Why an Exhausted Nation Believes It Is Working Harder Than It Actually Is

If effort alone produced prosperity, Bangladesh would be a global superpower. We are a nation that works 56 hours a week, often more—an impressive statistic until you pair it with the uncomfortable question: working on what? Because beneath the surface of long hours and heroic exhaustion lies a secret we’re too ashamed to confront: much of our labour is performative.

Bangladeshi productivity, as officially measured, is an illusion held together by tired bodies and tired traditions.

Walk into any office, and you’ll find employees glued to their desks long after the workday ends. Not because they are needed, but because leaving on time is interpreted as disloyalty. Workplaces treat lateness as a crime and presenteeism as a virtue. Managers equate visibility with efficiency, turning the office into a stage where everyone acts busy but nobody gets to be effective.

This culture was not born accidentally; it is a synthesis of history, hierarchy, and habit. For decades, advancement depended on obedience, not output. Employees learned to impress through sacrifice—long hours, skipped lunches, unused leave days—rather than through innovation. Employers, in turn, grew addicted to this martyrdom. Productivity became a moral performance, not a measurable outcome.

The consequences are devastating.

We have a workforce that is chronically exhausted yet chronically underperforming. Creativity collapses under pressure. Decision-making slows to a crawl. Meetings multiply like bacteria in a warm room. Every organisation becomes a theatre of busyness, where activity replaces achievement.

Meanwhile, the global economy moves in the opposite direction. Companies measure impact, autonomy, and smart systems. Bangladesh measures sufferings. We confuse endurance for excellence, mistaking burnout for brilliance. And so a young professional who works 14 hours a day is celebrated, while another who finishes the same work in six hours is suspected of laziness.

The emotional cost is even greater.
People skip family events to attend unnecessary meetings.
Mothers hide their fatigue to prove they’re “committed.”
Young men apologise for wanting weekends.
Women are penalised for needing flexibility.
Everyone privately resents the system but publicly complies with it.

This masquerade is particularly cruel to the youth. They enter the workforce full of enthusiasm, only to be taught the first rule of adulthood: efficiency is punished, compliance is rewarded. Within a few years, bright minds dim down, creativity is boxed in, and ambition is replaced by fear.

Many quit—not because they lack dedication, but because they are drowning in a culture that confuses productivity with punishment.

The irony is that Bangladesh desperately needs actual productivity. The world is moving toward automation, AI, knowledge economies, flexible work, outcome-driven cultures. Meanwhile, we cling to outdated managerial habits invented during the colonial era—when the goal was not output, but surveillance.

But change is possible.

We need workplaces that measure outcomes, not hours.
Leadership that values efficiency, not ego.
Policies that reward innovation, not imitation.
Cultures that respect evenings, weekends, and human limits.

And above all, we must let go of the national obsession with appearing hardworking.

A productive nation is not one that works itself to death.
It is one that works smart, thinks boldly, and rests when needed.

Bangladesh deserves that future.
Its workers desperately need it.
And its economy cannot advance without it. It is time to tear off the mask.