Conferences or Cash Machines? Rethinking the Culture of Academic Events

It has become fashionable for universities and institutes to display their academic prowess through glossy brochures of international conferences, symposia, and seminars. Terms like knowledge exchange, collaborative platform, and research dialogue are thrown around with such ease, one would assume we are on the cusp of an intellectual revolution. However, let’s ask the uncomfortable question: are these events genuinely serving the cause of education, or are they just dressed-up fundraising drives?

As someone who has attended multiple such gatherings across institutions in South Asia, I cannot help but notice the widening gap between what these events claim to achieve and what they actually deliver. In more cases than one, I have watched presenters struggle to engage their audience while the panelists — meant to guide or critique — are busy chatting among themselves, or worse, scrolling through their phones. The irony is painful.

Most conferences charge high registration fees from participants, including students and early-career researchers, while offering little in return except a printed certificate and a cold samosa. Often, the same things are repeated across events - the same names, the same PowerPoint slides, and the same token clap. The goal is not always dialogue or discovery; it’s to meet a quota, generate funds, or justify a budget.

One might ask: why the hurry? Because many universities are now making it mandatory to "organize" academic events as part of their quality assurance measures. But if quality is judged by quantity, the number of events rather than their impact, we are chasing metrics, not meaning. We are collecting programs, not progress.

What’s worse is the internal chaos that passes off as “organization.” Conference teams consist of lecturers, doctors, and interns with little to no training, thrown into positions without clear roles. Everyone wants to be on the organizing team - not because they know what to do, but because the title looks good on a CV. Often, chief organizers are just names on paper. The real coordination is left in the hands of confused volunteers who themselves are trying to figure out where the microphone cables are.

The result? Presenters are told one thing by the organizing team - the format, time limits, and expectations - and the session chair remains completely unaware of these guidelines. No time coordination, no facilitation, and certainly no quality control. It becomes a game of academic roulette — present and hope someone’s paying attention.

Then comes the post-event blackout. Abstract books, the very documentation of what the conference offered, are often delayed by two to three months. Some never see the light of day. Certificates? If you're lucky, you’ll receive one after several follow-ups and maybe even a typo or two. These things are brushed off as "minor issues," even though they matter deeply for early-career scholars trying to build their professional profiles.

Let’s not forget the ever-evolving registration policies. Some conferences, in an innovative twist, now charge registration per author, not per paper. If three authors co-wrote one paper, all three must pay full fees - even if only one presents. Apparently, knowledge sharing now comes with a price tag per brain. Add to this the separate participant fees, and it becomes clear that these events are not about inclusivity or accessibility - they’re about revenue.

Ironically, the presenters and participants - the very soul of a conference - are treated like commodities. Without them, the event wouldn’t even exist. Yet they are charged and sidelined as if they are there to be “allowed” to contribute. 

The main session, typically hosted by the university’s own faculty or internal departments, is the only one that gets the red carpet treatment. Why? Because the organizing team is under pressure to impress the university’s higher authorities and chief guests. That session becomes the showcase - the one part of the conference meant to build institutional image. Once the cameras are off and the dignitaries leave, the rest of the event becomes a rushed afterthought.

To be clear, not all academic events are hollow. There are genuine gatherings where minds meet, ideas spark, and collaborations begin. But they are the exception, not the norm. The norm is increasingly performative, more about showcasing than shaping knowledge.

Academic events are supposed to uplift thought, spark conversation, and challenge assumptions. But in their current form, many are simply business models disguised as scholarship. If we truly care about academic excellence, then it’s time we moved beyond hashtags and headcounts and began asking, what are we really learning here?

It’s time we rethink how academic events are planned and evaluated. Shouldn’t we prioritize content over celebrity presence? Dialogue over decor? Shouldn't participants be chosen for their insight, not their influence? Should universities not create mechanisms to measure the actual intellectual and practical outcomes of such engagements?

The culture of conferencing in our region needs a shakeup—not just in format but in philosophy. If we continue to treat academic events as money-making or vanity projects, we will not only waste time and funds, but also fail a generation of scholars who still believe that education should have real significance.