Voice of Bangladesh
Gatekeepers to the middle class

My family's ancestral home is in Chauddodona, a village south-east of Dhaka in Kumilla district. It would be the perfect haunted house if it weren't for Eid al-Adha, the feast of sacrifice, when my father's entire family descends there every year. For a few days, the house is filled with the noise of playing children, endless chatter, laughter and the music of nightly dance parties.

Chauddodona is a prime example of a Bangladeshi village whose appearance has been transformed by foreign remittances. Not too long ago, ours was the only concrete house in the village. Now there are at least three dozen more. All are exceptionally attractive, more modern than ours and financed with money that was earned abroad. Our humble home seems to be the only stable home in the village.

A few years ago, on the eve of Eid al-Adha, my father said: "One of our neighbours paid 150,000 taka for his sacrificial bull." I knew that was much more than we had paid for ours – about 68,000 taka – and it revealed that he was richer than we were. However, I had already got used to the fact that many of our neighbours were better off than us. That’s why this piece of information that seemed so important for my father didn't faze me at all.

Just to give it context: it is the duty of every Muslim who has the means to sacrifice animals like bulls, goats or camels on Eid al-Adha.

Oblivious to my lack of interest my father continued: "Never mind! These are uneducated people who earned their money with physical labour abroad." It was an entirely irrelevant and unwarranted remark. But I found it amusing how my father tried to mentally convince himself that we belonged to a better social class despite being financially worse off. For my father, academic background or lack of it was a constant preoccupation.

A year later, my father worried that people might look down on me because I wanted to follow my passion and become a filmmaker instead of going to university. My mother's and father's academic hunger had not been stilled despite both of them having doctorates and a second master’s degree. For this reason, they found it hard to accept my decision; they fell into despondency. Most people in our circle of friends had a bachelor’s degree. My parents feared that my career path would cost them their social standing. Finally, I changed my mind and enrolled in a bachelor’s programme which I could live with.

All my life, I have lived among educated middle-class Bangladeshis. They are painfully aware of lagging behind in the race for more wealth, so instead they have become zealous gatekeepers who determine who is to be regarded as a social equal.

Education has become the most important measure of social status, standing and sometimes even the character of a person. This fanaticism about education has led a growing number of people to aspire for higher and higher academic qualifications. Ironically, there are alarmingly few – and certainly not enough – suitable jobs for everyone graduating from a prestigious university.