Imagine a young man�perhaps named Nasir Al Mamun�sitting in a cramped Dhaka apartment, his university degree framed on the wall, gathering dust. He scrolls through job postings, sends out another application, and waits. Days turn into weeks, weeks into months. No response. His parents, once proud of his academic achievements, now exchange worried glances over dinner. His friends? Scattered�some have left the country, others have settled for jobs far beneath their qualifications, and some, like him, remain suspended in a state of limbo, their futures seemingly on hold.
Now multiply Nasir's story by millions, and you begin to see the scale of Bangladesh�s educated unemployment crisis. Universities continue to churn out graduates, but the economy has no room for them. 16% of the youth�many with degrees in business, engineering, or social sciences�find themselves locked out of the workforce. A paradox unfolds: education, once the great equaliser, is now the root of frustration. The promise of social mobility through learning has become an unfulfilled prophecy.
And what does frustration do? It festers. It reshapes society in ways both visible and invisible. Nasir, and those like him, are no longer passive observers; they are becoming the voices of discontent. The streets, once dominated by hopeful university students dreaming of a better tomorrow, now echo with protests, political slogans, and bitter debates. Social media, once a space for lighthearted memes, is now a battleground where unemployed youth dissect corruption, inequality, and broken promises. Some engage in activism, hoping to challenge the system. Others retreat into cynicism, convinced that nothing will ever change. Still others become drawn to more dangerous narratives�ones that promise easy solutions, or worse, easy enemies.
Beyond the streets and screens, the crisis is seeping into minds. Psychological distress among unemployed graduates is no longer anecdotal�it is epidemic. When hope is repeatedly crushed, what remains? Anxiety. Depression. A quiet but pervasive sense of worthlessness. Some young people, unable to reconcile their expectations with reality, find refuge in delusions�conspiracy theories, dreams of sudden success, or a belief that external actors are secretly pulling the strings. In a way, they are not wrong. Geopolitical forces have long recognised the potential of disillusioned youth. Like players in Age of Empires, they fund protests, amplify frustrations, and manipulate grievances, turning the crisis into both a political and psychological battlefield.
And yet, where is the government in all this? Watching. Occasionally acknowledging the problem, rarely addressing it. Instead of solutions, young people are fed empty rhetoric, short-term fixes, and, when convenient, political exploitation. The state is not blind to their frustration�it weaponises it. Political parties know that an angry, unemployed youth is the perfect foot soldier. Elections come and go, promises are made and broken, and the cycle repeats. Meanwhile, Nasir is still waiting for that email, that phone call, that opportunity.
But what if the cycle could be broken? What if the government shifted focus, investing not just in education but in employment-driven industries? What if universities stopped producing graduates en masse and instead equipped students with skills that matched the evolving job market? What if mental health support became as integral as economic reform, acknowledging that an unemployed mind is just as much in crisis as an empty wallet?
The answers exist, but they require more than political speeches and policy papers. They require a collective realisation that Bangladesh�s greatest asset�its youth�is being wasted. The choice is stark: continue on this path, where millions of educated minds are left to rot, or forge a new one, where education once again leads to opportunity, where frustration is channelled into innovation rather than despair, and where Nasir and hisgeneration are no longer waiting�but building.
The writer is editor of geopolits.com
