What Capitalists Got Wrong About the 'Future of Education,' And What They Should Have Done Instead

Minh is doing his best, but life as a college student is basically a circus.

Mornings? Lectures and assignments that breed like rabbits. Afternoons? Behind the counter at his part-time bubble tea job. Evenings? Chaos. Group projects with classmates who think teamwork is a myth, family calls for homework help, and a brief, cherished hour of downtime before crashing into bed.

Meanwhile, Minh’s university has resources that make a 90s computer lab look cutting-edge, and professors who are still mastering PowerPoint. But everywhere Minh looks, people are talking about "AI this" and "coding that," and it all sounds like a foreign language—a language Minh’s just not ready to speak.

So, when a consultant started talking about the future like it’s a rocket ship ready to launch, Minh didn’t feel inspired—he felt overwhelmed. This guy’s talking about rockets while Minh is just trying to survive the day. His weekends are spent working to cover basic expenses, and the thought of learning new skills feels like trying to climb Everest in flip-flops.

But the world? The world keeps saying, “Get on the rocket ship, or you’re done.” Learn to code, learn data, or prepare to be obsolete. As if that’s the key to survival. Minh just wants to graduate and find a stable job, but the goalposts keep moving, and he wonders if he’ll ever catch up.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

1. the gospel, according to AI
2. the agreed vision for education
3. the appeal: why everyone buys in
4. the hidden costs of consensus
5. the workforce vs. the fulfilled society
6. the false universality of “future-proof”

why it’s not just about skills

Read the original post future of education for more thorough footnotes, discussion and direct interaction on posts.

1. the gospel, according to AI

A McKinsey report from 2023 claimed that by 2030, 375 million workers worldwide will need to switch occupational categories due to automation. That’s 14% of the global workforce. It’s sending a message, a message that says they need to “become a different person entirely, or die trying.”

The narrative is deafening: AI this, data-driven that. "Digital transformation" has infected every board meeting and Zoom call like a buzzword virus. And recruiters? They're scouting for “agile thinkers,” like they're assembling a tech superhero team for the next big revolution. Seriously—agile thinkers? It’s like something out of The Matrix.

The message? If you’re not on the rocket ship to the future, you're dead weight—like the guy still rocking a flip phone while everyone else posts digital twins to the cloud.

But here's the catch: the whole vision is deeply flawed. It assumes everyone has the time, money, and mental bandwidth to keep up with the relentless march of “innovation.”

If you're floating on a cloud of productivity, maybe it makes sense. But for people like Minh, juggling work, family, and survival, this rocket ship isn’t a golden ticket.

It’s a barricade—a flashing sign that says, "Sorry, you're not allowed in." Minh doesn’t have the luxury to become a coding wizard or learn a dozen new tools just to stay relevant. His future isn’t a rocket launch; it’s a never-ending race with no finish line in sight. And that’s the problem.

a. the "fit" problem

Fit.

In education, "fit" means squeezing into the mold schools love: bright, adaptable students who thrive on constant disruption, tech tools, and endless upskilling. It’s a narrow view of success that assumes everyone has the time, energy, and resources to keep up with every new trend.

So, what's the endgame? Schools are becoming "launchpads for the learners of tomorrow"—tech-savvy, AI-ready whizzes who can code in their sleep and manage digital classrooms. Sounds perfect, right?

Enter the EdTech flood—AI tutors, smart boards, platforms promising personalized learning. It's a rocket to the future... but only if you can afford the ticket.

Picture the future of education as a high-end gym: Peloton bikes, personal trainers, and nutrition plans dialed to perfection. Sounds great—unless you can’t afford the membership. Or you’re not a gym person. Suddenly, it’s less “aspirational” and more “exclusionary.”

Now swap “gym” for “education,” and you’ve nailed where we’re heading. The more we shove education into a tech-first, one-size-fits-all pipeline, the more we alienate anyone who doesn’t—or can’t—fit. It’s like saying success requires doing yoga on a Peloton. Cool if you’re already fit; impossible if you’re not.

“But they just need to work harder!” Sure, let’s pretend that erases systemic inequality, lack of access, and the crushing mental toll of trying to keep up with an unrelenting treadmill.

This tech-driven vision risks turning education into a marathon where only a few have running shoes. The rest? They’re stuck on the sidelines, wondering why the race feels rigged.

b. why it matters

This isn’t just about being nice—it’s survival.

