I only recently discovered that my generation is called “millennial” -- a term I never encountered while living in Bangladesh. Those of us born in the mid-1980s, enrolled in school after the 1990s, grew up during that decade, and attended college or university in the 2000s share a distinct trajectory, particularly those raised in Dhaka.
Our career paths aren’t bad -- in fact, they’ve progressed significantly compared to the previous generation. Most people I grew up with are well-established in their careers, spanning corporate jobs, research roles, and an astonishing number of PhDs. Among my friends, PhDs are so common that they’ve become the “average degree.” However, very few of my peers remain in Bangladesh -- perhaps one or two out of a hundred have returned after completing their PhDs.
This is, to some extent, a positive development. Despite the near-collapse of Bangladesh's education system and the lack of mentorship we faced, many men and women have managed to build successful careers abroad. These achievements are undoubtedly worth celebrating. I know how hard it was to navigate life in a new country, adapt to cultural differences, weather shocks and language barriers, all while enduring the pressures of graduate school.
But here’s the troubling part. Based on the experiences of many people from prominent schools and colleges in Bangladesh, I can confidently say that there is almost no one among us contributing significantly to broader fields of knowledge, politics, philosophy, or literature.
Essentially, what we call the “scholars” of a generation are largely absent. Even the brightest among us are in a similar position -- none of us are writing theories capable of transforming society, nor do we seem particularly interested in those who do. I closely follow the trajectories of those in Bangladesh who write well today, and most of them grew up outside Dhaka.
Why is it that the probability of becoming a “scholar” is so low among those who grew up in Dhaka and attended its renowned schools and colleges? I have an observation.
We grew up in an intensely competitive environment. A gap of just one or two marks could push you out of the top 15 in schools like mine, Udayan School, or similar institutions in Dhaka. If you weren’t among the top 10 or 15, you were treated with disdain at home and outside. Much of our youth was spent ensuring we excelled academically, often at the expense of broader intellectual curiosity.
Excelling in math alone -- or possessing quantitative skills -- should not be mistaken as the sole hallmark of an intellectual person
So how did we define “good students” in our generation? There was only one way: Those who excelled in math.
Being good at math is undoubtedly crucial for certain specializations. But excelling in math alone -- or possessing quantitative skills -- should not be mistaken as the sole hallmark of an intellectual person.
We were made to study a dull textbook called Samajik Bigyan (Society), but we weren’t required to engage deeply with politics, society, or philosophy. Whether someone in our generation was a good writer was a question no one thought to ask. Analytical skills? That didn’t even come up.
This Dhaka-centric generation, raised to survive competition solely through “doing math,” cannot be expected to produce anything “grand.” Yet, given the societal resources and strong social capital invested in us, this outcome is disappointing. Many from outside Dhaka did not have access to the same advantages, yet their trajectories often seem more promising -- perhaps even more helpful for understanding Dhaka’s societal dynamics.
This raises broader questions about how we define educational success. If we prioritize rote learning and a narrow conception of intelligence -- focused on quantifiable metrics like math test scores -- what kinds of minds are we nurturing?
Perhaps we are unintentionally creating generations of highly efficient workers but not the thinkers, creators, and visionaries who can address the larger challenges of our times.
Dhaka’s elite education system has long been considered the pinnacle of academic achievement in Bangladesh, but its focus on competition over curiosity may be its greatest flaw.
The absence of space to explore the humanities, question existing norms, or nurture creativity has limited our ability to contribute meaningfully to society beyond professional accomplishments.
As we reflect on the trajectory of our generation, the question isn’t just what we have achieved but also what we could have achieved with a more holistic approach to education.
The time has come to rethink how we design our schools and universities -- not just in Dhaka but across Bangladesh. Otherwise, the cost of this narrow educational focus may not only be a generation devoid of scholars but also a society that loses the ability to imagine a better future.
This is a call for a collective reimagining of education -- one that values intellectual diversity, fosters creativity, and moves beyond numbers and rankings.
Without this shift, we risk repeating the mistakes of the past, perpetuating a cycle where potential is measured by grades but not realized in the broader arenas of thought and change.
Aparna Howlader, PhD is an Assistant Professor of Economics, School of Business and Enterprise, Chatham University.
