A nation may possess oceans of labour. But without the language to negotiate its worth, it often sells its sweat for the price of silence. In the global marketplace, language is not merely a medium of communication; it is currency, power, passport, and prestige. The man who speaks leads the man who only listens. The worker who can negotiate rises; the one who cannot remain trapped beneath the scaffolding of other people’s commands. In today’s world, vocabulary is no less valuable than visa.
Bangladesh stands today as one of the world’s largest exporters of manpower. Millions of our workers build towers in Dubai, clean homes in Saudi Arabia, operate factories in Malaysia, and labour under the burning skies of the Gulf. Their remittances are the hidden rivers that keep Bangladesh’s economy alive. Yet beneath this economic success lies a painful truth. While Bangladeshi labourers carry bricks, many Indians, Pakistanis, Filipinos, Egyptians, and even Nepalis carry clipboards. One group sweats; the other supervises. One obeys; the other commands. The difference is not always intelligence. Often, it is language.
Bangladesh grew up largely as a monolingual society. We rightly take pride in Bangla, a language sanctified by blood, sacrifice, and history. The world remembers our Language Movement with reverence. Few nations purchased their mother tongue with martyrdom. Bangla is the melody of our soul. But loving one’s mother tongue should never mean fearing another language. A rooted tree still stretches its branches toward the sky. Unfortunately, our inability to communicate effectively in English and in other international languages has become a national handicap.
In the Middle East, Malaysia, and Singapore, Bangladeshi workers often fail to communicate directly with employers. As a result, others become intermediaries. Indians, Pakistanis, Egyptians, and Filipinos frequently rise to the positions of foremen, supervisors, translators, and coordinators. They negotiate wages, manage teams, and build relationships with employers because they possess strong communication skills. Meanwhile, many Bangladeshi workers remain confined to the most physically demanding and lowest-paid jobs. Worse still, some fall victim to exploitation by their own intermediaries. A worker who cannot speak cannot protest. A man who cannot explain cannot defend himself. Silence becomes shackles.
The tragedy deepens for many Bangladeshi housemaids working abroad. Thousands of women travel to foreign countries with dreams of supporting their families, only to enter homes where they cannot express hunger, illness, exhaustion, fear, or emotional pain. Many spend their first one or two years in suffocating isolation simply because they lack basic communication skills. Some face punishment not for disobedience, but for misunderstanding instructions they cannot comprehend. Many cannot even complain to the police or local authorities because they do not know the language needed to seek justice.
This linguistic crisis is not confined to labourers alone. Even among our educated classes, communicative competence in English has alarmingly declined. In many universities in Bangladesh, lectures are delivered almost entirely in Bangla despite textbooks being written in English. Students memorise notes rather than develop analytical communication skills. The classroom becomes a rehearsal of translation rather than a preparation for global competition. The world is speaking in English while many of our institutions are whispering in isolation.
Even some high-ranking officials and policymakers struggle to communicate fluently in international forums. Delegations often depend heavily on translators to conduct discussions. Diplomacy loses confidence when language loses fluency. Leadership without communication is like a ship without a compass.
Ironically, during the Pakistani period and even under British administration, English proficiency among many educated Bengalis was often stronger than what we witness today. Our educational standards have expanded numerically but weakened communicatively. Degrees are increasing; articulation is shrinking. We are producing graduates who can pass examinations but hesitate to speak before an audience for two minutes.
The roots of this crisis lie deep within our educational structure. Our curriculum prioritises rote memorisation over practical communication. Grammar is taught mechanically; speaking is neglected. Students learn English for examinations, not for life. Teachers themselves are often inadequately trained. Many primary and secondary school instructors lack strong communicative competence, and the cycle of linguistic weakness reproduces itself generation after generation.
Bangladesh must now confront this issue with honesty rather than emotional denial. The future belongs to multilingual nations. Language is no longer a cultural accessory; it is an economic infrastructure. English should be recognised, in practice, as Bangladesh’s second language to enhance global competitiveness. This does not diminish Bangla; rather, it strengthens Bangladesh internationally.
Countries like Malaysia offer a powerful example. Bahasa Melayu remains the national language and a key part of Malaysia’s cultural identity, yet English dominates higher education, science, business, and international communication. Malaysian universities largely use English as the medium of instruction. Their teachers are trained, monitored, and professionally developed to maintain international standards. Bangladesh can follow a similar path without sacrificing its linguistic heritage.
At the university level, teachers should be strongly encouraged, and in many cases required, to conduct classes in English, especially in higher education and professional disciplines. Students must become comfortable thinking, debating, presenting, and researching in English. A university classroom should prepare students for the world, not shelter them from it. Primary and secondary education must also undergo radical reform. English instruction should begin communicatively from the earliest stages. Teachers must receive intensive training from language experts. Recruitment standards should be raised significantly. A weak foundation can never build a strong tower.
Moreover, Bangladesh must diversify its linguistic priorities beyond English alone. Since our workers primarily migrate to countries such as Saudi Arabia, the UAE, Malaysia, South Korea, Japan, China, and Singapore, universities and vocational institutions should launch practical courses in the destination languages, and should become a mandatory component before overseas employment. No worker should be allowed to migrate abroad without achieving a minimum level of communicative competence in the target language. A labourer carrying a toolbox should also carry words. Because sometimes a sentence can protect a human being more effectively than strength.
Bangladesh possesses immense human potential. Our people are hardworking, adaptive, resilient, and courageous. But hard work without communication often becomes invisible labour. We must teach our children that speaking another language does not betray one’s identity; rather, it expands one’s horizon. A river does not lose itself by meeting the sea.
The age of silence is over. If Bangladesh wishes to transform its workforce into leadership, its workers into managers, and its migrants into global citizens, the nation must invest not only in passports and policies but also in pronunciation, vocabulary, confidence, and communication. In the modern world, the tongue is mightier than the tool.
The writer is an Assistant Professor, English, IUBAT, and PhD candidate, UPM, Malaysia
