Md. Nurul Haque

It begins not in the classrooms but in the alleys behind them. Cramped rooms. Faded whiteboards. Promises whispered through megaphones and bold posters: “100% A+ Guaranteed!” Welcome to the unofficial republic of Bangladesh’s education—the coaching centers.

In a country where education is sold like sugarcane juice on a summer day, coaching centers have quietly become the parallel state. Their empire stretches from village bazaars to city skyscrapers. They do what schools no longer do — prepare students to chase grades, not knowledge. They are no longer supplements; they are the main dish.

But let us be clear — this is not a condemnation of those who teach in these centres, many of whom are victims of a broken system. This condemns a system that has turned education into a transaction, learning into a service, and students into commodities.

What began decades ago as after-school assistance for struggling students has transformed into a national obsession. Today, a seventh-grade student often has a tighter schedule than a CEO. English at 7, math at 9, science at 11 — no time for rest, let alone curiosity. Even weekends are taken over. Eid breaks? “Mock tests.” Summer vacations? “Crash courses.”

Coaching centers have become not sanctuaries of learning but hubs of rote mastery. Memorize. Regurgitate. Repeat. The teacher lecturing in school faces empty benches, while students crowd into rooms next door, where the duplicate content is taught — faster, harsher, more “exam-focused.” Parents, anxious for their children’s futures in an increasingly competitive society, surrender willingly. They mortgage dreams, sell land, cut back on meals — all to buy into the illusion that success is guaranteed if you pay enough.

But at what cost?

The very existence of these centers is a damning indictment of our formal education system. When students no longer believe that school is the place to learn, when teachers refer students to their coaching classes after school hours, and when entire institutions subtly encourage absenteeism to accommodate “private programs,” we must acknowledge that the system has failed.

Classrooms have lost their sanctity. Teachers, underpaid and overburdened, often work at coaching centers to make ends meet. Some of the best minds of our generation now measure success not by the curiosity they inspire but by the number of students who enroll in their classes.

The irony is striking. Bangladesh boasts of educational expansion — more schools, more universities, more degrees. But the essence of education has withered. We have constructed taller institutions, but we have produced shallower minds.

This addiction to coaching is not merely an educational concern; it is a social crisis. Low-income families are crushed under the burden of private tuition fees. Urban parents experience anxiety as they schedule their children’s lives with the precision of military campaigns. Rural students, lacking access to "top" centres, fall further behind, intensifying inequality.

Even children’s mental health is under siege. From the age of 10, they are taught that failing to get into “Cadet College” or “Medical College” is a form of disgrace. What kind of nation burdens children with this weight while denying them the joy of learning, the freedom to fail, and the right to dream?

The consequence is a generation that is brilliant at answering questions but poor at asking them.

The government’s response has been primarily superficial. Occasionally, declarations against coaching centers are made with a theatrical flair, only to disappear during implementation. The draft policies accumulate on the Ministry of Education’s shelves, while the coaching market — now valued in billions of taka — continues to expand unchecked.

Attempts to regulate this sector often fail because too many vested interests benefit from the status quo. Coaching centers employ thousands, generate rents for landlords, and keep exam-centric schools appearing “successful” through artificially inflated results.

To disrupt this ecosystem would require courage—and a profound reimagining of what education should be.

What we need is not just more regulation, but a cultural shift. Restore dignity to schools. Invest in teacher training and fair compensation. Reform curricula to promote critical thinking and creativity. Eliminate unnecessary public exams that fuel the coaching frenzy, particularly PEC and JSC, which primarily serve as recruitment drives for coaching centers.

Introduce an ethical firewall between school teachers and coaching businesses. Make school the true centre of learning — where students feel engaged, heard, challenged, and nurtured.

We must stop viewing education as a ladder to climb over others, and begin seeing it as a garden in which all must bloom.

In 1971, we fought for freedom—political freedom, linguistic freedom. Yet today, our children are trapped in a system that values obedience over insight and mimicry over mastery. We have allowed coaching centers to become the temples of learning, while the true temples—our schools—crumble.

A nation addicted to coaching centers has lost faith in its institutions. If we are to rebuild that faith, we must start with the classroom — and with a question our education system has forgotten to ask: not how many A+ grades we can produce, but what kind of citizens we are shaping.

Let us dare to imagine an education system where curiosity is not coached out, but encouraged and nurtured. That will be the true revolution.

The writer is an Assistant Professor of English at IUBAT and a PhD candidate at UPM.