Bhutan’s education system is beginning to resemble a revolving door. Teachers are recruited during crises, praised as nation builders, deployed to difficult schools, and then quietly pushed aside once administrative priorities shift.
The recent accounts of PGDE-trained Dzongkha teachers losing their jobs expose more than individual hardship. They expose a deeper failure in workforce planning.
In 2026, Perth is no longer just another Australian city for Bhutanese migrants. For thousands of Bhutanese, Perth has quietly become a second home, a place where dreams are rebuilt through warehouse shifts, nursing placements, Uber rides, construction jobs, childcare work, and late-night study sessions.
Over the last few years, the Bhutanese population in Perth has grown so rapidly that it now represents one of the largest Bhutanese communities outside Bhutan itself. What began as student migration has evolved into something much bigger, permanent settlement, family migration, and the creation of an entirely new Bhutanese diaspora identity.
Bhutan introduced the Goods and Services Tax (GST) promising modernization, efficiency, and stronger domestic revenue. Four months later, the system is already facing a credibility problem.
The numbers alone are difficult to ignore. Bhutan reportedly collected around Nu 3.17 billion in net GST revenue over four months and six days, falling short of internal targets by roughly Nu 1.58 billion. Even more concerning, the average monthly GST collection is reportedly lower than what the older sales tax system collected, despite GST now covering a much broader range of goods and services.
Bhutan’s long-standing pride in free public healthcare is now colliding with an uncomfortable reality, the system is under growing pressure, and the old model alone may no longer be enough.
The recent debate in the National Council over allowing greater private sector participation in healthcare reflects a shift that would have been politically sensitive only a few years ago. Today, it is becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.
Ah yes, the Punatsangchu Hydropower Project I, now entering its 17th year of what can only be described as… performance art.
Because calling it a “project” at this point feels a bit generous.
Seventeen years. Not a typo. Seventeen. Long enough for a child to be born, grow up, and start asking uncomfortable questions like, “Is the dam real?” And honestly, fair question.