'What’s the point of studying?': How Bihari camp success stories began changing minds

Noor Islam Pappu

This take is neither about SSC results nor GPA 5 grading. Rather, it is an exploration of how the camp-based Bihari community generally perceives education, or rather perceived education, and how success stories within the dimly-lit hallways have blazed a different path altogether. 

While recognising the value of education and respecting educated people is a deep tradition in many cultures, ours is a bit more complicated. Whenever someone passed a board exam, instead of receiving praise, they would hear: “(Padh ke ka hoga?) What is the point of getting educated?”

This mindset of completely dismissing the power of education – among a people who originated from a region once known as the global epicenter of higher education – didn’t happen overnight. 

Biharis once belonged to a land that birthed some of the most famous universities of the Indian subcontinent: Nalanda, Vikramshila, and Mithila, which attracted scholars from across Asia, including China, Korea, Tibet, and Japan. 

To see a community with such a heritage relegated to a dark age is the tragic consequence of systemic neglect: a complete lack of recognition, zero basic rights, and a total absence of influential connections.

For instance, most students dropped out in the earlier days because they struggled with the curriculum – especially Bangla grammar and mathematics. 

Yet, within this unsupportive environment, a small, resilient group of young girls and boys living in the camp somehow managed to stay in school, value education, and admire the educated. 

Today, those same individuals hold respectable professional positions in broader Bangladeshi society. They managed to transition out of the “Bihari camp” space to earn a decent living, with a few still actively working to improve educational opportunities for camp-based communities across Bangladesh.

Back then, we were deeply enthusiastic about meeting educated people, both within our community and in the mainstream. The very first highly educated Bihari gentleman I ever met was Ahmed Ilias, the Executive Director of Al-Falah, during an award ceremony in Geneva Camp. 

My friend Khalid pointed at him and whispered in sheer admiration, “E chacha ko dekh raha hai na? British amal ka matric pass hai (See that uncle over there? He passed Matric back in the British period!)” That was the legendary, larger-than-life way people introduced anyone who had managed to clear their Matric or modern-day SSC exams.

Years later, at that exact same spot, I met another educated young Bihari gentleman who had just earned his Master’s degree. 

Naturally, we threw a small celebration for him at the Al-Falah Clinic. During his introduction, the host declared with total seriousness, “Look at him, he is a graduate now! If he stands before the President, even the President should stand up and salute him!” 

I don’t know what gesture makes the most logical sense, but this was how our little group proudly honoured educated people. Outside our circle, admirers were rare; most people reserved their true respect for those who made quick money as barbers or butchers.

Until 1994, very few students sat for the school final exam due to severe poverty, lack of institutional recognition, and countless other obstacles. The rare few in Geneva Camp who did pass became instant local celebrities, inspiring the rest of us to actually open a textbook. 

In fact, I heard that a few educated individuals from Geneva Camp even managed to land jobs with UN agencies and the US Embassy back in the ‘70s and ‘80s! This was a rarity back in the day.

On top of that, building a career through education felt nearly impossible without strong personal connections ("Mama-Chacha"), something almost nonexistent for Biharis. 

This only reinforced the widespread belief that studying was useless—a mere "hobby"—especially when the local butcher or barber was making a small fortune and in high demand as a prospective groom! Even today, those who generate immediate income are often valued more than those with degrees.

The stuff of legends

The legendary stories of those few individuals who passed the SSC and landed jobs at the UN and the US Embassy in the ‘70s and ‘80s were our ultimate benchmarks. 

So, when I finally passed my school exams in 1994, my parents and I genuinely believed I was going to be the family’s ultimate game-changer – that I would not only secure a prestigious job but also elevate our social status. Reality, however, had both comic and cruel plans.

I neatly tucked in my shirt and marched off to several job interviews, only to fail miserably. 

At a few places, employers literally laughed in my face, asking why a tiny, skinny kid who had just finished high school was begging for a job. I didn’t fully grasp the humiliation back then, but I quickly realised that applying for a formal job right after secondary school was not treated seriously– even though I was simply trying to make a living.

Around the same time in our neighbourhood, a boy my age was making waves. 

He had actually failed his school exams, yet somehow bagged a cozy job as an office helper in Motijheel! He returned to the camp once a week on Thursday evenings to visit his parents. He was celebrated as the absolute luckiest guy in our peer group. One day, I handed him my handwritten CV, and he promised to hunt down a job for me. For months, I waited for him every single Thursday, standing faithfully like a statue at the entrance of his lane just to catch him and ask for news. But he never had any.

One Thursday, I was waiting as usual, but he didn’t show up. Later, a friend revealed that he had started taking a completely different, roundabout route home just to avoid me! My relentless waiting was giving the poor guy severe anxiety because he couldn’t find me a job. 

After learning that, I stopped stalking him and took up odd jobs instead – working as a shopkeeper and later upgrading to a sewing-machine mechanic. Eventually, I pursued my studies privately, completed my graduation, and ultimately earned a Master’s degree from Sweden. How? Well, that is a long story for another day!

According to the UNHCR, there are 116 Bihari camps in Bangladesh today. 

Without official demographic data, it is nearly impossible to count exactly how many camp students take or pass the SSC exam each year. But given our population size, the numbers are certainly growing—and as social media posts demonstrate, a significant number of bright students are passing each year.

Whether people accept it or not, the camp-based Bihari community has gradually integrated into broader Bangladeshi society after living in squalid conditions for generations. Access to education has improved, particularly after a historic court ruling granted Biharis full citizenship rights. Many camp youths are striving to study, supported by community-based NGOs run by expats from our own community. 

Interestingly, girls are leading the numbers in taking the exam – though, ironically, the underlying motivation for many families remains securing a better marriage proposal rather than building an independent career.

Compared to the ‘80s and ‘90s, today’s camp students have far better opportunities. Back then, schools outright refused to admit students who listed a camp address. Until 1994, no student could even sit for the final exam under an honest Bihari identity. 

To bypass this, ambitious parents enrolled their children in nearby schools using fake addresses outside the camps. 

In those early days, World Vision sponsored a few bright minds with tuition fees and notebooks, but major NGO interventions didn't exist. Over time, NGOs and government bodies stepped up, allowing camp students to register using their actual addresses.

The students motivated to continue today are mostly self-driven, though many receive a strong push from former camp residents who left during and after the 1971 war, settled in Western countries, received an education, and built successful lives. They began sending money back home to fund local educational initiatives through wonderful community organizations like OBAT, CoM, FoH, and many others.

Reality still harsh

The raw, unvarnished reality persists: a severe lack of structured career paths and a fiercely competitive job market that rarely favors this marginalised community. 

Mindsets toward education may have shifted over time, but deep-seated structural challenges remain. 

A few years ago, I asked my friend Sajid – whose son was about to sit for the SSC exam from Geneva Camp – what his expectations were. His answer was gloriously grounded in reality: “If he passes, he can become anything. If he fails, well, at least he can drive a CNG or repair a CNG! Who counts whether my son passes or fails anyway? At the end of the day, we have to earn our rice and daal.” Having a backup plan for one's livelihood is practical, but it raises a profound question: Is surviving on the margins enough, or do we deserve a life of true dignity?

There is still hope that our community will rise from the ashes to reclaim our shared, glorious heritage on the intellectual map. After all, our roots trace back to Bodh Gaya—the sacred land where Prince Siddhartha was welcomed, where he attained enlightenment, and where he became the Buddha.

Noor Islam Pappu is a researcher and National Coordinator for Dalarna University and the University of Gothenburg. He specializes in community-ethnography and personal narrative storytelling based on his lived experiences.