in many classrooms, success is still measured narrowly through examination results.

Marks are valued above creativity, and competition often outweighs compassion.

Students carry heavy academic burdens but are rarely encouraged to discover their individuality.

Meanwhile, some of the world’s most admired education systems offer a different perspective.

In Finland, emphasis is placed not only on academic achievement but on well-being, confidence, and character.

Education there is designed to nurture balanced human beings rather than simply high achievers.

In Japan, students are taught responsibility from an early age by cleaning their own classrooms, reinforcing the idea that education shapes character as much as intellect.

South Korea, while globally recognised for academic excellence and technological advancement, continues to confront concerns about excessive pressure and the erosion of childhood.

These examples highlight a global truth: education systems everywhere are questioning whether relentless competition is undermining human development itself.

In Bangladesh, the challenge is particularly urgent. Many students feel trapped between coaching centres, examinations, and constant comparison.

Creativity often struggles to survive in such an environment.

The system risks producing results, but not necessarily resilience, empathy, or imagination.

The deeper crisis is not infrastructural; it is philosophical. It is a crisis of purpose. We teach children how to succeed, but not always how to stay balanced.

We teach them how to win, but not how to cope with failure. Over time, the pressure to perform can turn vibrant learners into exhausted participants in a mechanical process.

True education should awaken curiosity, not suppress it. It should encourage thinking, not mere repetition.

As Rabindranath Tagore reminded us, education is not simply the transmission of information but the harmonisation of life itself.

Yet, in an increasingly digital age, loneliness among students is rising.

They may be connected online to thousands, yet feel emotionally disconnected in reality.

In such a context, even a few encouraging words from a teacher-“You can do it” or “Mistakes are part of learning”-can become transformative.

For while information is now easily accessible through technology, inspiration is not. Machines can provide answers, but only human beings can provide hope.

Bangladesh must therefore rethink its educational priorities. Reform cannot be limited to curriculum changes alone. It must involve a shift in mindset.

Classrooms should become spaces where questions are welcomed, where fear is replaced by encouragement, and where assessment is not the sole measure of worth.

Arts, sports, creativity, and emotional well-being must be given equal importance alongside academic achievement. Mental health should be recognised as an integral part of education, not a peripheral concern.

A nation does not rise through technology alone; it rises through the character of its people.

The future of education must therefore be human-centred, not merely examination-centred.

One day, perhaps, even in the most remote village school, children will attend classes not out of fear, but with curiosity.

Teachers will inspire rather than intimidate.

And classrooms will no longer feel like enclosed spaces of pressure, but open landscapes of possibility.

For education is not merely about earning a living. It is about learning how to live. It is about nurturing humanity in an age increasingly defined by machines, metrics, and speed.

And when education finally succeeds in placing humanity above marks, society will not only become more knowledgeable-it will become more humane.

(The writer is a teacher, poet
and columnist).