It was a quiet weekend evening when I realised my younger son had crossed a line I had not yet reached. He was seated in front of his mother’s laptop, fingers moving with surprising confidence. Lines of Python code filled the screen – not copied blindly, but written, tested, corrected. He was building a simple chatbot, feeding prompts into an AI, fixing errors patiently, almost joyfully. His older brother was different but no less remarkable. Immersed in Minecraft worlds and online videos, he narrated his digital explorations like a content creator, analysing gameplay strategies with a seriousness I never taught him. He learned by watching, trying, failing, and trying again. No syllabus guided him. Curiosity did.
Then came the discomfort. I realised I could not teach them Bengali poetry the way my father taught me – through drills, memorisation, and repetition. What once felt natural now felt harsh. When I tried, their curiosity drained away. At first, I blamed myself. Then I blamed them. Eventually, the truth settled in: the problem was not us. It was the system. Our education system was designed for an industrial age that no longer exists. Rooted in uniformity and memorisation, it once served a world where information was scarce and obedience was rewarded. That world disappeared the moment the internet arrived.
Children born after 2010 have never known life without screens. They navigate devices before they can read. Research shows children retain more through visual, participatory, narrative-driven learning. Their brains are wired for exploration, not recitation. Yet in Bangladesh, intelligence is still measured through memory-heavy exams and rigid curricula. We reward children who can sit still and remain silent, while those who ask questions are often told to behave.
Every year, families put five- and six-year-olds through punishing admission tests. In Dhaka alone, early-grade coaching generates an estimated Tk15 billion annually (BRAC Education Programme, 2024), creating a parallel education system that sorts children by family income before they ever enter a classroom. Coaching centres drill toddlers late into the night. Children cry from exhaustion before their education even begins.
Here is the uncomfortable truth: my six-year-old can debug Python code, yet struggles to memorise Bengali verb conjugations through rote drilling. Does that make him less intelligent, or does it reveal that we are measuring the wrong abilities? A child who builds complex systems in Minecraft has already mastered logic, experimentation, and problem-solving skills that define the modern world. Our system ignores them if a child cannot recite a poem written decades ago.
Other countries have chosen differently. Estonia rebuilt its education system around digital literacy and personalised learning, introducing basic coding at an early age while consistently ranking among top global performers. Singapore reduced curriculum overload through its ‘Teach Less, Learn More’ initiative, prioritising depth and critical thinking over memorisation (Singapore Ministry of Education, 2023). Even India has acknowledged the limits of rote learning through its National Education Policy 2020. Bangladesh, however, continues to expand its education system using largely the same blueprint inherited from the past.
Artificial intelligence is already shaping how children learn. Students use AI tools quietly while schools ban them loudly, echoing earlier mistakes of resisting calculators or the internet. The question is no longer whether children will use AI, but whether adults will guide them responsibly. Ignoring it is not protection; it is abandonment. The global job market has already shifted toward skills-based hiring, with nearly half of employers in advanced economies removing degree requirements entirely (World Economic Forum, 2024). Children understand this instinctively. Our schools, however, still prepare them for a world that has already ended.
When children are forced into systems that do not fit how they learn, they internalise failure. Curiosity turns into anxiety. Learning becomes something to endure rather than enjoy. This is not education. It is quiet damage. We are raising children who associate intelligence with conformity and success with silence, harming confidence, creativity, and emotional resilience.
This is not a rejection of Bengali language, culture, or values. These are essential. But they must be taught through stories, relevance, and exploration – not mechanical drills. Bangladesh could begin with a simple policy shift: eliminate written admission tests for children under seven, replacing them with play-based assessments piloted in three districts. This costs nothing and could be implemented within six months. Education must prioritise thinking over memorisation and creation over repetition, empowering teachers as mentors and using technology as a tool for creation rather than passive consumption.
Fatherhood has taught me humility. Sometimes, children reveal truths adults’ resist. My sons did not ask me to change the education system. They simply showed me, through joy and frustration, that it no longer fits them. They are not problems to be fixed. They are signals of a future already here.
If we truly love them, we must stop forcing them into the shapes of our past. We must listen to how they learn and honor who they are becoming. Generation Alpha is not lost. They are not distracted. They are not lazy. They are waiting for us to catch up, or they will move forward without us.
The writer is a digital transformation and fintech strategist
