Why Senior Year in Iraq Feels Like an Endless Marathon
Ahmed wakes up at 4:30 a.m. every morning. His room is cluttered with textbooks, past exam papers, and energy drink cans. By 5:00 a.m., he’s already at his desk, squinting under a dim lamp, trying to memorize chemical formulas. His mother knocks on the door at 7:00 a.m. to remind him he has school in an hour. But Ahmed isn’t sure how much longer he can keep this up. For thousands of Iraqi 12th graders like him, the final year of high school isn’t just challenging—it’s a grueling, soul-crushing experience that leaves many questioning whether it’s worth the toll.
Let’s unpack why so many students describe 12th grade in Iraq as unbearable—and what this says about the pressures facing young people in a country still rebuilding from decades of instability.
The “BAC Exam” Dictatorship
In Iraq, the Baccalaureate Exam (BAC) isn’t just a test—it’s a cultural obsession. This nationwide exam, administered at the end of 12th grade, determines a student’s eligibility for college and their future career path. Scoring well means access to competitive fields like medicine or engineering. A mediocre score might limit options to less sought-after majors. Fail, and you’re socially stigmatized, often labeled less capable by family and peers.
The problem? The BAC doesn’t just test knowledge—it tests endurance. Students spend months memorizing vast amounts of information across six subjects (e.g., math, physics, biology), often at the expense of critical thinking or creativity. “It’s like training for a boxing match where you don’t know which direction the punches will come from,” says Rana, a 17-year-old from Baghdad. “You have to be ready for anything, even if it means sacrificing sleep, hobbies, or basic human needs.”
The Shadow of “Lessons Culture”
With schools overcrowded and under-resourced, most families turn to private tutoring (durus khassah) to supplement their children’s education. These after-school sessions, often taught by the same schoolteachers, have become a parallel education system. But here’s the catch: attending these lessons isn’t optional. Teachers frequently withhold critical exam hints or problem-solving techniques in regular classes, reserving them for paying students in private sessions.
This creates a vicious cycle. Families already struggling financially stretch their budgets to afford tutoring fees, which can cost $100–$300 per month—a significant sum in a country where the average monthly income hovers around $500. “My father works two jobs to pay for my lessons,” says Ali, a student from Basra. “If I fail, I’ll feel like I’ve wasted his sacrifices.”
A System Stuck in the Past
Critics argue that Iraq’s education system hasn’t evolved to meet modern needs. The curriculum, largely unchanged for decades, emphasizes rote memorization over practical skills. Students spend hours copying notes verbatim from blackboards, with little room for discussion or experimentation. “We’re treated like robots programmed to repeat information, not humans who can analyze or innovate,” complains Huda, a senior in Erbil.
This approach leaves many graduates unprepared for university or employment. Employers often complain that even high-scoring BAC students lack problem-solving abilities or teamwork skills. Meanwhile, students bound for college find themselves overwhelmed by the sudden shift to independent learning.
The Mental Health Toll
The pressure to succeed manifests in alarming ways. Sleep deprivation, anxiety disorders, and burnout are rampant. Suicide rates among teens have spiked in recent years, with exam stress frequently cited as a contributing factor. Mental health resources are scarce, and seeking therapy remains taboo in many communities.
“Every time I open a textbook, my hands shake,” admits Zainab, a student in Najaf. “I feel like my entire life depends on these six hours of exams.” Social lives evaporate as students isolate themselves to study. Holidays? Forgotten. Family gatherings? Missed. Even religious practices take a backseat. “My mom says God will understand if I skip prayers to study,” says Omar, laughing bitterly. “That’s how desperate things are.”
Economic Realities Crush Dreams
For many families, the BAC isn’t just about education—it’s an economic lifeline. Public universities are tuition-free, making them the only viable path to upward mobility for low-income students. But admission quotas are tight, especially for high-demand majors. Wealthier families can bypass the system entirely by sending children abroad or paying for private universities.
This inequality breeds resentment. “Why should a doctor’s son get into medical school with a lower score than mine just because his family can donate to the university?” asks Ahmed, his voice trembling. Stories of corruption in exam grading or college admissions further erode trust in the system.
Glimmers of Hope (and Resistance)
Despite the bleak picture, change is stirring. Grassroots student movements have begun advocating for exam reform, sharing stories on social media with hashtags like BAC_Exams_Kill_Us. Some teachers are pushing back against the tutoring industry, refusing to withhold material from non-paying students. International organizations have partnered with Iraqi schools to pilot project-based learning models.
Families, too, are rethinking their approach. “I used to yell at my daughter for getting 95% instead of 100%,” says Um Mohammed, a mother in Mosul. “Now I realize her health matters more than a number on a paper.”
Rethinking Success in a Broken System
Surviving 12th grade in Iraq requires more than academic skill—it demands resilience. Students navigate power outages while studying for exams, juggle part-time jobs to pay for tutoring, and tune out societal noise that equates their worth with a test score.
But as global education shifts toward creativity and adaptability, Iraq’s youth deserve a system that prepares them for the world they’ll inherit—not one stuck in the past. Until then, the question lingers: How many bright minds will this marathon break before real change arrives?
For now, Ahmed closes his textbook at midnight, sets three alarms, and collapses into bed. Tomorrow, he’ll do it all again. Because in Iraq, the 12th-grade grind doesn’t stop—not for fatigue, not for doubt, and certainly not for a teenager’s crumbling spirit.
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