WHAT began on February 22 as a simple inquiry about two new young entrants in our political circle gradually unfolded into a probing conversation with AI about politics, education and moral responsibility in Bangladesh. I had not anticipated anything profound. I was merely curious. Yet curiosity, when followed patiently, sometimes opens doors that one did not intend to enter.
My initial question was factual. I asked about the educational qualifications and professional background of Mahdi Amin, how an adviser to the prime minister of Bangladesh, with the rank and status of a state minister. The reply was detailed: schooling in Dhaka, higher studies in the United Kingdom, an MPhil from the University of Cambridge, research engagement there and subsequent policy involvement.
His academic credentials are, indeed, impressive. Still, one point lingered. Was he ever a teacher at Cambridge? The clarification was measured: while he had academic and research associations with Cambridge, there was no verifiable evidence of a formal faculty appointment. That distinction mattered. In our environment, titles are often misconstrued; association becomes appointment, research becomes professorship. I have long believed that precision is not pedantry; it is respect for truth.
Beyond the curriculum vitae, in his public appearances he seemed gentle, sober, and unassuming — free from the inflated air of self-importance that sometimes accompanies distinction. He appeared careful not to claim more than his record justified. In public life, restraint is a virtue.
From there, my curiosity extended to Tasneem Jara, who contested the recent national elections for the Dhaka 9 constituency. Again, the response was structured and factual: MBBS from Dhaka Medical College, postgraduate study in evidence-based health care at the University of Oxford, clinical work in the United Kingdom, teaching involvement connected to the University of Cambridge through hospital training roles and peer-reviewed research in her field.
Did that involvement amount to a formal faculty position? The answer, once more, was careful: clinical supervision is not equivalent to holding a professorial chair. The public often conflates the two. Such precision did not diminish her achievements; it clarified them. Her academic record is undeniably impressive and by the standards of Bangladeshi political life, she stands in the upper tier.
At that point, I confessed something personal. I was disappointed that she did not fare well in the elections. Considering her academic and professional credentials, I hoped that she might use her training to improve public health and governance. I even assumed that she might retreat from politics to the professional niche that she had carved for in the United Kingdom. Later on, however, I was reassured by her self-confidence and undaunted spirit as revealed in a post-election interview.
In the same breath, I also frankly acknowledged that I wished success for her opponent someone I had known for years as a student leader and family acquaintance. I realised that civic judgement and personal loyalty often travel parallel tracks. Politics, like life, rarely grants us uncomplicated loyalties.
Then came a pivotal question: does Bangladesh value technocratic competence or do personality and party identity still dominate?
My answer was that the personality and party machinery continue to prevail. Sadly, I am yet to see tangible evidence to change that opinion. This is not cynicism; it is observation grounded in experience.
Another question followed, one closer to the philosophical core: should moral integrity take precedence over academic excellence in public life?
Here also, I replied without hesitation. Academic excellence, though desirable, remains secondary to probity. My respect for moral and professional integrity is not negotiable with glittering degrees. AI described my position as privileging virtue over technocratic meritocracy, a phrase that precisely encapsulated my conviction.
The conversation then moved into terrain even closer to my professional heart: education. Are today’s youth more cynical than reformist? My reply was candid. Most of them appear to be self-centred, guided largely by personal benefit. Yet, I do not surrender hope. Better education and improved economic stability may gradually alter that orientation.
Then came the central question of my life’s engagement: does our education system cultivate civic responsibility or is it primarily examination-driven and credential-oriented?
My answer, it may seem unconventional though, was this: I would not be overly troubled by an examination-driven system if only we genuinely achieved its standards. The problem is not examination per se, but insincerity: teachers neglecting their professional responsibilities and students pursuing degrees without intellectual commitment. When standards are written but not enforced, the system decays from within.
What, then, is the single lever that could restore sincerity?
My reply was emphatic: integrity — the personal and professional integrity of teachers. For me, the teacher remains the decisive component of any curriculum. Documents do not educate; teachers do. A teacher of integrity can elevate even a modest syllabus; a teacher without integrity can hollow out the finest curricular design. Whether in politics or education, my thinking inevitably returns to character as the foundation of reform.
As the discussion drew to a close, I felt both invigorated and disheartened — invigorated, because the questions were penetrating and my responses spontaneous and honest; disheartened, because conversations such as these rarely travel beyond reflective space. Those who deliberate deeply are not always those who shape policy.
Yet, I remain cautiously optimistic. I believe in cycles of change. Periods of decline are not permanent destinies. A society does not become irredeemable so long as its moral standards are remembered and quietly upheld. Moral corrosion becomes fatal only when it is normalised beyond recognition.
If this exchange achieved anything, it preserved a standard: fairness in judging credentials, generosity without exaggeration and insistence on integrity above achievement. Preservation of such standards, however modest, may be the first step towards renewal.
Life has taught me that even if such conversations never reach those who govern, they sustain the intellectual conscience of those who reflect and care.
Professor Sadrul Amin ([email protected]), a former dean of arts and a former president of the Dhaka University Teachers’ Association, is an honorary professor of the English department in the University of Dhaka
