“If its (educational institute) object were merely to provide for the demand, it would be a sort of shop.”—St. John Henry Newman
The transition in Pakistan's educational landscape from the pursuit of wisdom to the provision of services marks one of the most profound shifts in our societal fabric. Where once the corridors of learning were considered sacred spaces for moral grooming and intellectual rigour, they have increasingly transformed into polished marketplaces. Today, the essence of education appears diluted; the student has evolved into a customer, and the educational institution has rebranded itself as a money-making organisation, prioritising “product differentiation” over the creation of true scholars.
To understand what has been lost, we must look back to the classical vision of higher learning. The Reverend John Henry Newman, a towering 19th-century scholar, famously argued in The Idea of a University that: “Knowledge is one thing, virtue is another; good sense is not conscience, refinement is not humility... education is a higher word; it is the preparation for knowledge, and it is the imparting of knowledge in proportion to that preparation.”
Historically, the Pakistani educational mindset, despite its resource limitations, was anchored in a specific kind of reverence. In the pre-2000s era, even though rote memorisation was a dominant tool, the underlying goal was often ideological cohesion and the development of a certain moral character. Teachers were seen as mentors, and the curriculum, though rigid and centralised, aimed to produce individuals who felt a sense of duty towards the state and society. There was a weight to the word “student” that implied a lifelong journey of learning and discipline.
However, as we moved into the 21st century, the landscape shifted towards a market-driven model. The rise of private sector dominance has turned education into a lucrative industry. Today, when a parent walks into a high-end private school or a private university, they are not greeted by an academic dean concerned with the child’s intellectual curiosity; they are met by marketing managers and “admissions counsellors” who sell a lifestyle. The institution is no longer a place of challenge; it is a service provider. And in any service industry, the golden rule applies: the customer is always right.
This “customer-centric” approach has fundamentally altered the power dynamic between the teacher and the taught. In a system where revenue depends on student retention and parental satisfaction, the pressure to maintain high grades often outweighs the need for academic honesty. We see a grade inflation epidemic where the focus is on the transcript rather than the talent. If a student fails to grasp a concept, it is no longer seen as a personal intellectual hurdle to be overcome with hard work; it is framed as a failure of the service provided by the school. Consequently, institutions lower their standards to ensure their customers remain happy and keep paying hefty premiums.
We are building educational malls, not ivory towers
The curriculum itself has been “productised”. Institutions now compete based on brand names—Cambridge, IB, or specialised STEM certifications—rather than the depth of their pedagogical approach. While the push for STEM and digital literacy is a necessary response to the global market, it is often implemented as a cosmetic upgrade. Schools advertise robotics labs and high-speed internet as selling points to attract the elite, yet the core of the teaching remains fixated on high-stakes testing. We are producing graduates who are adept at passing exams but are functionally illiterate when it comes to critical thinking, emotional intelligence, or holistic life skills.
This commercialisation has created a tragic fragmentation within our society. The “elite vs public” divide has widened into a chasm. Elite institutions cater to a customer base that can afford global mobility, creating a class of graduates who are more connected to the international market than to the local realities of Pakistan. Meanwhile, the public sector, starved of resources and abandoned by the middle class, continues to struggle with outdated methods. The result is a society where educational experience is directly proportional to a wallet, not merit.
True scholarship caters to a certain level of discomfort. It requires the dismantling of preconceived notions and the rigorous pursuit of truth, regardless of how marketable it is. However, a money-making organisation cannot afford to make its customers uncomfortable. When education becomes a product, it must be packaged to be palatable.
This leads to a “lite” version of learning where complex socio-political histories, moral philosophies, and deep literary analyses are sidelined in favour of “professional competence” and “employability skills”. We are training workers, not thinkers. We are creating technicians of the status quo, not scholars who can challenge and transform it.
Digital adoption and online integration, accelerated by the pandemic, have further commodified the experience. Education is now often delivered in bite-sized, consumable chunks. While technology should be a tool for democratisation, in a market-driven mindset, it often becomes a tool for cost-cutting. The relationship is now transactional: fees are paid, modules are completed, and a degree is “unlocked”.
Furthermore, rising socio-economic inequality is the most damning indictment of this system. When education is a business, it naturally gravitates towards those who can pay the most. This leaves a vast majority of the youth in a state of perpetual disadvantage. Even those who manage to enter the market through scholarships or loans find themselves in an environment that values their financial utility over their intellectual potential. The lack of holistic life skills in modern graduates is a direct result; one cannot teach a customer the humility required for true learning, nor can one teach a client the resilience required for scholarship.
To produce a scholar in the true sense of the word, an institution must be willing to fail a student, to challenge a student, and to prioritise the integrity of the subject matter over the satisfaction of the parent. We need a return to the “scholastic gaps” being addressed not just through better technology, but through a fundamental reassessment of why we educate. Is it to create a workforce for the global market, or is it to create a citizenry capable of steering the country towards a more equitable and enlightened future?
The current trajectory suggests we are choosing the former. We are building educational malls, not ivory towers. If we continue to treat students as customers, we will eventually find that we have sold away the very soul of our intellectual heritage. The credentials will be there, the diplomas will be framed in gold, but the “practical, professional competence” and the deeper wisdom that define a true scholar will be nowhere to be found.
We must ask ourselves: what happens to a nation when its brightest minds are trained only to be consumers of knowledge rather than creators of it? The answer lies in the growing disparity and the lack of innovation we see today. It is time to reclaim the classroom from the accountants and return it to the educators. Only then can we move from being a society of customers to a society of scholars.