Those who took to the streets against exploitation, discrimination, and injustice long before the birth of Bangladesh carried in their hearts a vision of the country as a sacred pledge bound to the soul itself. With a chest full of emotion, they would sing that song by Dwijendralal Roy— Amar Ei Deshete Jonmo Jeno Ei Deshete Mori (May I be born in this land, may I die in this land).
They regarded patriotism as a part of faith. To them, the nation stood as a charter of justice, integrity, and responsibility. Standing today in 2026, those very people are rendered speechless by shock and sorrow. For they see that in the very country for which they staked their lives, plunder has become the rule and honesty the exception.
Like many countries of the Third World, Bangladesh attained independence but failed to build a state founded on justice. This is not merely the story of one particular past regime. Looting occurred before independence, it continued after independence, and it has persisted over time in different forms. The faces of rulers change, but the character of the system does not.
A horrifying example of this systemic decay has recently been exposed in a district in the southern region. On paper, hundreds of development projects have been implemented there. Roads, culverts, iron bridges, girder bridges—all exist in official records; but on the ground, one finds bamboo and areca-nut tree footbridges in place of bridges. People from five villages risk their lives crossing those makeshift structures.
By showing hundreds of schemes on paper, almost the entire allocated funds have been embezzled. In one case, a tender of nearly 100 crore taka was issued for a 96-meter-long girder bridge, yet apart from a few rounds of soil testing, nothing exists in the name of work.
The bulk of the allocated money was withdrawn through contracting firms. Astonishingly, institutions controlled by the same family, using multiple licenses, secured most of the contracts. Development here was not a matter of public interest; it was a project for accumulating family wealth.
Even rehabilitation projects after disasters such as cyclones and floods were not spared from this plunder. In the name of repairing disaster-damaged roads, hundreds of fake schemes were shown and hundreds of crores of taka vanished. The city master plan, rural infrastructure, regional connecting roads—everywhere the same story.
The projects have no physical existence, yet the bills and vouchers are complete. Through collusion among the LGED, the accounts department, and the contracting system, this money has been siphoned off.
There is little reason to be surprised by the events of this district if one looks at the overall picture of the state. In the banking sector, thousands of crores of taka have been looted in the name of irregular loans. As a result, employment has shrunk and inflation has risen. Ordinary people survive by breaking their savings, while the looters build mountains of wealth abroad.
Regarding those who engage in such plunder, a foreign expert once said that these looters deserve capital punishment. For they destroy people’s lives; therefore, they deserve the harshest penalty.
This scene is not unique to Bangladesh. In Latin America, there is a history of a country being driven to bankruptcy through the looting of its state oil company. In many African countries, the bulk of revenue from mineral resources has been deposited into the personal accounts of ruling elites. In essence, corruption is like a parasite born in the intestines of the state body.
Even if there is outward glitter of development, the state becomes bloodless from within. The sense of justice erodes, and distrust grows among citizens. Then the question arises—whose country is this? The looters’, or that of the millions upon millions of ordinary people?