When education becomes a one-size-fits-all sprint to a tech-savvy future, we lose the diversity of skills and perspectives that actually keep society resilient. Students like Minh don’t get left behind because they lack ambition—they’re just not handed the "right" tools to fit into this glossy, one-track ideal.

But what if the future of education isn’t a shiny, turbo-charged rocket? What if it’s something slower, steadier—something that doesn’t demand everyone run the same race but instead meets students where they are and helps them move forward at their own pace?

Because progress isn’t about building faster rockets. It’s about making sure everyone’s onboard. After all, you can’t win a race to the future if half the runners are stuck at the starting line without shoes.

2. the agreed vision for education

The blueprint goes like this: The essential skills for the future are tech fluency, problem-solving, and innovation. Everyone from LinkedIn thought leaders to global policymakers is shouting this from the rooftops like it’s the secret to eternal youth. But let’s break it down, because these buzzwords are more slippery than a bánh mì loaded with too much mayo.

a. tech fluency: the shiny tool everyone should own

Tech fluency is essentially the idea that you should navigate technology with the same ease and instinct as you do everyday tasks, like sending a voice note or ordering food online.

A 2022 World Economic Forum report even declared digital literacy as crucial as traditional literacy. It’s a bold statement that raises an important question: what does it truly mean to be fluent in tech?

Think of tech fluency as the Swiss Army knife of skills. It’s versatile, efficient, and promises solutions to a range of challenges.

Need to streamline your workflow? There’s an AI for that. Want to boost customer experience? Smarter recommendations. Curious about industry trends? Social listening tools.

Sounds amazing—like handing someone a Swiss Army knife and calling them a survivalist. But having tools doesn’t mean you’ll survive the wilderness. Odds are, you’ll fumble and end up with a nasty paper cut.

That’s the problem with tech fluency today: it’s not just about using tools; it’s about understanding them. Sure, AI can crank out marketing copy or brainstorm ideas, but if you don’t know when, how, or why to use it, it’s more chaos than clarity.

Take generative AI. It’s the shiny new toy for productivity, but without time or context to actually apply it, it’s just overwhelming. And let’s be honest—most people don’t lack curiosity; they lack capacity.

Asking a small business owner juggling a dozen tasks to “level up” their AI game is like suggesting they take up quantum physics on weekends.

The truth? “Upskilling” often feels less like empowerment and more like an extra boulder in an already-overloaded backpack.

Tech fluency isn’t about chasing trends or stockpiling tools—it’s about making tech work for you. That takes education, support, and, above all, time. Because if tech is a Swiss Army knife, let’s stop pretending everyone knows how to use it. Some of us are still figuring out how to open the corkscrew.

b. problem-solving but sexy

Next up, problem-solving.

And I don’t mean the kind where you’re figuring out how to keep your motorbike not drowning in the middle of Saigon’s monsoon season.

No, this is the bougie, high-gloss version of problem-solving—the kind that companies frame in neon lights. It’s like the difference between a cà phê sữa from your favorite street cart and Nas Daily’s cà phê and sữa.

Corporations love their buzzwords. They want employees who can "disrupt markets," "drive innovation," and "think outside the box." Basically, they’re looking for Batman but with better Excel skills. Deloitte even claims 90% of executives think problem-solving will be a top skill by 2030.2 Cool stat. But here’s the question: what does that actually look like?

If you’re young in Vietnam right now, problem-solving isn’t a future skill—it’s survival. Whether it’s hacking Grab fees that cost more than your order or juggling three side hustles to afford the new Galaxy Z Flip and a weekend in Đà Lạt, you’re already solving problems. Sure, you’re not “disrupting markets,” but you’re definitely disrupting your bank account. Welcome to the gig economy!

But here’s the kicker: in the corporate world, problem-solving isn’t just about being practical—it’s about being flashy. Let’s say your tech startup boss asks you to fix user engagement. Logical answer? Improve the app’s UX or speed. Wrong. What they want is a viral campaign featuring Hiếu Thứ Hai casually hyping the app on a livestream. Because obviously, that’s what “real” problem-solving looks like.

The truth? Problem-solving isn’t some epic Shark Tank moment. It’s mostly grit, a bit of creativity, and a lot of coffee. Whether it’s scoring that group Grab discount or rebranding a startup, the simplest solutions often work best—like, say, fixing the UX instead of building a rocket to Mars. But good luck explaining that to a boss who thinks every idea should come with fireworks.

c. innovation: the crown jewel of the future

Ah, innovation. The pièce de résistance. The golden child of corporate strategy. Everyone wants to “innovate,” but most of the time, it’s..

