A few months ago, I gave a lecture on globalisation to a 500- student classroom of predominantly Thai students from various international programmes within Thammasat University. As I prepared for the lecture, I reflected on how globalisation had shaped my own experiences, how it has intensified in the lifetime of the millennial generation, and how the existence of that class was a manifestation of globalisation itself.

Thammasat University was founded in 1934 in response to an unmet demand for higher education. The institution traces its roots as an open university and has, over the decades, established itself as one of the top universities in Thailand – if not in QS (Quacquarelli Symonds) rankings, then in the hearts of many high school students. As with elsewhere in the world, great importance is placed on the university degree, as it presumably unlocks a brighter future and provides a professional network for its graduates. Because Thammasat is no longer an open university, students must now compete for a few coveted spots. Whether the university degree is meeting individual and societal needs is less important for many students and families than the risk of not having one. As the debate on the relevance of higher education wages on in other parts of the world, it seems that the university’s standing in Thailand is safe from disruptive forces for the foreseeable future.

Currently, many universities in Thailand house both Thai and inter- national programmes. While the surface-level difference – the former is taught in Thai and the latter taught in English – seems simplistic, the existence of these two programs is significant for its implications on equity, human capital development and Thailand’s future. At the turn of the century, the forces of globalisation precipitated the rise of Thailand’s international programmes, which filled a need in the workforce for graduates who could communicate and operate in a global context. They also provided a viable option for students who had previously studied outside the Thai system, in international schools or overseas.

Because proficiency in English and international norms of work meant access to a wider array of potential jobs, these international programmes gained traction. However, due to higher tuition expenses and English proficiency requirements, entrance into these programmes was typically limited to more affluent families. Given the relatively lower number of potential applicants, most international programmes have a less competitive admissions rate than that of Thai programmes. Thus, the student body within many international programmes is more socioeconomically homogeneous, but more diverse in terms of academic capacity and outlook.

Given the diversity and size of the classroom for which I prepared to teach, I thought it prudent to lay out simple rules at the beginning of class to optimise the learning experience. I asked students to put their mobile phones away, to limit side conversations, to be engaged, and that if they could not abide by these rules, to leave the class and spend their time as they saw fit. The result? The session began with 400 students; approximately half remained during the last hour.

Some readers may assume that the mass exodus resulted from an excessively long monologue, which certainly was not the case; the 3-hour session consisted of interactive lecture, active learning, simulations, as well as a 10-minute break every hour. After class, my teaching assistants and I reflected on observations and lessons learned. While the mass exodus seemed like a major setback at the time, in retrospect, it was symptomatic of a more significant problem. My take-away was the realisation that many students, just a few months into their university experience shared neither the same goal that I had for them nor the same vision for what their university experience should be. At the core, our mission, roles, and responsibilities were fundamentally unaligned.

While I believe that all students have potential and that brilliance comes in many forms, I also concluded that not all students belong in a university, not because they are not academically capable, but because the university was created for a specific purpose. Oftentimes, this purpose is mismatched with the student’s true aspiration, par- ticularly if the student views higher education as a rite of passage to endure. This mentality stands in stark contrast to the hopeful vision of Thammasat University’s founder, Dr Pridi Banomyong:

“A university is, figuratively, an oasis that quenches the thirst of those who are in pursuit of knowledge. The opportunity to acquire higher education rightly belongs to every citizen under the principle of freedom of education. Now that our country is governed by a democratic constitution, it is particularly essential to establish a university which will allow the people, and hence the public, to develop to their utmost capability. It will open up an opportunity for ordinary citizens to conveniently and freely acquire higher education for their own benefits and for development of our country.”

If Thammasat was created to provide education for the masses, what is the significance of the masses walking out of classes? Dr Banomyong’s vision brings to light questions about relevance and change – change within people, within organisations and within nations. Sometimes change occurs through deliberate action and some- times circumstances force change, particularly when the old way no longer works. Perhaps the university is no longer a figurative oasis or perhaps students no longer thirst for the type of knowledge that the university offers.

More ominous than the image of a dried-out oasis is one of a poisoned well. A senior university administrator once made a provocative statement that universities have caused many of the world’s problems. Linking global issues to the people and knowledge that originated from universities, he argued that consumerism would not be pervasive without marketing acumen and plastic waste would not be rampant if not for manufacturing expertise. The conclusion was clear: the university has a solemn responsibility in solving or mitigating the intractable problems it has brought to life. Yet, it cannot do so unless it moves away from a business-as-usual mentality.

Within the programme I teach, we encourage students to become changemakers. Yet, institutions of higher education may be in the best position to bring about massive and systemic change through small, well-designed interventions. As a start, institutions of higher education, particularly those in Asia, could create substantial social impact by redesigning how they admit students, how they support a more diverse student body, and how they develop engaged citizens through transformative learning.

The university’s role, among other mandates, is to link young adults to the working world, to instil cognitive and social skills so that adolescents can transition into the next phase of life. Yet, many students I have observed possess a narrow view of learning that is fixated on exams and grades. Changing this paradigm requires a more comprehensive admissions process that avoids promulgating a nation of good and bad test takers who have lost sight of the joy and utility of learning. Undeniably, admission into institutions of higher education drives a significant portion of the high school experience. The university can set a new tone. Admissions assessment should move away from high stakes testing into a more holistic approach that considers the students’ multiple intelligences. In this way, the university would induce a more well-rounded high school experience centred on intellectual curiosity, experimentation, and service. Programmes within universities should also move away from a singular focus on student quantity, which prioritises revenue, in favour of student quality and academic fit, which prioritises a vibrant learning environment.