HIGH-STAKES tests have a significant impact on test-takers’ lives. School-leaving exams such as the Secondary School Certificate and the Higher Secondary Certificate in Bangladesh are high-stakes because poor performance on these tests may ruin students’ life chances. They may not be able to pursue their desired higher education or follow their cherished career paths.
College and university admission tests are more remarkable for their stakes and for the degree of competition they generate. Recruitment tests, including the BCS examination, also fall into this category. Simply doing well in these tests is never enough; one has to perform well enough so that they are not eliminated. The fear of elimination makes people heavily invest their time, efforts, abilities, and resources. As they prepare for such tests, their lives become highly regulated. The power of the tests may dehumanise them, forcing them to withdraw from their everyday routine. This is of course a temporary disruption; once the test is over, they can return to normal life, hopefully with the promised stakes of tests.
As a researcher, I have a great interest in high-stakes tests and test-takers’ experiences of taking them. One such test is the International English Language Testing System, which is taken by millions of people every year as they apply for student, work, or residency visas in English-speaking countries such as Australia, Canada, and the UK. In our research, we have reported stories of test-takers from different parts of the world whose lives were significantly transformed by the test. For example, one Peruvian woman told us that the IELTS test took her life as she was forced to leave Australia due to her modest performance on the test. An Indonesian test-taker, who took the test 14 times in a year, had a desirable outcome in the end: he was able to settle in Australia as a permanent resident.
For some people, taking the IELTS may not be a big deal. They may already be highly proficient in English; they need to sit the test for official evidence of their competence. For them, taking the test is just an inconvenience for which they also have to pay handsomely. For many other test-takers, however, it may be a different story. If their lives somehow hang on the test, we can imagine how they will approach the preparation. The following extract is a recollection of one test-taker’s experience preparing for the IELTS. It was reported on the website of an Australian radio station some years ago:
‘Really, you can’t sleep... When you’re sleeping, you are dreaming about IELTS, and when you eat, walk, or do whatever you do, you are just stressed about everything around you. And I would say, like, you know, it’s really a do-or-die situation.’
Perhaps the most (in)famous test in the world, affecting the lives of millions, is the Chinese college entrance test called Gaokao. Gaokao results determine students’ acceptance or rejection by colleges and universities. And going (or not going) to prestigious institutions defines their future careers and lives. One of my Chinese students and I have examined the social impact of gaokao — how it affects not only students but also their parents, teachers, and schools. For example, during the gaokao year, many students live ‘a three-point life’ which represents the daily routine of shuttling between home, school, and the canteen. It’s normal for some mothers to quit their jobs so they can provide full-time support to their gaokao-taking children. Obviously, life may not have any goals other than taking the test for these children during this time.
My personal experience of taking the Dhaka University admission test about three decades ago may be illuminating. As I came from a humble background, I had to take education and exams seriously. I believed that academic achievement was the only way out of poverty for me and my siblings. I wished to study at DU, which was another world from our rural surroundings in North Bengal. My parents couldn’t give me even a one-way bus fare when I was travelling to Dhaka.
I took shelter in the residential hall of an engineering college in Tejgaon as a guest. It was Cricket World Cup time, and the hall TV room would be packed with students watching the game. I was ignorant of cricket. And I didn’t have the time or luxury of watching TV while I was haunted by the DU test 24/7.
I devoted myself wholeheartedly to preparing. Occasionally, I felt confident that I could make it, but I couldn’t relax. One day, a senior student at the college who also came from the North nearly ruined my dream. He said that DU was probably too good for rustic kids like me. I couldn’t interpret his intention, but I only became more serious. I couldn’t afford to fail the test. Failing meant I would have to go back to my village, which I couldn’t imagine. It was a do-or-die situation.
I was lucky to secure the top rank in my unit, and I opted for English as my subject. Looking back, I have no regrets about having lived a life given to test preparation for a few weeks.
Adnan Ahmed came out first in this year’s Bangladesh University of Engineering and Technology admission test. A popular Bangla newspaper published an interview with him in which he talked about his experience preparing for the test, among other things. With his characteristic innocence, he narrated that he spent almost his entire time preparing for the test, except for eating, sleeping, and praying his daily prayers.
The way Adnan approached the BUET test is not different from the experiences previously reported. Surprisingly, he attracted criticism on social media for his singular devotion to the test. It has been suggested that instead of subjecting himself to the test, he should have been engaged in many activities, including developing an awareness of what is happening around the world. Examples included the Russia-Ukraine war (but not the genocide in Gaza, someone noted) and the Taylor Swift fever. He should have also enjoyed life by going to movies, art galleries, and concerts, reading books, listening to music, giving addas to friends, falling in love, etc. His future dream of working for a tech company was dubbed a selfish pursuit that was alleged to be devoid of nationalist thinking. Interestingly, there was no reference to the fact that all systems in the country, including education, have been brought to the brink of disaster in the past decade.
Whatever the intention of this critique plus counselling, it was paternalistic, unwanted, and unbecoming. This can be called a secularist fatwa sprayed with nationalist spices. It was given by someone who probably thought that they knew what other people should do and how they should live their lives. They might have presumed that the teen was heading in the wrong direction in life, and therefore he needed some secularist intervention. Instead of being commended for his outstanding achievement, Adnan was asked to unlive his life and jump on the bandwagon.
There appears to be a prevailing trend in Bangladesh in which one segment of its population is increasingly being subjected to definitions of ‘good life’ provided by secular pedagogues. They assume that what is good for them is also good for others. Wouldn’t it be more desirable that they use their prescriptions for their own children and let other people’s children find their own views of a good life and live it in their own ways?
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Obaidul Hamid is an associate professor at the University of Queensland in Australia. He researches language, education, and society in the developing world.