“let’s throw money at something shiny and hope it works.”

Innovation is like that startup founder who drops words like "synergy" and "disruption" during a Shark Tank pitch—while his app crashes whenever someone logs in. It’s all TEDx talk and investor hype, but out in the real world? Sometimes it’s as practical as a 5G phone in a no-signal zone.

Here’s the awkward truth: innovation tends to benefit those already ahead. It’s like a marathon where half the runners start closer to the finish line while the rest of us are still lacing up. Take automation: companies and policymakers love it because it boosts profits and GDP. Meanwhile, you’re being guilt-tripped into learning Python between sips of coffee because “the future is now.” Chill, I’m just trying to caffeinate.

But future-proofing for whom? Sure, robots make factories efficient, but they also displace workers. It’s like building a fancy new bridge while torching the old one—great for some, not so much for the people stuck on the wrong side.

In Vietnam, this plays out in education. Big-city schools are hyped on AI-powered classrooms and personalized learning. Meanwhile, rural students, with spotty Wi-Fi and hand-me-down phones, are watching the innovation train leave without them.

For some, innovation means progress. For others, it’s just a shiny reminder that the future doesn’t have room for everyone.

Innovation sounds great—until you look closer. Grab, ShopeeFood, and the rest of the gig economy “innovate” to get your bubble tea delivered faster, but drivers? They’re stuck with shrinking commissions, rising fuel costs, and mysterious algorithm changes. Progress for us; a headache for them.

Then there are influencers hyping the metaverse and “adapting to the future.” But if you’re a young Vietnamese juggling jobs, rent, and iced coffee budgets, the metaverse isn’t exactly high on your to-do list. It’s a fun idea for later—like when you’re not busy surviving.

The truth? Innovation isn’t the great equalizer it’s sold as. It often widens the gap between those who can afford to keep up and those left scrambling to catch up. Until innovation is designed for everyone—not just the lucky few—we’re not disrupting anything. We’re just upgrading inequality.

3. the appeal: why everyone buys in

“But Duy, isn’t it their fault for not keeping up?” Sure, that’s an easy take. Blame the people who fall behind. But here’s the kicker: that’s exactly the problem.

We celebrate systems that prioritize efficiency and growth, but they aren’t just leaving people behind—they’re designed to. The education reforms, the EdTech hype, the obsession with “global alignment”—they all sound great if you’re already on the train. If not? Good luck catching up.

Take efficiency. ChatGPT spits out reports in minutes that used to take hours. Amazing, right? But this efficiency craze is more addiction than innovation, where companies squeeze workers dry and treat them like replaceable parts.

So, yeah, from the top, it looks shiny and streamlined. But from the bottom? It’s a mad scramble—or worse, total exclusion. Turns out, progress often comes with a price tag, and not everyone can afford it.

There’s also economic growth. Economic growth is important because over time, we are expected to, to put it simply, feed much more people, with much better food. Your mom isn’t happy seeing you cooking ramen noodles with eggs every month. Your mom, no matter how Asians she cannot be, expected some “economic growth” from you.

The numbers don’t lie. A PwC report from 2023 projected that AI could contribute up to $15.7 trillion to the global economy by 20303. That’s trillion with a T. Numbers like that make policymakers salivate like Pavlov’s best friend.

The promise of growth is the ultimate crowd-pleaser. Never mind that the benefits rarely trickle down; the idea of progress is enough to keep everyone nodding along.

And alignment with global trends? Oh, it’s irresistible. If the U.S. builds innovation hubs, Vietnam wants in. Europe doubles down on green tech? Asia scrambles to follow. This copy-paste obsession convinces us there’s only one “right” future—the one everyone else is chasing.

At the heart of it all is hope. The same hope that sells gym memberships in January or makes you believe Duolingo will finally teach you French. Hope’s great, sure—but it’s also distracting. While we chase shiny visions of the future, millions of students without access or resources are quietly left behind.

That’s the paradox. This future is inspiring and optimistic—and totally out of reach for anyone who doesn’t fit the mold. Without questioning this blueprint, we’re not building a better system. We’re building a rocket that takes off, leaving half the world stuck on the ground.

4. the hidden costs of consensus

So, we’ve got this shiny vision of the future of education—personalized, optimized, digitized. But have you ever noticed how, in all the policy white papers and EdTech product launches, there’s a suspicious lack of actual students? Like, real students. The kind who doodle in the margins, build robots from scrap metal, or write poetry during math class.

