Universities often like to describe themselves as the guardians of intellect, the laboratories of progress, the spaces where young minds bloom into the architects of the future. But in Bangladesh, many campuses are increasingly resembling something far less romantic. Instead of enlightenment, too many students are discovering that the first real lesson of university life is how quietly a mind can break.
Recent events across several universities suggest that bullying and ragging have now become an almost predictable part of campus culture. Incidents have surfaced in at least five institutions in one month alone. The tragedy involving a mathematics student at a private university in the capital, who reportedly took his own life after being tormented by peers, made headlines only because death tends to command the attention that suffering does not.
After his body was found between two campus buildings in November, allegations emerged that he had been bullied by fellow students. Like so many cases, the warning signs surfaced too late to matter.
The shock was soon eclipsed by a sense of weary resignation, because nothing about this pattern is new. In another university, two first year students from a geography and environment department were reportedly bullied both mentally and physically by seniors. They told authorities that an understanding had been reached, a line students learn to repeat early in their academic life. Understanding is a convenient word, a tool for maintaining peace as long as silence continues to do its job.
A survey earlier this year offers a bleak insight into what university life has come to mean for many. Out of 1,570 students from 88 institutions, nearly 30% said they had been subjected to bullying or ragging. In the vast majority of cases, more than 85% of the abusers were classmates or seniors.
The most disturbing number remains the rise in student suicides. Year-by-year compilations show 310 cases in 2024, 513 in 2023, and 532 in 2022. Even in 2021, a year marked by intermittent closures and limited campus activity, the figure was more than one hundred. A crisis that produces such consistency should ordinarily provoke alarm. Instead, it has blended seamlessly into the routine of campus life, as familiar as semester finals and cafeteria queues.
Part of the problem lies in the way students internalize their suffering. Research indicates that six out of every 10 students who endure bullying or harassment never disclose their experiences to teachers. Many fear being dismissed. Others believe institutional structures exist mostly on paper.
Social media adds another layer of pressure. The curated perfection of digital life often amplifies insecurities, leaving young people more vulnerable and less confident. Improper or inadequate parenting further deepens this gap. When adolescents grow up without emotional literacy, the first blow of humiliation on campus can feel like an earthquake.
In this environment, silence becomes both armour and prison. Students who are bullied frequently choose not to seek help, convinced that admitting vulnerability will only make them easier targets. They keep their pain to themselves, sometimes until it consumes them. That silence is often treated as politeness, maturity or resilience, though its consequences are anything but.
Universities are hardly unaware of the crisis. Administrations routinely form probe committees, often within hours of a scandal breaking. These committees produce reports. Reports produce recommendations. Recommendations sit patiently in dusty folders, waiting for the next incident that will require the formation of yet another committee.
Suspension notices are issued in certain cases, as seen recently when eight students were punished in one institution and several others in another. These actions are treated as evidence that the system works, though the recurrence of incidents suggests otherwise.
Guidelines do exist. The education ministry issued preventive measures last year and categorized bullying and ragging into verbal, physical, social, cyber and sexual forms. The definition is broad enough to encompass nearly any behaviour that causes mental or physical distress.
On paper, the guidelines sound reassuring, almost visionary. Implementation remains the missing ingredient. Without monitoring mechanisms and without university administrations willing to risk unpopularity by enforcing discipline, guidelines remain as symbolic as the motivational posters hung in some campus corridors.
The larger question is why universities repeatedly fail to protect their students. Part of the answer is structural. Disciplinary boards exist in many institutions but are often inactive or understaffed. Student counselling and guidance tend to operate in theory.
In practice, many campuses do not have trained counsellors or adequate facilities. Even where counselling centres exist, students fear stigma or prefer to handle their struggles privately, particularly in a society where mental health is still whispered about rather than addressed openly.
Another explanation lies in the culture of seniority that permeates campus life. New students often enter with a sense of awe toward seniors, believing that tolerance of humiliation is a rite of passage. Seniors, in turn, inherit an unspoken tradition of authority. The cycle is self replicating, normalized through repetition. When ragging is treated as bonding and bullying is disguised as discipline, cruelty becomes almost ritualistic.
Universities also struggle with the temptation to protect their reputation. A public scandal is inconvenient, especially for private institutions that depend on student enrolment. The instinct to minimize incidents, to negotiate with victims, or to encourage them to forgive and move on, often overshadows the responsibility to enforce accountability. The narrative becomes one of resolving disputes internally, as if violence and psychological trauma are disagreements similar to library fines or cafeteria complaints.
But the consequences of inaction are far from trivial. A campus environment where students live in fear undermines the very essence of higher education. Learning requires confidence, safety and the freedom to explore ideas without intimidation. When a significant share of students experience depression triggered by bullying, as the survey revealed, academic performance becomes secondary to daily survival. The psychological toll is profound. Depression, isolation and emotional exhaustion do not appear in transcripts, yet they shape futures more decisively than grades.
The irony is that universities are supposed to prepare students for the complexities of adulthood. Instead, they often teach young people to accept mistreatment, stay silent, and hope the situation improves by itself. These lessons will serve them poorly in a world that demands assertiveness, mental strength, and social skills. A generation trained to endure abuse quietly is not a generation prepared to lead.
Some observers argue that stronger disciplinary measures and improved monitoring can curb the problem. Others emphasize building counselling capacity among teachers and staff. Both approaches are necessary. But neither will succeed without shifting the cultural mindset around bullying. Institutions must recognize that protecting their public image is less important than protecting their students’ lives. The only acceptable version of honour is one that acknowledges responsibility.
Parents also play a role. The absence of emotional communication at home leaves many young people unable to articulate distress. Some come from environments where vulnerability is ridiculed or dismissed. Universities cannot solve this alone, but they can create spaces where students feel safe enough to speak. Open channels between students and counsellors, training workshops, peer support groups and awareness campaigns can help disrupt the silence that feeds the crisis.
There is also a need to address the digital dimension of bullying. Social media abuse spreads faster than traditional forms and leaves a more permanent trace. Students who are targeted online often find themselves reliving humiliation repeatedly. Institutions must develop digital safety protocols, promote ethical online behaviour and respond promptly when cyber harassment occurs.
Ultimately, safeguarding students requires a collective commitment. Administrations must enforce discipline without hesitation. We must stop treating bullying as childish mischief and start seeing it as a structural failure.
HM Nazmul Alam is an academic, journalist, and political analyst based in Dhaka, Bangladesh. Currently he teaches at IUBAT. He can be reached at [email protected]
