How a Chance Encounter in Bangladesh Reshaped My View of Privilege

Introduction: A Tale of Two Worlds

Growing up between Bangladesh and Oklahoma created a unique lens through which I view the world. This isn’t just a story about cultural identity or educational opportunities but about the moment I truly understood what privilege means and the responsibility it carries.

This understanding didn’t come from a book or a lecture. It came from a girl named Urmi, who changed how I see everything.

The Questions That Drive Me

Why am I so angry?

Why do I believe in lifting people up?

Why do I wholeheartedly believe in the old saying “knowledge is power”?

Why do I believe that all you need is one person who believes in you and invests in you so you can do anything?

These are some of the questions I’m often asked.

Answer: privilege is a responsibility.

My understanding of privilege and what it means began with experiences that shaped who I am today.

Confronting Inequity: My First Awakening

One day while I was sitting inside a car during a Dhaka traffic jam, a blind beggar approached my window.

He had sunken holes where his eyes should have been, with severe scar tissue covering his face. I was both horrified and fascinated, unable to look away. Beyond my emotional response, I wondered how he navigated the chaotic streets of Dhaka and earned a living. His determination not to give up despite his circumstances filled me with both indignation at the inequity and admiration for his resilience.

This encounter burned into my memory. Here was someone who refused to surrender despite overwhelming obstacles continuing to navigate a world that offered him little support. An air of grim determination settled over me that day. I promised myself that someday I would return and do something about the inequities I witnessed.

Having spent part of my childhood in Bangladesh before moving to the United States, I’ve personally witnessed the stark social, economic, and political disparities between these two worlds. These contrasts alongside my dual identity have profoundly shaped my worldview and sense of responsibility.

But it was another encounter, years later, that would truly transform how I understood my place in the world.

Urmi’s Story: A Catalyst for Change

During a summer vacation visit to Bangladesh as a 12-year-old, an unexpected encounter led me to question my position of privilege which forever altered my understanding of privilege and helped define my core values.

The Girl Who Loved to Read

I met Urmi, a domestic helper who had studied until 8th grade before financial hardships forced her to abandon her education. She had come to the city seeking work as a housemaid to support her family.

Whenever Urmi wasn’t doing household chores or sleeping, I found her absorbed in daily newspapers or any reading material she could find. She confided in me that her greatest regret wasn’t missing out on opportunities or material things, it was being unable to complete her education. Determined not to lose her literacy skills, she read newspapers and practiced writing during her scarce free time.

She asked countless questions about my life and schooling in America, her eyes filled with genuine curiosity and wonder.

The Moment Everything Changed

One breezy summer evening, after a long conversation with Urmi, I stood on the veranda as the feeling of a searing sense of injustice washed over me.

It is one of my earliest memories of experiencing righteous rage.

How could someone so intelligent, motivated, and dedicated be denied education while I took my schooling for granted? ME….who complained about early morning bus rides and running a mile in gym class.

I felt like a spoiled, entitled person who clearly wasn’t appreciating the circumstances I’d been born into through no effort or choice of my own.

I wanted to switch places with her, even temporarily.

She deserved an education.

FAR MORE THAN I DID.

That was one truth I was sure about.

The only difference between us was the random luck of my birth into a middle class family that could afford school fees.

That’s not fair. This is not acceptable. I am not okay with this situation.

If only I could do something!

She deserved BETTER.

Years later, I learned Urmi had been married off by her family and now had a child of her own. While not uncommon, this news intensified the regret I’d carried since that summer night regret at not having been able to change her circumstances.

The Weight of Privilege

This monumental experience pushed me to engage in deep reflection even after I came back to the U.S. after my summer vacation was over.

Since that pivotal encounter, one question has haunted me: what am I going to do with the privilege I’ve been given?

Getting to know Urmi during my short visit sparked an enduring interest in education equity and a lifelong desire to create positive change in whatever capacity possible.

Education inequity is deeply personal to me, not just an academic concept for intellectual discussions.

It had a name. That name was Urmi, whose story mattered, whose voice, laughter, and determination have stayed in my heart every day since.

This awareness of privilege and responsibility followed me back to America where my perspective on education was about to be shaped in unexpected ways.

How ESL Shaped My Journey: A Personal Case for Bilingual Education

When I think about educational access and equity, I’m immediately reminded of my own experience as a shy, immigrant Brown girl entering a new school system in the U.S.