Where do they fit into this grand blueprint?

Spoiler alert: they don’t.

a. the alienated

Let’s start with the outsiders—the Alienated. These are the people the rocket doesn’t even pretend to make room for. The ones who look at the “essential skills for the future” and think, Am I a malfunctioning human because I don’t care about blockchain?

Take artists, for example. You know, the ones who make your recent Spotify Wrapped not embarrassing enough to share with friends, who design those Facebook ads you pretend to ignore, who create the movies you watch while procrastinating on deadlines. Remember them?

Their future of work doesn’t fit neatly into spreadsheets or fancy KPIs. AI can generate art now, but let’s be real: it does so by borrowing from probably every artist whose work has been digitized, whether they're alive or six feet under.

And let’s be honest, when was the last time you cried yourself to sleep listening to AI-generated music? Yeah, I thought so. It’s not quite the same as listening to Joji on repeat.

Or think about craftsmen. Imagine telling a fifth-generation carpenter, “Sorry, woodwork doesn’t align with our innovation metrics. Maybe you should try building chairs... but as NFTs.”

These people aren’t just building furniture—they’re building stories, history, and tradition. But in a world obsessed with “scaling,” if it can’t be mass-produced, does it even matter?

And what about philosophers or autodidacts? The ones who value ideas over output, who question everything and spark new ways of thinking? You can’t slot Socrates into a Gantt chart.

They don’t earn LinkedIn badges or get recognized in the latest “essential skills for the future” list. Society treats them like decorative throw pillows: nice to have, but unnecessary.

This is where the consensus falls apart.

The future it envisions is optimized for productivity, not humanity.

And anyone who doesn’t fit that mold gets left behind, standing on the sidelines, wondering when they became obsolete.

b. the system’s blind spot

This shiny future doesn’t just sideline people—it sidelines entire roles that are deeply, fundamentally human. Take caretaking. Raising kids, nursing the sick, teaching the next generation—none of it screams “disruption” or “scalability,” so it gets pushed aside.

But let’s get real: AI doing your taxes? Cool. AI taking care of your sick grandmother? That’s dystopia. Caretaking isn’t just tasks; it’s warmth, patience, connection—stuff you can’t code. But because it doesn’t fit the tech-worship narrative, we automate it, outsource it, or pretend it’s not essential.

Same goes for storytelling. Stories make us human—from ancient myths to Netflix binges. Sure, AI can string words together, but it can’t deliver the gut-punch plot twists or chaotic brilliance of, say, your average AO3 fanfic writer. Seriously, find me an AI that can outdo those unhinged author’s notes. You can’t code this.

But hey, storytelling isn’t essential in the tech-driven future, right?

5. the workforce vs. the fulfilled society

The consensus vision isn’t trying to build a society. It’s trying to build a workforce. A usable workforce.

Think about it—when was the last time you saw a company pitch about “emotional fulfillment”?

Yeah, I didn’t think so. Fulfillment doesn’t show up on quarterly earnings reports.

The whole system is built to churn out workers optimized for tasks, not lives. It’s like designing a car that’s great for racing but terrible for driving on actual roads.

And what do we get? A society more productive than ever but somehow less fulfilled than ever. Don’t take my word for it—studies back this up. In 2023, the Global Happiness Index reported a steady decline in workplace satisfaction, even while productivity was hitting new highs.4

We’re working harder, faster, smarter—but to what end? The more we push for efficiency, the further we seem to get from actual fulfillment.

Maybe it’s time we rethought this whole "more work, more success" thing.

By sidelining roles like caretaking, storytelling, and emotional labor, we’re not just losing individuals—we’re losing the soul of society. We're building a future where people are valued not for being human, but for how well they fit into the machine.

Imagine a world without poets. Without caregivers. Without dreamers. A world that runs on efficiency but has no warmth, no beauty, no humanity. That’s the hidden cost of chasing progress at all costs.

Because here’s the truth: the future of education isn’t just about skills or productivity. It’s about the kind of world we want to live in. If we keep building these shiny rockets without asking who they’re really for, we might wake up one day and realize we’ve left the best parts of ourselves behind.

And that’s a future no algorithm can fix.

6. the false universality of “future-proof”

Let’s talk about one of the most overused terms in every corporate keynote and LinkedIn post: future-proof. It’s like the avocado toast of career advice—everyone’s selling it, no one really knows what it means, but hey, it looks good on a PowerPoint slide.

