Sunday, 23 November, 2025
While the Interim Government remains lost in the theatre of political manoeuvring, nature struck on Friday with a violent jolt that demanded immediate attention—an earthquake that forced a chilling question on every citizen’s mind: Is Dhaka still safe for its people?
The 5.5-magnitude quake—among the strongest in recent memory—was followed the next day by two more tremors within a single second. The shocks sliced through central Bangladesh, shattering the illusion of safety and exposing, with ruthless precision, just how perilously fragile this capital city Dhaka has become: politically unstable, structurally brittle, and vulnerable at its very core.
The quake struck at 10:38 a.m., with its epicentre in Ghorashal, Narsingdi—just 25 kilometres from Dhaka and at a shallow depth of 10 kilometres. Buildings swayed violently, sending residents fleeing into the streets. By evening, at least eight people had died and over 300 were injured. But this was only the beginning.
On Saturday, at exactly 6:06:04 p.m. and 6:06:05 p.m., two fresh tremors jolted the capital, centred at Badda and Narsingdi. The message was unmistakable: the ground beneath Dhaka is awake, restless, and increasingly dangerous.
Despite all the rhetoric of reform, Dr Mohammad Yunus’s administration has relegated environmental safety and urban resilience to the background. Friday’s tremor was a blunt warning: the earth will not wait for politics to catch up. The cost of neglect is no longer theoretical—it is now rumbling beneath our feet.
Among the dead were two children. Many fatalities came from collapsing roofs, falling walls, and debris. In Old Dhaka’s Armanitola, three people were crushed when a railing above a butcher’s shop gave way. In Gazipur, over 250 garment workers were injured as panicked crowds stampeded from factories.
Students at Dhaka University jumped from upper floors of dormitories in fear, risking death to escape buildings that swayed ominously. Firefighters rushed to tilting structures across the city and battled a fire in Baridhara. Residents reported falling bricks, cracked walls, and an unrelenting rumble that turned streets into scenes of chaos.
Despite all the rhetoric of reform, Dr Mohammad Yunus’s administration has relegated environmental safety and urban resilience to the background. Friday’s tremor was a blunt warning: the earth will not wait for politics to catch up. The cost of neglect is no longer theoretical—it is now rumbling beneath our feet.
Experts have long warned that Bangladesh is overdue for a major earthquake. Between 1869 and 1930, at least five quakes above magnitude 7.0 shook the region. More than a century has passed since the last catastrophic rupture, and geologists believe immense energy is locked beneath the surface. Recent moderate tremors are considered mere precursors to a far larger event. The question is no longer abstract: Is Dhaka waiting to collapse?
Friday offered a sobering glimpse. Old Dhaka, a dense labyrinth built on reclaimed wetlands where construction codes are mostly ignored, witnessed a railing collapse that killed three people, pushing the death toll to ten. These buildings, many constructed without proper engineering oversight and squeezed onto narrow plots, are effectively vertical coffins.
A BUET professor warned bluntly that a major rupture could flatten a third of Dhaka and claim thousands of lives.
This vulnerability is not accidental—it is engineered. RAJUK, tasked with safeguarding urban integrity, has functioned as a facilitator of unchecked construction. Wetlands have been concreted over. Building regulations are bent, ignored, or rewritten to suit developers. Minimum gaps between structures are often erased, creating neighbourhoods where one collapse could trigger a domino effect.
In Badda, a multi-storey building tilted against an adjacent building. In Madhubagh, another building tilted, though no casualties were reported.
Shallow quakes like the one from Madhabdi on Saturday are particularly destructive, disproportionately affecting mid-rise buildings—the four-to-eight-storey structures that dominate Dhaka’s landscape. In other words, most residents live in buildings that would be among the first to crumble in a stronger quake.
Bangladesh lies at a complex seismic junction where the Indian, Eurasian, and Burma plates converge. Active fault lines, including the Bogura, Dauki, and Shillong Plateau faults, criss-cross the country, which is divided into 13 seismic zones. While Chattogram, the Hill Tracts, and Sylhet are high-risk, Dhaka’s density, poor planning, and fragile infrastructure make it uniquely vulnerable.
Scientists warn that a quake of magnitude 8 or higher is possible. If such a rupture struck near Dhaka, half the city’s buildings could be damaged. The potential loss of life among 20 million residents is unimaginable.
Yet preparedness remains minimal. Building codes are largely ignored. Public awareness campaigns are rare. Schools, factories, hospitals, and government offices rarely conduct evacuation drills. Emergency services are under-resourced. Urban planning is driven by profit, not geology.
Friday’s earthquake must be treated as a national alarm bell—not a fleeting headline. The earth is shifting beneath Dhaka. Cracks in walls and streets mirror deeper fissures in governance, planning, and accountability. If the Interim Government fails to act decisively, the next tremor could do more than rattle the city—it could reduce entire neighbourhoods to rubble.
Bangladesh cannot afford complacency. The science is clear. The warnings are unmistakable. The clock is ticking.
The only question remaining: will the government act before the fault lines do?