I was placed in ESL (English as a Second Language) classes during my first year of elementary school. I still remember the names of my two ESL teachers who offered me personalized, one-on-one support. Their patient language instruction didn’t just expand my American English vocabulary, it helped me build the confidence to speak out loud in class, even though I had technically spoken English for years in a bilingual school abroad.

Thanks to their encouragement, I succeeded academically during my very first semester. Looking back, I genuinely don’t know how I would’ve survived, much less thrived, without their support. After just three months, they told me I no longer needed ESL services. I felt proud of my progress, but also strangely heartbroken. I even remember briefly thinking about underperforming just so I could stay in their class a little longer.

At the same time, I noticed that many of my peers, especially students from Spanish-speaking backgrounds remained in ESL for several years. I felt a deep sympathy for them, knowing how challenging it must have been to learn English from scratch. I wished I could help, but I didn’t speak Spanish at the time 🤭.

As a child, I had assumed that starting school at age three was the norm. I had attended a bilingual preschool and kindergarten and thought everyone else did too. So when classmates told me they hadn’t started school until age five, I was genuinely surprised 🫣. I later learned that preschool isn’t mandatory in the U.S., and that policies vary by state 😬😲.

That realization stunned me. I was incredibly fortunate to have access to early childhood education, but I didn’t recognize it as privilege at the time.

My story is just one example of how life-changing ESL support can be. I was lucky to have teachers who saw me, supported me, and helped me build confidence not just in language, but in every subject. That early investment shaped my entire educational journey.

Today, I hope that school districts continue prioritizing funding for ESL and ELL programs, especially by hiring and retaining caring, qualified teachers who can provide individualized support. But funding isn’t enough. I also urge administrators to create school cultures where multilingual students are seen, celebrated, and not merely accommodated.

Even small actions like building collaboration between ESL and mainstream teachers, reflecting students’ cultures in the curriculum, or creating peer mentorship programs can make a huge difference.

Behind the scenes, programs like ESL and ELL are made possible through federal and state funding. Much of this support comes from Title III of the federal *Every Student Succeeds Act (ESSA), which enables schools to hire TESOL certified instructors or ELL specialists. State and local districts often supplement this funding to meet the needs of multilingual learners.

Long before I ever understood how policy and funding worked, I just knew this: my teachers believed in me. That belief made all the difference.

It’s part of why I wanted to work in higher education to give back to the very system that helped me grow. It’s also why I’ve spent nearly a decade dreaming of organizing cultural trips for my American teachers and friends to visit Bangladesh. (The itinerary’s already planned. I just need to test it out with a tour operator 🇧🇩.)

Because how can any child thrive if they’re never made to feel seen?

Navigating Two Cultures: Life as a Bangladeshi American in Oklahoma

While Oklahoma may not enjoy the most positive national reputation, I am a product of its education system and for that, I’m grateful in many ways.

Becoming an Unofficial Ambassador

When I began elementary school there, most people knew nothing about Bangladesh.

Some weren’t even aware it existed. In 6th grade, I had to politely but firmly correct a teacher who thought Bangladesh was still part of India. I quickly realized I had become an unofficial ambassador for my cultural heritage.

As usually the first Bangladeshi person my classmates and teachers had ever met, I felt responsible for representing my country positively and accurately. This responsibility followed me to university in a small college town surrounded by rural areas. The perfectionist in me needed to provide everyone with precise information, which motivated me to study and learn about my roots from a different perspective and sparked my interest to learn more about other cultures and languages.

Being unable to answer basic questions about my heritage was embarrassing for me as a teenager.

“What’s the population of Bangladesh?”

(oh damn! I haven’t looked up the most recent stat. Hold on while I….

Hey! you can look it up yourself! Phew. Thank goodness, I don’t have to do this anymore. Okay, fine, I still do it but mostly out of habit!
The answer is: 170 million as of 2023 data

Proud smartass since age 10! Okay, no, really…! I have got to stop doing research for other people & focus on behavioral change.)

“What’s the climate like there?”

(Six seasons officially, by the way!)

This constant questioning pushed me to deepen my knowledge about my own heritage while also expanding my understanding of global cultures.

The Impact of Supportive Teachers: Finding Value in Difference

As much as I have critiques about the American education system, I am incredibly thankful for one specific group of people: my teachers.

I’ve earned my right and have officially become the grumpy old person just like the people whom I vowed as a teenager never to be like: A.K.A. my parents. Sigh.

