Education & Youth: What if our next genius is failing in silence?

Well, it has been a week or so since the most anticipated, heart-thumping, and conversation-dominating event of the year took place: the SSC 2025 results! As always, our newsfeeds—print, electronic, and digital—were overflooded with the happy cries and jubilant jibes of teenagers with proud proclamations of persistence and purpose etched into their voices like war chants of a victory hard-won.

For many of them, this is the first intangible paycheck: one that cannot be quantified in numbers, but instead measured in sleepless nights, skipped meals, breathless prayers, and indefatigable discipline, both theirs and their parents’. It is not just an academic milestone; it is a rite of passage, a societal badge of validation, and an early proof that “I can do this…..on my own.”

And yet, behind these headlines lies another truth: quieter, invisible, often unspoken.

As a teacher and an empath, my heart beams with joy every time I see these kids celebrating. For many of them, this success is more than academic—a dose of confidence, a doorway to greater dreams. Yet, while their journey to glory might officially begin in class nine, after the formal registration for the SSC examination, the race often starts much earlier with the scramble for admission into top-tier schools.

These institutions, revered for creating future toppers, are the holy grail for most Bangladeshi parents. Getting into the top schools becomes a collective goal, where children are pushed, mentored, and groomed—often at the cost of their adolescence.

There is no harm in striving for the best, however. Every parent has the right to dream of a better future for their child. And behind all the success stories, there is often a parent who prayed relentlessly, a teacher who sacrificed evenings, and a student who opted for grinding over cartoons, painting, or sleep. It is a celebration they have duly earned.

But, as an empath, I cannot ignore the silence that surrounds those who did not make it to the shutterbugs. The ones who never got into a reputed school; not because they tried and failed, but because they ‘could never try’, the names who possess just as much potential, but could never grace a news headline due to unfortunate negligence, the meritorious who lacked not calibre, but access—to exposure, to guidance, to mentors, and whetstones.

As a witness to hundreds of stories that never make it to the front page, my heart often aches for these students whose names were not on the leaderboard simply because they lacked something far more structural: the nurturing ecosystem that silently builds toppers.

The truth is, many of our brightest students never get to realize their own brilliance. Why? Because no one told them how far they could go; because their parents were unaware of the academic roadmaps that lead to the best institutions, best scholarships, and the best pathways to the beaming tomorrow; because no one invested in their English skills, in their nuanced learning abilities, in their soft skills or digital literacy; because they didn’t avail proper instruction, or sit beside the 'right kind of peers'.

We speak of a unified curriculum and evaluation system, but are we prepared to confront the truth that not every student begins at the same starting line? The top scorers, more often than not, had access to the best teachers, influential coaching centers, structured environments, and systematic academic planning. What about the rest?

Do all students receive the same motivation, the same clarity about what’s at stake, the same tangible reminders of what academic success can bring? Have we, as a system, done enough to make them believe in the value of striving? And even when they do believe, do they have the same tools—the extra hours, the tuition, the practice materials, the exclusive resources—to succeed, to hone their potential into incredible talents?

We cheer for those who achieve, but seldom reflect upon what conditions enabled that achievement. What about the others, the Quiet Mediocres, who, under different circumstances, could have soared just as high, or even higher? Who couldn’t be the achievers because they were made lazy or inattentive through the absence of formative guidance, the push, the voice telling them, "You can do this?"

From the rat race of getting into reputed schools at the primary level to the sincere prayers parents whisper before Class 9 admissions, the academic system is built on a deep belief that getting into the "right school" sets the path for success. And often, that belief holds true. The alumni networks, the access to trained teachers, the exposure to competitive preparation—these factors build a silent machinery that pushes students forward, often invisibly, proving it’s not just about talent; it’s about placement, positioning, and access.

But does every student receive that machinery? Do all parents know how to access the system? Do all students know what’s at stake when they skip a homework or miss a mock exam? Have we, as a system, as teachers, mentors, institutions, succeeded in making all the classrooms equal enough for students to compete fairly?