At its core, the idea of “future-proofing” is simple: If you learn the right skills—tech fluency, productivity hacks, AI integration—you’ll be immune to the whims of the future. Sounds great, right? Until you realize this vision of the future comes with some seriously flawed assumptions.

a. the assumptions of utility

Here’s the first big assumption: the only skills that matter are the ones tied to technology and productivity. You know, things like coding, data analysis, and “strategic innovation” (whatever that means). It’s as if the world has collectively decided that Excel formulas are the new survival skills.

But let’s rewind to 2020 for a second. Remember the pandemic? You know who wasn’t “future-proof” according to this framework? Essential workers. The people stocking grocery shelves, delivering packages, or taking care of COVID patients in overrun hospitals. None of these jobs were glamorous. None of them required blockchain certification. And yet, the world literally stopped functioning without them.

The pandemic exposed the lie at the heart of “future-proofing.” It’s not the tech-savvy workers who keep society running during a crisis—it’s the ones doing the unquantifiable, human, often low-paying jobs. But instead of learning from that, the system doubled down. Now, we’re back to worshipping tech skills like the pandemic was just a bad Wi-Fi connection we had to reset.

Even on a practical level, this obsession with “future-proof” skills ignores how unpredictable the future actually is. We’ve spent decades telling kids to major in computer science, and then bam—AI tools like ChatGPT come along and start automating half of the work programmers do.

Turns out, “future-proof” is just a fancier way of saying, “We’re guessing, but with confidence.”

b. cultural myopia

Here’s the thing—another sneaky problem with the “future-proof” narrative is its cultural myopia. It assumes everyone has equal access to the skills we’re prioritizing.

Spoiler alert: They don’t.

Take coding, for example. In Silicon Valley, learning to code is like a rite of passage. But what about rural villages in Vietnam or townships in South Africa? In many parts of the world, internet access is still a luxury. Telling someone in a remote community to “learn Python” is like telling someone stranded in the desert to “just build a jet ski.” It’s totally disconnected from reality.

And then there’s local knowledge. Indigenous farming techniques, traditional crafts, oral storytelling—these aren’t just cute relics of the past. They’re vital, adaptive skills that have kept communities alive for generations. But because they don’t fit into the shiny, tech-obsessed future we’re chasing, they’re getting pushed aside.

In fact, studies show that indigenous farming practices in South America are better equipped to combat climate change than industrial farming. These techniques improve soil health, manage water better, and support the cultivation of nutrient-rich crops that are key to indigenous diets. But who needs that when we’ve got “disruptive” tech, right?5

But guess which one gets more funding and attention? The one with the shiny tech. We’re so busy “future-proofing” that we’re ignoring the tools we already have to face the challenges ahead.

c. the false promise of universality

The problem with the whole “future-proof” narrative is that it pretends to be universal, but in reality, it’s just a one-size-fits-all approach crafted by, and for, the privileged. It assumes that everyone, everywhere, should aspire to the same narrow set of skills.

But here’s the thing—the future isn’t a single rocket ship we’re all supposed to board together. It’s a tangled mess of cultures, traditions, and needs. And by trying to cram everyone into the same mold, we’re not just limiting individuals—we’re stifling humanity’s collective potential.

So, the next time someone tells you to “future-proof” your career, ask: Whose future are we talking about here? Because if we’re building a world that values tech skills over human resilience, local traditions, and cultural diversity, maybe the future’s not worth proofing after all.

why it’s not just about skills

Alright, let’s cut to the heart of the matter. The problem isn’t just the skills we’re prioritizing; it’s the question we’re asking. Right now, the whole conversation about the future of work is stuck on “What skills will the economy need?” And yeah, that’s important—but it’s also the wrong question.

Instead, we should be asking: “What kind of society do we want to build?”

Because here’s the thing—skills are just tools. They’re the hammers and screwdrivers of progress. But if the only thing you care about is efficiency, you end up building a world that works perfectly for machines and terribly for people.

the future we should build

So, what’s the takeaway? It’s not about ditching tech or scrambling to “future-proof” ourselves. It’s about flipping the whole script.

Stop asking, “How do we prepare workers for the future?” and start asking, “How do we design a future that works for humans?” Forget GDP charts and innovation metrics—let’s measure progress by something radical: how many people feel seen, valued, and alive.

The future isn’t a smarter algorithm or a shinier gadget. It’s us. Humans, with messy dreams and infinite potential. The point isn’t to outrun change but to make sure we’re running toward something that matters.

Because if progress leaves our humanity behind, it’s not progress—it’s just a faster way to nowhere.