This is a self-critical examination of the inherent weaknesses found in those of us who carry the burden of the education profession.
The first major vulnerability stems from the fact that most education entrepreneurs originate as educators or academics. We possess two fatal flaws:
- A profoundly high sense of self-respect (ego).
- A profound amateurism in financial management.
I. The romantic’s financial blind spot
Our high self-respect often allows our ego to overwhelm sound judgment when a crisis hits, particularly in matters of finance: tuition, debt restructuring, salary reductions, or negotiating with banks and landlords. We refuse to be seen as “education peddlers.” We would rather quietly suffer than be seen as aggressive in managing cash flow. This misplaced sense of dignity is akin to “slashing one’s own wrist and slowly bleeding out in a bathtub full of water”—a gentle, drawn-out suicide.
Because we are financial amateurs, we often misunderstand basic principles. We confuse deferred revenue with profit, fail to grasp depreciation, and neglect to fiercely negotiate unfavorable clauses in facility leases.
During the recent crisis, this weakness was starkly exposed. Some business owners confessed: “I already paid several months of rent in advance, even six months’ deposit, because I wanted peace of mind.” In principle, no responsible manager should pay a deposit of more than one to three months. When I advised them against such high risk, they replied, “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have secured this prime location.”
Other school owners proudly paid staff full salaries during lockdowns by borrowing from banks, even while waiving fees for online classes. To me, that is an extremely romantic and dangerous decision. What happens if the crisis is prolonged? If aggressive financial management is required, you must act decisively. If parents are genuinely struggling, we should grant tuition fee reductions. But selling your own blood to pay a bank loan is never a viable strategy.
II. The crisis of the ivory tower ego
A second, pervasive problem among many education business owners is a pair of fatal character flaws:
a) Weak solidarity within the sector.
b) A profound fear of government authority.
After the crisis, I was struck by the lack of unity among education entrepreneurs. We are often selfish, criticizing competitors more than supporting them. In meetings, many of us seem unable to respect each other, always quick to point out the flaws in a competitor’s program or teaching staff. When one school faced a major crisis, very few institutions offered support. Instead, many secretly rejoiced in the competitor’s decline. One large school even exhibited shockingly poor sensitivity, boasting about its own success—whether intentionally or not, pouring salt into the wound of the struggling institution.
We nearly collapsed when a long-term closure was threatened, yet no major institution dared to collectively speak out against the regulation that forbade charging for online tuition. We had to rely on a few small and medium-sized organizations to sign a collective petition. The large conglomerates, however, were silent. They feared displeasing the local authorities more than they feared going bankrupt.
This lack of fortitude among the educated class begs the question: Who will we teach?
III. The tycoon mentality and the succession failure
We must also stop importing the “tycoon mentality” into the education sector. A wealthy individual can move from real estate to banking, but transitioning to education requires a different kind of humility.
You cannot swagger into your university campus in a Mercedes, with staff bowing low and calling you “Sir Chairman.” That image is poisonous to the academic environment. Intellectuals, whether rich or poor, have high self-respect. They will hate you, perhaps silently cursing you as a “parvenu” without your knowledge.
Many owners, still operating with a money-first mindset, openly address school leaders like children, even using vulgar language. I once saw a famous magnate take his university principal to a meeting. When he finished speaking, he simply jerked his chin at the principal and asked, “This lady should give her opinion now, shouldn’t she?”
In a corporation, the CEO is the ultimate authority. But in a university, if you lead with that same tyrannical style, your faculty will leave. The Ivory Tower is a sanctuary for large, sensitive egos that are not always motivated by money. If you cannot shed the “tycoon ego” to work collaboratively with them, you do not belong in education.
A related failure is the practice of hiring former public school principals—especially from prestigious schools—and giving them complete autonomy. This is equally disastrous. Public school principals rarely face the pressures of student recruitment, profit and loss, mass layoffs, or fundraising. They are not accustomed to having to patiently and humbly recruit top talent. Asking them to suddenly manage the intense commercial pressures of a private university is setting them up for failure.
IV. The mandate for resilience
In summary, the education sector is not for amateurs. Initial investment is immense, with current policy often benefiting only those who hoard land. Society is not always generous or respectful; they are quick to criticize educators. Policy remains arbitrary and vague, making strategic investment exceptionally difficult. The investors themselves are often weak in capital, lack corporate management knowledge, fail to unite, and fear the government more than the wolf. Private investment in education is still just beginning; the road is long.
Therefore, let us unify, my fellow educators!
There is no time for romanticism or fear. We must adopt the fierce discipline of the businessman while retaining the ethics of the educator.
An adaptation of the Kieu verse:
“If you have taken the scholar’s burden, Do not blame the Ministry for being far and slow. Success is not always from your brilliance; Good fortune is worth triple the talent you show.”