Celebrating Cultural Heritage

Do you know who taught me to take pride in my cultural heritage?

The credit belongs to my White teachers from Oklahoma.

They supported whatever I pursued, showed genuine curiosity about my background while asking thoughtful questions, and created opportunities for me to share my knowledge.

They made me feel seen, heard, understood and gave me confidence that I was someone who had knowledge worth sharing.

In 7th grade, my social studies teacher invited me to give a presentation on Bangladesh and Bengali culture to the entire class. Suddenly, I wasn’t a shy girl with stage fright anymore, I was enthusiastically answering classmates’ questions about my heritage (even rolling my eyes internally while politely responding to my crush who ignorantly asked if Bangladesh had movie stars, a question that promptly demoted him “not my crush” status).

This is my first memory of enjoying (!) public speaking in front of the whole class.

Bridging Two Worlds

My teachers always told me I should be proud of my cultural heritage and roots and to never forget where I come from. In English class specifically, I was given space to express my pain of leaving Bangladesh through writing.

These teachers validated that my memories and experiences before moving to America weren’t just important, they were essential parts of my identity that should never be erased.

They encouraged me to learn more about Bangladesh history and valued my bilingual language skills. Even if the majority of my teachers weren’t bilingual or well-traveled internationally themselves, they never failed to remind me that being bilingual is an asset in every possible way.

I can still read Bengali at an elementary level BECAUSE my teachers made me feel special that I even knew it. So, I wanted to retain that skill and knowledge. From time to time, I would get out my old schoolbooks in Bengali and try to read so I would never forget it. Most importantly, they never made me feel I had to choose between the two cultures I navigated daily. They celebrated the unique combination of Bengali and American influences that shaped me. My White friends echoed this sentiment: being different was something to celebrate. That diversity enriches life and diverse perspectives are valuable.

The White people of Oklahoma always reminded me how I was privileged to have the knowledge, understanding, and perspective of two different cultures, histories, and languages.

That’s what America taught me.

That there is space for EVERYONE.

To be tolerant.

To listen to someone else’s perspective even if I disagree.

To engage in civil discourse respectfully.

To acknowledge other people’s experiences even when they differ from mine.

Developing Critical Thinking Skills: The Debate That Changed Me

What I find shocking today: teaching about the history of slavery or other difficult topics is sometimes portrayed as teaching hatred towards White people or vilifying them. I’ve never had that thought growing up sitting in classrooms where almost everyone was White.

Wouldn’t that have been easy to believe, given my circumstances?

After all, I grew up from elementary school through university in a conservative rural state where I was 99.999% of the time the only person and woman with brown skin in the majority of spaces I navigated.

Call me naïve, but I thought these sentiments were fringe beliefs until recent years when I realized they had become mainstream.

The AP U.S. History Debate

Some people regardless of background sometimes seem to find it uncomfortable when I comfortably disagree with them and then politely question them regarding how their views developed (apparently my mom doesn’t think I’ve been polite ever & have learned to only be argumentative, but *ahem* I’ll save that story for another time).

I trace the foundation of my critical thinking skills to a specific memory in AP U.S. History class. In class, we were told that we would be having a debate for the entire class and would be separated into pro-slavery and anti-slavery camps. Each team would receive a few points to start with, beyond what we had learned in class. I silently prayed feverishly that I wouldn’t be placed in the pro-slavery debate team because then life would be extra hard as I didn’t know how I would help my team confidently argue for something I was deeply opposed to. The winning team would receive bonus points toward their overall class grade. By the middle of the debate, I honestly felt I understood why some people back in the day were pro-slavery. At the end of the class session, I was shocked and slightly terrified at how easily my thinking had shifted. It wasn’t just the motivation of bonus points but that the arguments I was making seemed logically sound to me. All within the span of 50 minutes, when an hour ago I was hoping I wouldn’t be assigned to the pro-slavery position.

The Value of Respectful Disagreement

In college, we would have class discussions on different topics and take turns expressing our views. These weren’t formal debates like in high school, but they were instrumental in shaping my perspective. My professors would ask us to explain or expand upon our views, and then we would move on. Nobody’s statements or opinions were vilified. No one was hateful or disrespectful toward others.

