933 schools, no students: Can closure restore faith in public education?

West Bengal School Education Minister Dipak Barman has announced that 933 government-aided primary, upper-primary and secondary schools are on the verge of closure. The government’s argument is straightforward. No students have enrolled in these schools for years. In some cases, the number of students has remained zero for five years; in others, ten years or even longer. Therefore, the government argues, continuing to run such schools amounts to a waste of public money and infrastructure. The government can certainly claim that closing schools with no students is, therefore, part of administrative reform. At first sight, it is difficult to reject this argument outright. But there are several counter arguments. The government’s decision also raises a number of questions.

It is worth putting one piece of information on record here. In 2025, the government told Parliament that, during the 2024–25 academic year, 5,149 government schools in India had no students at all, while 65,054 schools had fewer than ten students. Seventy per cent of the schools with no students are located in just two states – West Bengal and Telangana. And West Bengal tops the list of states with studentless schools.

In the face of this embarrassing statistic, the first question that arises is: why did these schools become studentless? Without answering this question, simply shutting schools because there are no students may make administrative arithmetic easier, but it raises serious questions about the government’s education policy. Needless to say, these schools did not suddenly become studentless overnight, as if by some magic spell. This depletion of the school-education system is the result of social, economic and educational changes over many years.

It is undeniable that, over time, there have been demographic shifts; people have moved from villages to towns and cities; many families have turned towards private schools; and the demand for English-medium education has increased. But at the same time, another question must be asked: for years, questions have been raised about the quality of government schools, their infrastructure, teacher shortages, administrative supervision and the overall educational environment. Has the government made any serious attempt to address these questions? The experience of citizens suggests that the answer is a big ‘No.’

Therefore, the previous government cannot simply evade responsibility for the closure of these 933 government schools. Student numbers have been declining in these schools for many years. The administration had access to these figures. So it is perfectly legitimate to ask today: what measures were taken to save these schools? How many of these schools were provided with improved infrastructure? In how many was the shortage of teachers addressed? Before deciding to close them, did the government consult local residents or the parents of former students who had studied in these schools? How many of these schools were considered for conversion into local educational centres?

Without answers to these questions, it is difficult to accept the decision to close the schools simply as an act of ‘administrative reform.’ Once a government school becomes studentless, the easiest thing to do is to shut it down. The difficult task is to make that school attractive to the community once again and revive teaching and learning there. Which path the government chooses ultimately reveals its political position on the question of public education.

That said, there is no logic in artificially keeping every struggling school alive. If several government schools are located close to one another in an area and the number of students in one of them has effectively fallen to zero, administrative reorganisation, including the merger of schools, may indeed be necessary. But such reorganisation must be based on transparent data, and never on political convenience or administrative ease.

Another issue is even more important. Before closing a school, the government must consider the area’s future demographic profile, transport and communication facilities, the distance to the nearest alternative school, the practical difficulties students may face in travelling there, and possible changes in settlement patterns over the next ten or fifteen years. An area whose population is declining today may, tomorrow, see the emergence of a new settlement because of an industrial project, a new road or railway line, or some government development initiative. Therefore, the decision to close a school cannot be taken as casually as the decision concerning an ordinary unused public property.

The manner in which the new government has decided to close so many schools soon after coming to power also raises another disturbing possibility that cannot simply be dismissed. If the buildings and land of these closed schools are subsequently classified as ‘unused property,’ thereby opening the way for their commercial or other uses, an obvious question will arise: can the government take such decisions without consulting the local community? Who actually owns the property of educational institutions created with public money – the government or the people? If the government uses the infrastructure of these closed schools as training centres, health centres, rural development centres or for other public-welfare purposes, that would not necessarily be a wrong decision. But if these properties are privatised, it would amount to a betrayal of the people.

We must remember that public education is not a charitable arrangement. It is state infrastructure designed to guarantee a citizen’s right to education. To undermine this infrastructure while strengthening the private education system is, in effect, a serious injustice. A two-tier educational system in which a child whose parents have limited financial means receives inferior-quality education – or no meaningful access to education at all – while children from financially better-off families attend private schools is not merely a matter of embarrassment for a democratic state; it is potentially dangerous.

The leaders of the BJP government in West Bengal, as well as senior figures within the BJP, frequently invoke the name of Swami Vivekananda to justify several of their actions and decisions. In a historic letter dated 20 June 1894, written to Sir K. Seshadri Iyer, the Dewan of Mysore, and later published under the title “Our Duty to the Masses,” Vivekananda wrote: “If the poor boy cannot come to the school, then education must be brought to him.” Does the decision to close 933 government schools accord with Vivekananda’s words? One would also like to ask: what is the government’s long-term plan for restoring parents’ faith in government schools? Can parents’ faith in public education really be restored simply by putting locks on the gates of schools with no students?