Everything Changed—Except the Universities Where the Roar of Change Began by

When Bangladesh's streets roared in July, demanding accountability, justice, and systemic change, they echoed a long and familiar truth: universities have historically been the intellectual and moral engines of transformation. From the Language Movement to democratic uprisings, campuses shaped political consciousness long before it reached the streets. Yet, years after July, one uncomfortable reality has become clear—almost everything has changed, except the universities.

The scale of this problem is not marginal. Bangladesh today has more than 170 universities—over 50 public and more than 110 private—educating millions of students and employing tens of thousands of teachers. When such a large segment of the country's future workforce is shaped within institutions compromised by politicised recruitment, weak research culture, and limited student representation, the impact extends directly to the job market, governance, and social trust.

Employers repeatedly report that graduates lack analytical depth, research orientation, and problem-solving skills. This is not a student failure; it is an institutional one.

Political alignments have shifted, public discourse has evolved, and reform has become part of the national vocabulary. But inside universities, the internal culture remains stubbornly intact. Teacher politics and student politics continue in the same tone; only the party labels have changed. The structures that once hollowed out academic life—factionalism, patronage, and politicised governance—have survived the very moment that was meant to challenge them.

This continuity is most visible in teacher recruitment. Despite decades of debate, university faculty hiring in Bangladesh remains tied to an outdated logic that prioritises SSC and HSC results, rigid grade calculations, and largely meaningless written examinations. These criteria neither assess academic excellence nor reflect the demands of higher education.

Instead, they systematically exclude many strong candidates—particularly those with PhDs, postdoctoral experience, international exposure, interdisciplinary training, or solid research portfolios. In global academic practice, university teachers are recruited based on research records, indexed publications, grant-winning capacity, patents, teaching philosophy, and academic leadership. In Bangladesh, universities still behave as if they are extensions of secondary education rather than centres of knowledge production.

This recruitment model does more than undermine quality; it entrenches teacher politics. When academic merit is weakly defined, political alignment fills the vacuum. Faculty factions—often aligned with national parties—dominate recruitment boards, promotion committees, and administrative appointments.

Promotion remains largely seniority-driven and politically negotiated, with limited emphasis on research impact or teaching innovation. Over time, research culture stagnates, academic ambition erodes, and universities lose their ability to contribute meaningfully to national policy and development.

Teacher and student politics, while historically part of campus life, have become a deep liability in Bangladesh's universities. In a context where education, research, and critical thinking should be the sole focus, these factional battles divert attention, distort governance, and create environments where merit and academic rigour take a back seat.

Even after the July uprising, student and teacher organisations often function as extensions of national party politics rather than genuine forums for representation. Such entrenched politicisation undermines the very role of universities as spaces for learning, innovation, and nation-building.

Bangladesh has occasionally attempted symbolic reform—renaming committees, revising guidelines, or discussing changes to the University Grants Commission. But changing names without changing practices has produced little effect. Regional comparisons make this painfully clear.

In Pakistan, the Higher Education Commission introduced tenure-track systems, research-based promotion, competitive grants, and overseas PhD programmes, leading to a significant rise in research output despite political instability. In India, the UGC and national eligibility frameworks institutionalised PhD-centric recruitment and merit-based hiring, while regular student elections kept campuses politically active yet institutionally functional.

Beyond the region, the contrast is even sharper. China offers a particularly instructive example. Through structured talent-return initiatives and digital platforms such as the "Talent Bank", China actively integrated overseas scholars into its academic and innovation ecosystems.

By 2021, the Talent Bank had registered around 17,000 experts and handled over 7,200 job-matching requests in just the first half of that year. More importantly, surveys indicate that approximately 68 percent of returning Chinese professionals identified their primary contribution as bringing global knowledge, research practices, and professional skills into the domestic labour market. This strategic recognition of diaspora talent helped strengthen universities, research institutes, and high-skill industries simultaneously.

South Korea's Brain Korea 21 initiative and India's Ramanujan and INSPIRE Faculty schemes similarly demonstrate how states can transform "brain drain" into "brain gain" by offering returning academics research autonomy, funding, and institutional respect.

Bangladesh, by contrast, has no structured initiative to attract its highly qualified diaspora academics. Thousands of Bangladeshi scholars teach and conduct research in leading universities across the globe, many of whom express willingness to return or contribute. Yet the state has shown little interest in mobilising this intellectual capital.

This absence is particularly frustrating given the present context. The interim government includes respected academics, and the Chief Adviser himself is a globally recognised scholar. If not now, then when? July was not merely a transfer of power; it was a demand for institutional renewal. Excluding universities from that renewal risks hollowing out the promise of change itself.

Universities are not administrative departments, nor are they party outposts; they are intellectual infrastructure. No political transition can endure without institutions that recruit on merit, reward knowledge, protect dissent, and educate critically minded citizens. July changed the streets. If July is to become history rather than a moment, it must now change the campuses as well.

For the upcoming elected government, the task is no longer to debate reform but to finally do what has been repeatedly postponed. It must depoliticise university governance by legally separating party politics from academic administration, enforce merit-based recruitment grounded in research output and teaching competence, and overhaul promotion systems to reward knowledge creation rather than loyalty or seniority.

A national framework to engage and reintegrate Bangladeshi diaspora academics—through joint appointments, competitive research grants, and fast-track hiring—must be institutionalised, not piloted. The government must also establish an independent higher education reform commission with real enforcement power, capable of auditing recruitment, promotions, and research performance across both public and private universities.

Most importantly, it must resist the temptation to use universities as political extensions. What past governments avoided—because it was inconvenient, confrontational, and politically costly—must now be addressed directly. Without decisive intervention in higher education, no electoral mandate can claim to be a mandate for national renewal.

Mohammad Fakhrul Islam is an Assistant Professor (on study leave) at Stamford University Bangladesh

Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the opinions and views of The Business Standard.