M A Hossain,
There are few promises a modern state makes that are more basic—or more binding—than this: when a school year begins, children will have the books they need to learn. It is not an extravagant pledge. It does not require cutting-edge technology or visionary pedagogy. It requires competence, foresight, and a sense of responsibility. And yet, once again, Bangladesh has failed to keep it.
As the new academic year approaches, secondary-level students across the country are preparing to return to classrooms without a full set of textbooks. Some will receive a few books. Many will receive none. According to data from the National Curriculum and Textbook Board (NCTB), roughly a quarter of secondary textbooks remain unprinted or unfinished. In certain grades, the situation is far worse: less than 10 percent of eighth-grade books are ready, while nearly 70 percent of seventh-grade textbooks are still stuck in presses. This is not an unforeseen disaster. It is a ritual.
For years, the same explanations have been recycled with bureaucratic precision—delays in tender processes, printing bottlenecks, administrative complications, last-minute cancellations. Each year, officials express confidence that the problem will soon be resolved. Each year, students wait from January to March, sometimes longer, for the basic tools of learning. Each year, the system shrugs, resets, and repeats. The damage, however, accumulates.
Secondary education is not merely a bridge between primary school and higher studies; it is the intellectual and psychological foundation of adulthood. These are the years when habits of reading are formed, curiosity is sharpened, and discipline is learned. To disrupt this phase with uncertainty and improvisation is to gamble with outcomes that no examination reform can later fix.
Teachers, predictably, are caught in the middle. On paper, they are instructed to follow new curricula, adopt revised assessment methods, and implement updated pedagogical approaches. In practice, they are asked to do so without textbooks, without sufficient training, and often without supplementary materials. This is not reform. It is an administrative fantasy.
Students feel the consequences more acutely. In urban schools, some manage with photocopies, guidebooks, or digital materials. In rural and semi-urban areas, such alternatives are scarce or nonexistent. The result is a widening educational divide—one created not by poverty alone, but by state failure. When siblings in the same household experience different levels of preparedness because one is in primary school (where books arrive on time) and the other in secondary school (where they do not), the inequity becomes painfully visible.
Parents, meanwhile, are left asking questions that the system is unable or unwilling to answer. How will exams be conducted? Will syllabi be reduced? What criteria will be used to evaluate performance? The absence of clear guidance erodes trust. Education, once a source of stability in uncertain times, begins to resemble a rolling experiment conducted on unwilling participants.
It is tempting for authorities to describe this as a logistical hiccup. That would be a mistake. This is not an accident. It is the result of sustained neglect and structural weakness. The academic calendar is not a mystery. The January 1 deadline for textbook distribution is known years in advance. When targets set for November printing deadlines collapse repeatedly, the problem is not the calendar. It is governance.
Consider the tender process, often cited as the primary culprit. If procurement complexities derail textbook printing every year, then the process itself is fundamentally flawed. Either contracts are awarded too late, oversight is insufficient, or accountability is absent. None of these are minor issues. They point to an institution that operates reactively rather than strategically.
Globally, textbook distribution is rarely glamorous, but in competent systems it is reliable. Countries with far fewer resources manage to deliver learning materials on time through decentralized printing, staggered distribution schedules, and digital transparency in procurement. Bangladesh, despite decades of experience and a well-established NCTB, struggles with the same problem annually. That comparison should be uncomfortable.
The political cost of this failure is often underestimated. Bangladesh proudly celebrates “Book Festival Day” on January 1, showcasing stacks of fresh textbooks and smiling children. When that symbolism collapses—when millions of students return to school empty-handed—the credibility of the entire education narrative suffers. Symbols matter, especially when they mask systemic decay.
The deeper concern is what this pattern teaches students themselves. It normalizes dysfunction. It suggests that deadlines are optional, promises flexible, and accountability negotiable. That may be the most damaging lesson of all. What, then, is to be done?
First, textbook printing and distribution must be treated as a national priority, not a routine clerical task. This means establishing a permanent, high-level monitoring cell within the education ministry tasked solely with ensuring on-time delivery. Issuing work orders is not enough; continuous oversight is essential.
Second, the NCTB requires institutional reform. Greater operational autonomy, combined with stricter transparency standards, could insulate it from political interference and last-minute decision-making. Digital procurement platforms, real-time progress tracking, and public disclosure of printing timelines would introduce a level of scrutiny that the system currently lacks.
Third, contingency planning must become standard practice. When delays occur—as they sometimes will—schools should receive officially approved interim materials, whether digital or printed locally, to prevent learning paralysis. Leaving teachers and students to improvise is not a plan; it is abdication.
Finally, there must be consequences for failure. Repeated delays without accountability invite repetition. Administrative negligence in education is not a victimless error; it affects millions of lives. Responsibility, once clearly assigned, should be clearly enforced.
A new academic year is supposed to represent renewal—a fresh start for students, teachers, and parents alike. When that beginning is undermined by empty classrooms and missing books, hope itself takes a blow. Education does not advance through slogans or ceremonies. It advances through preparation, discipline, and respect for the future.
Bangladesh’s textbook crisis is not unsolvable. What it lacks is urgency matched with seriousness. The cost of inaction is not measured in missed pages or delayed lessons. It is measured in diminished confidence, deepened inequality, and a generation taught—unintentionally but unmistakably—that the system they rely on cannot be relied upon. That is a lesson no textbook should ever teach.
M A Hossain, political and defense analyst based in Bangladesh. He can be reached at: writetomahossain@gmail.com
This article published at :
1. Asian Age, BD : 31 December, 25
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