Throughout the world, quota systems or any legacy preferential treatment have been used to benefit the disenfranchised and to act as a bridge, filling the gap between the haves and the have-nots. However, in our nation, the term quota is synonymous with preferential treatment and entitlement.

Since its inception in 1970, quotas in various sectors have been used, moreover politically misused, in order to favour specific groups. The uprising of 2024 sparked from the continuation of the anti-quota movement of 2018 and, like before, transformed into a struggle in the name of students against discrimination.

Once again, the people of Bangladesh have been witness to such a struggle in Rajshahi University, where quietly the relic of entitlement operated in the name of the poorly devised “ward quota” or, in Bangla, “Possho”, meaning descendant quotas. To better understand Bangali society’s enduring quest for such entitlement, one must ask: why are we so obsessed with quotas in the first place?

A nation’s positive intent

In 1972, a war-torn nation, deprived of food and a functioning economy, implemented Article 29(3) — the backbone that legitimised quotas in our institutions. The article states:

“(3) Nothing in this article shall prevent the State from –
(a) making special provision in favour of any backward section of citizens for the purpose of securing their adequate representation in the service of the Republic;
(b) giving effect to any law which makes provision for reserving appointments relating to any religious or denominational institution to persons of that religion or denomination;
(c) reserving for members of one sex any class of employment or office on the ground that it is considered by its nature to be unsuited to members of the opposite sex.”

The rationale was to rehabilitate freedom fighters in government services as a way of ensuring and rewarding their sacrifice for the country. However, through this benevolent act, another form of legalised nepotism came into effect. The ward quota, often comparable to legacy hires in foreign institutions, was a small percentage allocated for the blood relatives of teachers, administrators, and staff of public universities and government institutions.

For a poor country with scant education and employment opportunities, this quota may have once gone under the radar, but in 2025, its legitimacy is subject to serious questioning.

The question of relevancy

If you read 3(a), the need to properly represent “backward” sections of citizens is clearly mentioned, but what it does not mention is the legal definition of who can be characterised as a backward population.

The question can be raised unequivocally: can the relatives of government service holders, with pensions, provident funds, and other incentives, truthfully be considered “backward”? The “backward” tag is thus a sleight of tongue employed to justify legalised nepotism.

Earlier this year, on 2 January, Rajshahi University took the bold step of abolishing ward quotas. The system, which allowed children and grandchildren of university officers, instructors, and other staff to enrol in undergraduate programmes with a 5% reservation, was eliminated by the administration in response to student concerns.

A group of teachers, officers, and staff later started a movement calling for its restoration. When officials reinstated the ward quota on Thursday (18 September) after making their announcement, students protested.

While social media was preoccupied with the spectacle of students raising their voices against their teachers, the fundamental issue of legitimacy and fairness in such a quota system within a civilised society was swept aside.

The attempt at self-victimisation by the privileged is a trend this nation continues to witness. After protests staged by students, Rajshahi University authorities suspended their decision to reinstate the ward quota. The so‑called victimised beneficiaries were forced to suspend its enforcement, as announced on the university’s verified Facebook page around 1:00am Sunday (21 September).

The nation, it seems, has lost all sense of embarrassment. Teachers, administrators, and university staff, even on 20 September, were seen protesting in front of the university’s senate building. The sympathetic may ask: what is the fuss about 5%? Why can’t the students let it go?

The precise counter-question is: why should there be even 1%? Why cannot the rampant culture of entitlement be forgotten even after 54 years of independence? These questions, though obvious to a principled individual, escape our collective consciousness. We, the privileged, often fail to see our abundance, not by the sums in our bank accounts, but by the eroded social values that dominate our minds. Logic and reason have always been strangers in our prefrontal cortex, being ever absent in the wilderness known as the Bangali brain A shameful observation.