Academic freedom—the right to teach, study, pursue knowledge or research without unreasonable interference—is often perceived through a narrow lens in our country. The dismissal or silencing of a teacher practising this right, often has much deeper and potentially dangerous implications. When academic freedom is attacked in one place, it sends a message far beyond the individual concerned. If one teacher can be punished, cornered, or publicly humiliated, it becomes a warning to thousands of others. The damage, then, is not individual; it is systemic. In Bangladesh, political, economic, social, and cultural forces frequently converge to create an increasingly hostile environment for teachers, researchers, and students alike.
Traditionally, the gravest threat to academic freedom comes from the state. When governments restrict dissent, criminalise speech, or politicise education, academic life becomes fragile. Bangladesh experienced this acutely during Sheikh Hasina’s rule, when teachers were jailed, harassed under the Digital Security Act, 2018, subjected to surveillance and intimidation simply for expressing opinions or criticising injustice. Speaking out—whether inside or outside the classroom—became a high-risk act.
However, state repression is only one part of the picture. Neoliberal capitalism has also played a decisive role. Since education has been commodified and reduced to a form of skill training, disciplines that are not immediately “marketable”—promising immediate lucrative job opportunities—have come under pressure. Subjects that encourage critical thinking, social analysis, or dissent are increasingly seen as unproductive or even dangerous. Over time, this creates a social perception that certain disciplines—and by extension, their teachers—are dispensable. The freedom to teach, research, and even attract students gradually erodes.
This is compounded by the rise of social and cultural authoritarianism. When decisions about what should be taught, who should teach, and who should study are influenced not by academic standards but by religious sentiment, political allegiance, or pressure from organised groups, academic integrity collapses. Universities cease to be spaces that promote inquisitiveness and become battlegrounds for moral policing and ideological control.
The consequences of this erosion are not confined to higher education. When academic freedom is damaged at the tertiary level, its effects trickle downwards—to secondary, primary, and even pre-primary education. Fear, conformity, and self-censorship become normalised across the entire education system.
However, academic freedom is not destroyed only by dismissals of teachers. There are many quieter, bureaucratic ways to strangle it. In South Asia, we inherited colonial legal and administrative structures, including the University Grants Commission (UGC) model, which continues to enable excessive control over universities. These structures, combined with neoliberal “quality assurance” frameworks shaped by international financial and development institutions, often force knowledge into narrow, standardised moulds. Under the guise of maintaining quality, they limit intellectual diversity and autonomy.
At the institutional level, pressures are both overt and subtle. Teachers may be told what they can or cannot teach. More commonly, they are punished for being vocal against injustice in society or governance failures—activities that may not be part of their formal academic duties but are inseparable from the role of an academic. Over the past 15–16 years, we have seen teachers being imprisoned, sued, and harassed for expressing opinions. Some have been repeatedly remanded, their dignity and security systematically stripped away.
In extreme cases, academic freedom has been met with outright violence. The enforced disappearance of researcher Mubashar Hasan because of his research topic represents one of the most brutal assaults on academic inquiry imaginable. Others have lost their jobs, faced politically motivated cases, or endured physical attacks. There have been instances where progressive teachers and writers were hacked to death in the past. Students, too, have been targeted—arrested, detained, and prosecuted simply for expressing views.
There are also less visible forms of coercion. Administrative systems are often designed to wear teachers down by delaying promotions, denying leave, manipulating housing, and creating an atmosphere in which survival depends on obedience. This breeds self-censorship, where conformity becomes a strategy for safety.
While these patterns were stark during the Awami League era, the situation has not improved since. What has changed is the nature of the perpetrators. Academic freedom is no longer violated only by the state or university administrations. Increasingly, students, alumni, and sections of the general public are engaging in intimidation, harassment, and physical aggression against teachers.
Elected student representatives have stormed offices, threatened administrators, and publicly humiliated faculty members. Sometimes, teachers have been obstructed from teaching certain subjects. Online spaces have become arenas of relentless cyberbullying, misinformation, and character assassination. Academics are routinely delegitimised through coordinated hate campaigns that twist words and fabricate allegations.
This climate has led to a disturbing conclusion: academic freedom in Bangladesh is virtually non-existent. However, at this point, it is also crucial to clarify what academic freedom does not mean. It does not protect hate speech, incitement to violence, or actions that endanger the lives and freedoms of others. Such acts fall outside the bounds of academic freedom and must be addressed through due process.
The absence of due process is, in fact, one of the most damaging aspects of the current crisis. Over the past 17 months, we have repeatedly seen instant punishment being meted out based on mere accusations and mob pressure, without investigation or accountability. When due process collapses, no one—teacher, student, or administrator—has real rights. Besides, trust between teachers and students, which is central to any functioning classroom, disintegrates.
This breakdown has been actively encouraged. Violence, intimidation, and humiliation have gone unchecked, sometimes even tacitly endorsed by the highest authorities. As a result, fear has become the organising principle of academic life.
The termination of Layeqa Bashir and ASM Mohsin at the University of Asia Pacific (UAP) must be seen in this context. This was not an isolated incident but the culmination of 17 months of unchecked violations of academic freedom and due process. The spectacle of mobs forcing administrative decisions without investigation sets a terrifying precedent.
By allowing this to happen, the UAP has inflicted lasting damage on its own credibility. Many teachers may now choose to leave this profession, recognising that their rights are unprotected and that university administrations are either unwilling or incapable of acting as administrators at all.
This problem extends far beyond one university. From Chattogram to Rajshahi, from Jahangirnagar to Dhaka University, and across numerous private universities, the pattern is the same. Student groups linked to political organisations have simply replaced earlier political actors, who once gagged academic freedom on campuses.
University administrations, the UGC, and the Ministry of Education all bear responsibility. In the case of UAP, the UGC was informed early and urged to intervene, but they failed to act. This inaction has contributed directly to the deterioration of academic freedom at a moment when, after the July uprising, many hoped for meaningful change.
Instead of qualitative improvement, we are witnessing qualitative decline. For institutions of higher learning, this is an ominous warning. If administrations cannot govern, they should step aside. Otherwise, universities will soon be run not by academic principles but by intimidation and mob influence.
Academic freedom cannot survive in such conditions. And without academic freedom, universities lose their very reason for existence.
Dr Samina Luthfa is professor at the Department of Sociology in Dhaka University.
Views expressed in this article are the author's own.
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