As I took higher-level college courses, my professors would remain neutral while asking more questions to sharpen our viewpoints or sometimes intentionally play devil’s advocate, encouraging us to consider opposing perspectives no matter how fiercely we disagreed. The worst part was when we asked our professors regarding their opinion on whatever given issue and they “much to our annoyance decided to not share their opinions” with an air of mystery or small smile or stayed neutral despite our obvious craving for their validation telling us we were right.

Even when I didn’t actively participate, I was learning by observing my classmates. The peers I admired most were those who could articulate their points clearly, effectively, and logically even if I strongly disagreed with them.

The point in this setting wasn’t necessarily to reach consensus on any given issue but to actively listen, acknowledge other perspectives, and calmly provide counterarguments supported by reasoning and examples if you disagreed.

I’m immensely grateful to have had the opportunity to learn in this type of environment.

Because I witnessed the true value of discussion and engagement: the exchange of ideas and experiences that enhance our understanding and perspective.

Do I still feel that the America we currently live in is the same place I grew up in?
No, definitely not, but that’s a discussion for another time.

Education as a Gateway: The Privilege of Boundless Horizons

My education ultimately provided me with the financial means to travel internationally as an adult. This opened doorways to diverse people and environments that transformed me in ways I couldn’t have anticipated. I want more people to have these incredible experiences: the wonder of immersing oneself in completely unfamiliar places and having one’s worldview fundamentally changed as a result.

Amidst the Kingdom of Clouds

Every time I fly, I marvel at the kingdom of clouds and the extraordinary panorama below: rivers, cities, houses, tiny dots of people. I feel like I can touch the stars and moon and dance among the clouds. The sunsets and sunrises are spectacular beyond words.

There’s something magical in that nanosecond when the plane’s wheels leave the ground during takeoff. Despite the monotony of frequent flying, this moment never fails to excite me! Similarly, landing creates an earth shattering feeling of floating one second, and then BAM! The wheels hit the ground with tremendous force as the plane races down the runway.

During these moments, I recognize what a privilege it is to be sitting on that plane, even as I internally grumble about my first world problem of being stuck in economy class like a plebian.

From Urmi to Global Citizenship

Every time I return from an international trip, all I can think about is: “If only I could bring back some of the people I’ve met. Not necessarily to live in the United States, but to experience flying and visiting another country, even just once.”

Many people like Urmi have never even stepped foot in an airport in their home countries and probably never will.

This awareness brings me full circle to the lessons I learned from Urmi years ago: privilege comes with responsibility. My education has given me the privilege of mobility, of crossing borders, of experiencing different cultures. And with that privilege comes the responsibility to create opportunities for others.

Sharing the Gift of Travel: Reflecting Ourselves in Others

When I meet people in other countries, I see myself reflected in their eyes, the starry-eyed dreamer I once was and still am. Their eyes light up talking about venturing into the unknown. It’s not the modern definition of wanderlust but a deeper hope. A belief that something else exists out there, a bigger world beyond the life they’ve always known.

I want to tell them that they’re right, but words aren’t enough. Instead, I want to show them. The first time I traveled internationally in my early 20s as an adult, I was screaming inside: I WAS RIGHT!!! I WAS RIGHT!!!! OMGGG!!!!!
What if I hadn’t come on this trip?

With each new place I visited, I couldn’t believe it took me so long to arrive.
Why didn’t I come sooner?

These moments of discovery and wonder are what education makes possible, not just formal schooling, but the education that comes from experiencing different ways of living, thinking, and being. This is the gift I want to share with others, especially those like Urmi whose opportunities have been limited by circumstances beyond their control.

Legacy: When Privilege Becomes Purpose

I used to think of myself as a faithful pessimist whose longtime favorite quote is: life sucks and then you die.

Perhaps I’m not as pessimistic as I thought because I’ve never been able to accept when people shrug and say, “Well, that’s life. Life is unfair.”

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

While we cannot erase past injustices, we can choose to act differently to ensure others don’t experience the same unfairness in the future.

What matters most is how we wield the power and privilege we didn’t ask for and can’t give back.

I think of Urmi, reading newspapers by dim light between household chores, dreaming of the education she deserved but never received.

And I remember: privilege is not just what you have; it’s what you do with it.

This is Urmi’s legacy and the legacy of the American education system in my life, a constant reminder that when you’re privileged enough to fly, you must build runways for others.

Resources: Organizations Advancing Education for Female Domestic Workers in Bangladesh 🇧🇩

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The Education of Urmi: The Girl Who Shaped My Understanding of Privilege