IT IS the first day of the term and there they sit, my unwitting charges, with fingers hover like hesitant falcons over the fresh carnage of grammar exercises. To them, I am no ordinary teacher. I am the guardian of their exams fates, deciding if their essays will sing or stumble, if they unravel a poem鈥檚 secrets or merely skim its surface. But they are unaware of the peril ahead: not mastering the semi-colon, but plunging into the wild heart of language and literature鈥檚 seductive art.
Teaching English, especially at secondary and higher secondary levels in English-medium curriculums, demands a warrior鈥檚 resolve. The path winds from dusty, teeming rural classrooms to Dhaka鈥檚 sleek, tech-adorned elite schools, riddled with quaint quagmires. Our system breeds twin plagues: rote learning鈥檚 devious trance and exams obsession鈥檚 feverish grip. Between crude grammar rituals in modest settings and literature鈥檚 cold dissections in luxury, English鈥檚 essence, as language and art, fades like a forgotten melody.
For many Bangladeshi students, English is an unwelcome suitor, a forced bond for glamorous horizons, jobs abroad or university gates. Society鈥檚 push for proficiency has paradoxically hollowed the language, stripping it of soul.
In impoverished suburban schools, where resources whisper and training vanishes, English becomes mechanical toil. Grammar is not grasped but gulped down raw. I once observed a lesson at a school in Narayanganj on sentence structure: 鈥楾he boy is eating an apple,鈥� the teacher chanted as if this simple line held eternity鈥檚 code. 鈥楽hift to passive voice.鈥�
Students scribbled obediently, transforming words without a spark of why or how. The class trudged through tenses, conditionals, dry drills unlinked to life鈥檚 rhythm. Afterwards, the earnest but untrained teacher confided, 鈥業 follow the book. There鈥檚 no time for more. They must pass the exams.鈥�
Passing the exams 鈥� that sacred chant echoes across Bangladesh, from humble government halls following the national curriculum to opulent private schools, implementing prestigious global curriculums like IGCSE, AP or IB. English is a tool, we are told, and not a treasure to cherish. In the ravishing race for IGCSE or IB success, it shrinks to rules and forms, divorced from language鈥檚 rhetorical jig or its artistic manoeuvrings.
In elite English-medium schools, the flaw gleams with polish but cuts just as deep. Students speak fluently on paper, essays flow, presentations shine, grammar bends cumbersomely. Yet, their grasp is shallow, aimed not at expression鈥檚 joy but the next test鈥檚 hurdle.
One IB student in Dhaka cornered me post class: 鈥楽ir, I鈥檝e mastered the 鈥渃ompare and contrast鈥� essay and the mechanics of language analysis, but why delve into enhanced, perceptive or critical depth? It鈥檚 merely fodder for the exams, isn鈥檛 it?鈥� His words sprang not from indolence but a system that treats English as checkboxes: grammar flawless, check; creative writing, check; structure solid, check.
I could not fault him. Years of schooling has drilled English as exams conquest, not playful exploration. Gone was language鈥檚 lilting whimsy 鈥� words weaving emotions, cultures, histories. Functionality trumped all. In this cut-throat arena, language鈥檚 spirit suffocates.
Turn now to literature鈥檚 realm, even more hazardous in educational wilds. If language is a mere tool, literature is a decrepit heirloom 鈥� lovely but useless in 鈥榬eal鈥� life. Yet, it should be the curriculum鈥檚 beating heart, forging critical minds, deep feelings and human insights.
Instead, it mirrors language teaching: rigid, mechanical, exams-shadowed. In Dhaka鈥檚 prominent IB school鈥檚 English class, I saw 鈥楾he Great Gatsby鈥� vivisected. Bright students leaned in eagerly, but the lesson was barren.
鈥榃hat鈥檚 the green light鈥檚 meaning?鈥� 鈥淕atsby鈥檚 mansion symbolises what?鈥� Answers parroted notes, scripted and soulless.
No one touched the text鈥檚 measure 鈥� Fitzgerald鈥檚 lyrical ache, woven sorrow. All bowed to exams-approved packages.
