We often repeat a familiar line: education is the backbone of the nation. We say it with confidence, sometimes even pride. But if this backbone is truly so important, an uncomfortable question must be asked, what is its actual condition today?

I ask this question not only as an academic, but as someone whose own educational journey began in a remote village in Manikganj.

The primary school I attended would often go underwater during the monsoon. Roads were broken, muddy, and difficult to cross. Yet, despite poor infrastructure, the teachers of that school held immense respect in society. Villagers sought their advice on everything from family disputes to community decisions. Teachers were not wealthy, but they were valued.

When I recently revisited that village, I saw a very different physical reality. The school building is better. The roads are improved. Infrastructure has clearly advanced. But I could not confidently say the same about the quality of education—or about the social standing of teachers. Over the last six decades, the dignity and authority of teachers in our society have steadily declined. Today, they are no longer viewed as moral or intellectual leaders. This change should deeply concern us.

We have produced countless education policies, commission reports, and reform proposals. Yet very few have been meaningfully implemented. This is not the failure of a single government or a short period—it is a long-standing national neglect. We claim education is the backbone of the nation, but we have failed to strengthen that backbone.

There was a time when students in this region were inspired by science and discovery. We proudly claimed Sir Jagadish Chandra Bose, one of the pioneers of wireless communication as our own. He demonstrated radio signal transmission long before it became commercially recognised. This should have been a foundation for scientific confidence and ambition. Instead, we allowed that legacy to fade. If radio could be pioneered by a Bengali scientist, why could the mobile phone not have been invented here? The problem is not capability, it is continuity, culture, and commitment.

Recent data should alarm us all. Studies suggest that our Grade 11 learning outcomes are equivalent to Grade 7 in developed countries—meaning our children are effectively losing four years. Reports of declining cognitive performance among students are not just embarrassing; they are dangerous signals of systemic failure. We may not have mountains or vast natural resources, but intelligence has always been our strength. To squander that is unforgivable.

Consider population density. The global average is around 50 people per square kilometre. Asia’s is about three times that. South Asia’s is even higher. Bangladesh stands at an astonishing 1,300 people per square kilometre. This means one thing clearly: our future depends entirely on how well we nurture human beings. In the 21st century, the most valuable resource is not land or minerals—it is the human brain.

But people do not become “human capital” automatically. They must be trained, educated, and skilled. At present, we are failing to do this. Every year, budget speeches claim education has received “priority”. In reality, our education spending hovers around 1.6–1.7% of GDP—among the lowest in the world. No serious nation develops under such neglect.

We have expanded education numerically but weakened it qualitatively. Once, Bangladesh had a handful of universities. Today, there are over 200. Yet the number of highly qualified teachers has not increased proportionately. When institutions multiply without adequate faculty, facilities, or vision, standards inevitably fall. Grade inflation replaces learning, certificates replace competence, and education becomes an illusion.

The result is visible everywhere: educated unemployment on a massive scale, alongside a growing group of young people who are neither in education, nor training, nor employment. This is not a demographic dividend—it is a ticking time bomb.

The Covid-19 pandemic exposed another critical failure. When schools closed, millions of students suddenly had hours of free time every day. This could have been transformed into a national learning opportunity through digital platforms, televised classes, and structured skill programmes. Instead, we largely wasted that time. Education was treated as something that could simply be paused—when in fact it should have been prioritised even more.

Technology offers us a powerful solution, if we choose to use it wisely. A single excellent teacher, using digital platforms, can teach millions. A student in a remote village could learn mathematics from the best teacher in the country. This is productivity. This is equity. For a resource-constrained country like Bangladesh, technology-driven education is not optional—it is essential.

Other countries have shown us the path. Singapore, once a fishing settlement, invested relentlessly in education and human capital. South Korea emerged from war and hunger through education. Japan rose from the devastation of atomic bombings by transforming its people into skilled innovators. None of these countries had abundant natural resources. They invested in minds.

Bangladesh’s future is no different. Our economy’s future is our people. If we fail to invest now, our current youth bulge will turn into an enormous social and economic burden within the next two decades. Demographic dividends do not last forever.

Education truly is the backbone of the nation—but a backbone must be strengthened, not merely praised. That requires political commitment, long-term vision, serious investment, and a cultural shift that restores respect for teachers, values knowledge, and rewards merit.

If we can do that, there is no reason Bangladesh cannot stand tall in the world—confident, capable, and self-respecting. If we cannot, no amount of rhetoric will save us.

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Abridged from an interview on TBS Future hosted by TBS’ Executive Editor Shakawat Liton.

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Dr Mohammad Kaykobad is a retired professor of Computer Science & Engineering, Buet