By now, most of us have heard the name Anisha Ahmed, the Bangla College student who could not appear in her HSC Bangla First Paper exam because she reached the centre late. The story was heartbreaking when it first broke, a young student reportedly delayed because her mother suddenly fell ill and had to be taken to hospital. Social media exploded with sympathy. Across the country, voices rose in unison, “Let her retake the exam.”
But as the days passed, the official investigation painted a different picture. According to the Education Board, the medical documents submitted to justify her absence were faulty, possibly even falsified. Based on that, Board decided her exam would not be reconsidered. What could have been an example of humane flexibility instead became another display of our system’s unforgiving rigidity.
Let’s pause before condemning Anisha. The use of questionable or “adjusted” documents, especially medical certificates, is practically an open secret in Bangladesh. From government offices to schools, colleges & universities, this practice is embedded in the fabric of daily life. Many employees produce backdated medical slips to secure leave. Students do it too. It is, in many ways, a socially accepted lie so common that those who use it barely register it as wrongdoing.
That doesn’t make it right, but it makes it understandable. In Anisha’s case, it’s entirely possible she stepped into this long-running social habit without anticipating the backlash. A deeper issue lies in the phenomenon that if our institutions operate in an environment where dishonesty is normalized, why do we act shocked when young people adopt the same tactics? In the end, isn't it actually naive to expect that students won't be forced to resort to forgery often out of desperation, not malice!! This problem is not limited to individual students. Bangladesh Public Service Commission (BPSC), established in 1972 as a constitutional body to ensure merit-based recruitment, has its roots in the British colonial era’s Indian Public Service Commission from 1926. Over time, the BPSC’s board exams have become nerve-wracking and high-pressure. Instead of addressing its problems, such as question leaks, mismanagement, and poor planning, the system often shifts the burden onto students. Rules like banning entry if you’re even ten minutes late or adding other unnecessary restrictions don’t solve anything. They just make an already tough situation harder for everyone.
The tragedy continued at Uttara High School and College, where two HSC candidates, Yasir Arafat and Sajjad Hossain, were denied entry because their admit cards were never issued due to administrative blunders, alleged corruption, and lack of accountability. One student’s roll number was reportedly “sold” to another. As classmates wrote their papers, these students sat outside crying, their futures locked away by paperwork and procedural arrogance. And yet, this is the same exam system so proudly defended by once publicly acknowledged intellectuals like Dr. Muhammad Zafar Iqbal, who insists that centralized board exams uphold merit as though merit survives in a swamp of clerical mismanagement, favoritism, and transactional errors. The problem is not the idea of assessment but the blind worship of a one-size-fits-all, unforgiving ritual where a missing signature or misplaced file becomes a life sentence for a young person. Our system’s overemphasis on one-shot high-stakes tests creates immense pressure, pushing some students toward desperate measures like forgery, as Anisha did. Recent board exams exposed glaring flaws, confusing questions, and constant flaws in English version questions, which don't face any repercussions, and as a result, this clownery is persistent every year. These cumulatively worsen students’ anxiety and damage trust.
If our education policymakers were serious, they would replace this brittle machinery with a decentralized, school-led certification system, backed by digital verification to prevent fraud, and emergency provisions that allow any eligible student to sit their exam even if administrative failings occur. Around the world, education systems are proving that flexibility and fairness are not luxuries, they’re essentials. India’s New Education Policy is introducing twice-a-year board exams, reducing the all-or-nothing pressure of a single test. The UK’s A-levels allow resits and offer vocational alternatives like BTECs, ensuring one setback doesn’t derail a student’s future. South Korea has embraced open-book online exams and flexible grading to ease its “exam hell,” while universities like UCLA run on a quarter system, breaking the year into smaller, more manageable terms. A system that allows retakes, offers multiple pathways, and responds with swift accountability for corruption would replace today’s rigid machinery with one that tests potential, not just endurance.
Punitive action must be swift and public, targeting both corrupt actors and incompetent administrators, because without consequences, the rot will persist. Until then, every teardrop outside an exam hall will be a reminder that we are less an education system and more a bureaucratic meat grinder, where the only thing truly tested is a student’s ability to endure humiliation. These reforms aren’t pipe dreams; they’re proven fixes from systems that value kids as humans, not cogs. Reshaping this beast into something humane, drawing inspiration from countries that treat exams as steps, not guillotines, won't be an easy task, but the question still remains, in a country where students are forcibly taken from their classes to join the march of political parties, will there ever be any light of hope?