This disconnect widens in suburban schools, starved of tools and expertise. Outside Dhaka鈥檚 top-brass international schools, a Romeo and Juliet lesson would boil down to: 鈥楲overs die. Memorise 鈥淲herefore art thou, Romeo?鈥� 鈥� exams gold.鈥�
Students realise this bona fide fetish for grades. Henceforth, the classroom learning becomes a ruse-laden regime enthroned by scores, where subtlety suffocates and inquiry is exiled. Literature transmutes into mnemonic fodder, not lived epiphany.
How did this happen? How did English class, deemed to be bursting with creativity, critique and beauty, turn vacant? Our system鈥檚 fixation on grades eclipses teaching鈥檚 core: sparking wonder in language鈥檚 art and science.
In leading IGCSE and IB schools, teachers cling to rubrics like lifelines. A Socratic spark might flicker, but the goal? Students who analyse or create per board whims. No space for original fire, interpretative daring, literary curiosity or mimicking masters of literature to fuel creative writing for the first language exams.
In shabby aquarium-sized English medium schools, scarcity rules; under-trained teachers peddle rules. Grammar hammers heads without context; literature shrinks to plot points regurgitated.
This debacle crystallises in coaching juggernaut 鈥� a monster devouring authenticity. Schools falter; teachers exacerbate. These centres hawk 鈥榞uaranteed鈥� wins, luring A* and A for Dhaka鈥檚 students 鈥� from the elite to strugglers, irrespective of institutional pedigree, entranced into this hideous modus vivendi.
Teachers manifest as a coaching kingpin, smirk with a hint of hubris: 鈥榃e feed exams essentials 鈥� no fluff. Texts broken to points, drilled till stuck.鈥�
A student of mine, a true blue-topper, confessed: 鈥榃e never read books fully. Just quotes, summaries, cookie-cutter stories. No deep analysis, no imaginative flair 鈥� just exams bait.鈥�
She aced IGCSE first language English without literature鈥檚 embrace 鈥� the soul of the first language over ESL鈥檚 ease. 鈥業 learnt nothing real,鈥� she sighed. 鈥楯ust test tricks.鈥� It is a sheer tragedy that even illustrious schools celebrate hollow victors. Principals and school management, claiming to bridge gaps, deepen the shallows.
How to mend this ruin? Restore language鈥檚 joy and literature鈥檚 glow amid gangrenous bend for grade worshipping?
Invest in ongoing growth for all English educators. Equip suburban teachers with pedagogy and literature via joint workshops 鈥� hands-on ways to ignite writing, thinking, dialogue.
Teaching鈥檚 honour often masks poverty. Picture passionate instructors, drained by meagre pay, wilting like stranded sailors. Do not blame their fade. Urge schools, investors and the government to fill pockets generously. Bountiful wages and security could end coaching flirtations, reviving zeal for language鈥檚 art.
Redesign secondary syllabi, ditching rote for creativity, deep engagement. Examss should honour fresh thought, comprehension 鈥� not memorised quotes or bland analyses.
Make coaching optional, not a lifeline. Schools provide support, especially for the needy, curbing this crutch.
Foster a culture valuing scores alongside textual bonds 鈥� skills that unveil human depths beyond classrooms.
Recast grammar as an effervescent communicator. Urge students to wield English creatively: craft stories, debate passionately, analyse texts, savour words鈥� shades of meaning in real worlds.
Beyond exams prep, spur critical dives, bold questions. Let students wrestle Caulfield鈥檚 despair, probe Gatsby鈥檚 dream 鈥� live through pages.
Being a stellar English teacher is a tightrope act. Too much flair risks chaos; too little starves minds. Yet, we walk it, believers in language as art and science 鈥� igniter of thought, empathy, and creation.
A system favouring exams over immersion. It is a steep climb to reclaim joy in result-obsessed realms. We persist, convinced that language and literature shape tomorrow鈥檚 creators.
As I prepare to tackle another chapter of 鈥楥atcher in the Rye,鈥� stepping into my classroom, I know that the path is fraught with abyssal barriers; it is still one worth treading. If one student leaves seeing language beyond rules, literature beyond grades, then we have triumphed valiantly, thrashing the odious penchant for grades and memorisation mania.
听
Hasanul Banna Al-Maruf is a teacher of English. He also writes fiction.