Every year, we read headlines about public examination toppers from either highly reputed institutions or stories of extreme poverty that tug at our hearts. But in doing so, we reinforce a binary: either you are exceptional through hardship or through elite privilege. Where is the space for the vast, quiet middle?

What about the students from average backgrounds, attending average schools, with average support systems? Yes, they are assessed using the same rubric, but before we weigh them, did they all receive the same level of drilling, encouragement, emotional support, and academic exposure? Are we measuring potential or privilege?

These mediocres—ignored, uncelebrated, yet full of potential—deserve more than our pity. They deserve an opportunity and, even before that, they need to be seen.

While the flashes shine on the exceptional, thousands of brilliant minds never discern what they could have become, simply because no one asked them to dream big enough. And by the time life happens with opportunities slipping through their grip, they are already climbing uphill, against systems built to favour those who had a head start.

This brings us to a crucial psychological phenomenon, the Pygmalion Effect, an idea from Greek mythology, where the sculptor Pygmalion fell in love with a statue he created to an extent that it eventually came to life, implying that belief can breathe life into potential.

Psychologists Robert Rosenthal and Lenore Jacobson validated this in a 1968 study, demonstrating that, along with intelligence and effort, success hinges on the quiet power of others’ belief in us — a force that gently pulls us toward the light of their trust, often without us even realizing it.

However, the opposite (the Golem Effect) also occurs when we internalize self-blaming for being stuck at the starting point. The Pygmalion Effect, thus, conveys how a significant boost, paired with thorough, efficient guidance, can transition one’s outlook and performance so profoundly that they begin to pursue what they once considered unfeasible.

There are, of course, students whose struggles run deeper. Students who, due to severe financial hardship, must leave studies to trade dreams for survival while their peers revise textbooks or chase university admissions. Thankfully, many NGOs, social programs, and scholarship initiatives have started to address these students’ needs with strong academic scaffolding. It’s far from enough, but there is at least a growing awareness and action.

But when we shift our lens to those who fall in between—those neither too poor to qualify for aid nor too privileged to glide forward with systemic support —we see another kind of loss. Their families may invest what little they have in the wrong kind of schooling, unaware of what truly matters.

As a result, talent remains untapped and ambition undefined, drifting many into teenage distractions, never quite realizing that the efforts they forgo today may one day determine their access to professional advancement with global opportunities.

These students are not failing because of poverty, but because of invisibility. They are not seen as in crisis, so they are not rescued. And because they are not seen as exceptional enough, they are not empowered either. Caught in the quiet shadows between crisis and elitism, they lurch through the cracks of a system that overlooks the mediocres.

During an introductory class this summer, a student shared with a hush of regret, “I didn’t realize how many academic opportunities I’d missed until I moved to Dhaka.” Her words lingered. How many under-recognised students, I wonder, are still left behind, not for lack of intelligence, only due to barriers no one chose?

Talent must not be wasted due to ignorance—ours or theirs. And every time we celebrate the top scorers, we should also ask ourselves: What are we doing to uncover the hidden gems scattered across small towns and short-staffed schools, where raw talent is carved into quiet hesitation?

Until we ask harder questions about what equity means, we will continue to confuse success with visibility. The spotlight is bright, but it casts a long shadow. Let’s not forget who gets left behind in it.

In the end, a just education system is not one that rewards the best-prepared, but one that prepares everyone to be their best.

It is not always in the dusty classroom in a forgotten village, nor within the high walls of overarching urban schools, that the next Hawking or Chomsky is in the making; it could be among unremarkable uniforms, within the flickering wavelength of an ordinary private school, tucked somewhere in the midst or on the frayed edge of a restless metropolis, with no culture of academic excellence, and no mentorship with keys to invisible doors, the next young Sheldon is waiting—not for a miracle, but for a map.

Are we paying heed?

* Fariha Nowrin is an educationalist. She can be reached at [email protected] / [email protected]