Classrooms are losing their torchbearers. As teachers pack their bags for foreign shores, what is left behind are empty desks, struggling schools, and futures at risk. In an age when education is celebrated as the cornerstone of national progress, the exodus of trained educators raises an unsettling question: Are we truly valuing those who shape young minds, or are we allowing global labour markets to drain the very lifeblood of our classrooms?
India’s story is particularly revealing. Each year, a steady stream of teachers leaves for the Gulf, the United Kingdom, and Southeast Asia, lured by salaries and conditions far superior to what they encounter at home. Kerala, often praised for its educational achievements, embodies the paradox most starkly. A sizeable proportion of its trained teachers migrate abroad, while rural and tribal schools within the state struggle to fill vacancies. It is a cruel irony: The very land that supplies teachers to international schools cannot fully staff its own. This dilemma is not India’s alone. Across Africa and the Caribbean, education systems are destabilised as teachers depart en masse.
Even Britain, ironically both a recruiter and a victim of teacher migration, loses thousands of educators to Australia and the Middle East even as it actively recruits from Jamaica and India. Such global circulation may momentarily plug shortages in one nation, but it simultaneously deepens crises in another, creating a cycle that is as unsustainable as it is unjust.
The drivers of this exodus are no mystery. Teachers in their home countries grapple with meagre pay, poor infrastructure, excessive workloads, and a lack of professional recognition. Abroad, they are offered precisely what they are denied at home: Stability, dignity, and respect. This imbalance transforms educators into commodities traded in a global market rather than guardians of knowledge within their own societies. The debate is not whether teacher migration is a concern — it undeniably is — but how we choose to confront it. Some optimists suggest that migration can foster brain circulation, with returning teachers enriching domestic systems with global experience. Yet, for most developing nations, the pattern is not circulation but haemorrhage — one that drains classrooms and deepens inequality.
India stands at a crossroads. UNESCO estimates that more than a million additional teachers will be required by 2030 if the country is to meet the Sustainable Development Goals. If migration continues unchecked, this vision will remain a mirage. The solution lies not in closing doors abroad but in elevating the teaching profession at home: ensuring fair salaries, real career progression, supportive policies, and, above all, restoring the cultural reverence that once placed the guru above all else.
Teacher migration is not merely about statistics or staffing; it is about values. It reflects how societies perceive those entrusted with shaping the next generation. When a teacher migrates, it is not only a professional lost — it is a generation betrayed. Unless nations learn to honour their educators as the architects of progress, they will continue to export teachers and import decline.
The writer is an educator and counsellor