Comments
While the Interim Government remains lost in the theatre of political manoeuvring, nature struck on Friday with a violent jolt that demanded immediate attention—an earthquake that forced a chilling question on every citizen’s mind: Is Dhaka still safe for its people?
The 5.5-magnitude quake—among the strongest in recent memory—was followed the next day by two more tremors within a single second. The shocks sliced through central Bangladesh, shattering the illusion of safety and exposing, with ruthless precision, just how perilously fragile this capital city Dhaka has become: politically unstable, structurally brittle, and vulnerable at its very core.
The quake struck at 10:38 a.m., with its epicentre in Ghorashal, Narsingdi—just 25 kilometres from Dhaka and at a shallow depth of 10 kilometres. Buildings swayed violently, sending residents fleeing into the streets. By evening, at least eight people had died and over 300 were injured. But this was only the beginning.
On Saturday, at exactly 6:06:04 p.m. and 6:06:05 p.m., two fresh tremors jolted the capital, centred at Badda and Narsingdi. The message was unmistakable: the ground beneath Dhaka is awake, restless, and increasingly dangerous.
Despite all the rhetoric of reform, Dr Mohammad Yunus’s administration has relegated environmental safety and urban resilience to the background. Friday’s tremor was a blunt warning: the earth will not wait for politics to catch up. The cost of neglect is no longer theoretical—it is now rumbling beneath our feet.
Among the dead were two children. Many fatalities came from collapsing roofs, falling walls, and debris. In Old Dhaka’s Armanitola, three people were crushed when a railing above a butcher’s shop gave way. In Gazipur, over 250 garment workers were injured as panicked crowds stampeded from factories.
Students at Dhaka University jumped from upper floors of dormitories in fear, risking death to escape buildings that swayed ominously. Firefighters rushed to tilting structures across the city and battled a fire in Baridhara. Residents reported falling bricks, cracked walls, and an unrelenting rumble that turned streets into scenes of chaos.
Despite all the rhetoric of reform, Dr Mohammad Yunus’s administration has relegated environmental safety and urban resilience to the background. Friday’s tremor was a blunt warning: the earth will not wait for politics to catch up. The cost of neglect is no longer theoretical—it is now rumbling beneath our feet.
Experts have long warned that Bangladesh is overdue for a major earthquake. Between 1869 and 1930, at least five quakes above magnitude 7.0 shook the region. More than a century has passed since the last catastrophic rupture, and geologists believe immense energy is locked beneath the surface. Recent moderate tremors are considered mere precursors to a far larger event. The question is no longer abstract: Is Dhaka waiting to collapse?
Friday offered a sobering glimpse. Old Dhaka, a dense labyrinth built on reclaimed wetlands where construction codes are mostly ignored, witnessed a railing collapse that killed three people, pushing the death toll to ten. These buildings, many constructed without proper engineering oversight and squeezed onto narrow plots, are effectively vertical coffins.
A BUET professor warned bluntly that a major rupture could flatten a third of Dhaka and claim thousands of lives.
This vulnerability is not accidental—it is engineered. RAJUK, tasked with safeguarding urban integrity, has functioned as a facilitator of unchecked construction. Wetlands have been concreted over. Building regulations are bent, ignored, or rewritten to suit developers. Minimum gaps between structures are often erased, creating neighbourhoods where one collapse could trigger a domino effect.
In Badda, a multi-storey building tilted against an adjacent building. In Madhubagh, another building tilted, though no casualties were reported.
Shallow quakes like the one from Madhabdi on Saturday are particularly destructive, disproportionately affecting mid-rise buildings—the four-to-eight-storey structures that dominate Dhaka’s landscape. In other words, most residents live in buildings that would be among the first to crumble in a stronger quake.
Bangladesh lies at a complex seismic junction where the Indian, Eurasian, and Burma plates converge. Active fault lines, including the Bogura, Dauki, and Shillong Plateau faults, criss-cross the country, which is divided into 13 seismic zones. While Chattogram, the Hill Tracts, and Sylhet are high-risk, Dhaka’s density, poor planning, and fragile infrastructure make it uniquely vulnerable.
Scientists warn that a quake of magnitude 8 or higher is possible. If such a rupture struck near Dhaka, half the city’s buildings could be damaged. The potential loss of life among 20 million residents is unimaginable.
Yet preparedness remains minimal. Building codes are largely ignored. Public awareness campaigns are rare. Schools, factories, hospitals, and government offices rarely conduct evacuation drills. Emergency services are under-resourced. Urban planning is driven by profit, not geology.
Friday’s earthquake must be treated as a national alarm bell—not a fleeting headline. The earth is shifting beneath Dhaka. Cracks in walls and streets mirror deeper fissures in governance, planning, and accountability. If the Interim Government fails to act decisively, the next tremor could do more than rattle the city—it could reduce entire neighbourhoods to rubble.
Bangladesh cannot afford complacency. The science is clear. The warnings are unmistakable. The clock is ticking.
The only question remaining: will the government act before the fault lines do?
Comments
