Should I stay or should I go?
EDUCATION SHOULD build a nation’s human capital. In Nepal, it is draining it. Families impoverish themselves to buy qualifications that have little value at home, viewing them chiefly as visas in waiting. This is not investment in learning but a speculative gamble on escape. The upshot is a system that exports talent rather than employing it, leaving the country both educated and underdeveloped.
At first blush, the zeal for schooling seems positive. Enrollment rates have soared. Colleges proliferate like cancer. Yet this expansion is decoupled from economic reality. The local job market cannot absorb the thousands of graduates produced each year. A degree, once a mark of distinction, is now a basic credential for even simple clerical work. This inflation devalues education, much as printing money devalues a currency.
The driving force is not ambition but anxiety. With a frail state offering little social protection and few quality jobs, a certificate provides psychological security. It is a tradable asset in the marriage market and a necessary document for visa applications. The content of the curriculum matters less than the stamp on the parchment. Families are buying options not skills.
Consequently, the true customer of Nepal’s education system is not its own economy but those of Australia, Canada, America and the Gulf. A degree is the most reliable route to a work permit abroad. A network of migration agents and consultancies has sprung up to facilitate this transition, turning education into a sophisticated logistics industry for human export. The campus is a stepping stone to the airport.
The economics of this pursuit are brutal. Parents take out loans with crushing interest rates, sell land or sacrifice their own retirement to fund children’s degrees. The calculation hinges on future remittances. These funds now constitute a big share of the economy, creating a perverse dependency. The nation relies on its young citizens leaving it.
This exacts a heavy price on domestic development. Farms and factories face labour shortages. Technical trades are shunned as inferior, creating a skills vacuum in practical sectors. The economy suffers a double bind: a surplus of overqualified graduates for non-existent white-collar jobs, and a deficit of plumbers, electricians, mechanics and so on.
Other developing nations face similar plights. The Philippines trains nurses for export; India produces engineers for its diaspora. But some offer alternative models. Germany channels many youths into respected vocational tracks. Singapore meticulously aligns education with state-defined economic priorities. Nepal lacks such policies.
Reform is possible but needs political will. The state could elevate vocational training through funding and publicity. Universities might be incentivised to forge ties with industry. Curricula need modernising to foster critical thinking over rote memorisation. Most importantly, public discourse must challenge the stigma around non-academic careers.
The great tragedy is that the pursuit of education, a seemingly virtuous activity, is undermining the country’s foundation. It is rational for each family yet disastrous for the collective. Nepal is educating its next generation to build other economies. Until the definition of an educated success changes from one who leaves to one who builds, the nation will remain a net exporter of its own potential. ■
