Wednesday, 26 November, 2025
Bangladesh has been plunged into profound unease following a week of twin shocks: Friday’s 5.5-magnitude earthquake—among the strongest tremors the nation has experienced in years—and Tuesday’s devastating fire that swept through the Korail slum in Dhaka’s Mohakhali for over five relentless hours.
Coupled with a disturbing surge of fires across Dhaka and Chattogram, these consecutive disasters have forced the country to confront a troubling question: are these crises the inevitable result of chronic neglect, or the harbingers of something far more deliberate?
The Korail blaze erupted Tuesday just after sunset, leaping through thousands of tightly packed, makeshift homes with merciless speed. By the time 19 Fire Service units managed to subdue the flames late into the night, the settlement had been reduced to a blackened wasteland of twisted tin and collapsed shacks. What had only hours earlier been dense courtyards filled with workers and families had fallen silent—flattened, smouldering, and stripped bare.
Firefighters were at a disadvantage from the outset. Congested approach roads forced engines to halt long before reaching the heart of the slum. Hoses had to be dragged through claustrophobic alleys and over debris, many punctured and rendered useless along the way. Water reserves dwindled so quickly that crews were compelled to set up a suction pump in a nearby canal simply to keep the lines flowing.
Though no deaths were confirmed, the ruin was absolute.
“I ran back after hearing the news and saw everything was gone,” said Sumon Ahmed, still standing in shock beside the remains of his home. Another resident, Fazlu, estimated that more than 500 homes had vanished in the flames. Nearby, Saleha Begum stood weeping amid the ashes: “How will I survive? Everything I had is gone.”
The despair that gripped Korail in the hours after the fire felt like an aftershock to Friday’s earthquake. Those displaced were not merely residents—they were the workers who keep Dhaka alive: domestic helpers, rickshaw pullers, garment workers, drivers, labourers. In a span of hours, the fragile stability they had built over years was swept away.
What should have been a period of rising political anticipation ahead of the February national election has instead turned into a stretch of quiet fear. And for many, the timing of these disasters raises a troubling question: are these incidents simply unfolding from long-standing infrastructural decay, or do they represent a more calculated pattern of unrest?
That concern is not without basis. Bangladesh has seen an unusual rise in fires in slums, commercial hubs and industrial zones. Last month’s blaze at the cargo section of Hazrat Shahjalal International Airport caused nearly $1 billion in losses, later attributed to an electrical arc and short circuit.
The Mirpur garment factory and chemical warehouse fire on 14 October, which killed 16 workers trapped behind a locked rooftop exit, exposed glaring safety failures once again. Firefighters battled that inferno for more than 27 hours.
But it is the pattern—and the timing—that has sharpened suspicion. The Bangladesh Secretariat fire erupted shortly after officials sought documents connected to former Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina. Several homes of Awami League leaders have been torched. And even symbolic landmarks such as Bangabandhu’s historic house at Dhanmondi 32 have not been spared. Together, these incidents have fuelled serious speculation that not all fires are accidental.
In the industrial sector, the risks remain even starker. Locked exits, overcrowded floors and improperly stored chemicals continue to turn workplaces into deadly traps. The Mirpur tragedy underscored just how quickly negligence can turn catastrophic—and how deeply such incidents damage Bangladesh’s standing as the world’s second-largest exporter of ready-made garments.
What should have been a period of rising political anticipation ahead of the February national election has instead turned into a stretch of quiet fear. And for many, the timing of these disasters raises a troubling question: are these incidents simply unfolding from long-standing infrastructural decay, or do they represent a more calculated pattern of unrest?
Every fire—whether accidental or deliberate—strikes directly at Bangladesh’s economic core. Slum infernos displace thousands of workers, leaving industries suddenly short of labour. Production slows. Relief efforts drain already stretched public funds. In factories, fires trigger shipment delays, damage inventories, shake buyer confidence and drive up insurance premiums. For a country that has built its export momentum on reliability, each blaze chips painfully at its competitiveness.
Despite reforms introduced after the Rana Plaza collapse, including sweeping compliance measures under the Accord on Fire and Building Safety, the persistence of such disasters exposes deep structural rot. Corruption, poor enforcement and political volatility have allowed unsafe practices to persist—and potential sabotage to blend easily into the backdrop of recurring systemic failures.
As families in Korail sift through the ashes of their homes, and as the tremors of Friday’s earthquake linger in the public psyche, Bangladesh stands at a defining crossroads. These are not isolated misfortunes. They are warnings—urgent, disruptive and increasingly impossible to dismiss.
The question now looms larger than ever: are these disasters tragic coincidences, or signs of deeper vulnerabilities and forces that Bangladesh can no longer afford to ignore?
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Bangladesh has been plunged into profound unease following a week of twin shocks: Friday’s 5.5-magnitude earthquake—among the strongest tremors the nation has experienced in years—and Tuesday’s devastating fire that swept through the Korail slum in Dhaka’s Mohakhali for over five relentless hours.
Coupled with a disturbing surge of fires across Dhaka and Chattogram, these consecutive disasters have forced the country to confront a troubling question: are these crises the inevitable result of chronic neglect, or the harbingers of something far more deliberate?
The Korail blaze erupted Tuesday just after sunset, leaping through thousands of tightly packed, makeshift homes with merciless speed. By the time 19 Fire Service units managed to subdue the flames late into the night, the settlement had been reduced to a blackened wasteland of twisted tin and collapsed shacks. What had only hours earlier been dense courtyards filled with workers and families had fallen silent—flattened, smouldering, and stripped bare.
Firefighters were at a disadvantage from the outset. Congested approach roads forced engines to halt long before reaching the heart of the slum. Hoses had to be dragged through claustrophobic alleys and over debris, many punctured and rendered useless along the way. Water reserves dwindled so quickly that crews were compelled to set up a suction pump in a nearby canal simply to keep the lines flowing.
Though no deaths were confirmed, the ruin was absolute.
“I ran back after hearing the news and saw everything was gone,” said Sumon Ahmed, still standing in shock beside the remains of his home. Another resident, Fazlu, estimated that more than 500 homes had vanished in the flames. Nearby, Saleha Begum stood weeping amid the ashes: “How will I survive? Everything I had is gone.”
The despair that gripped Korail in the hours after the fire felt like an aftershock to Friday’s earthquake. Those displaced were not merely residents—they were the workers who keep Dhaka alive: domestic helpers, rickshaw pullers, garment workers, drivers, labourers. In a span of hours, the fragile stability they had built over years was swept away.
What should have been a period of rising political anticipation ahead of the February national election has instead turned into a stretch of quiet fear. And for many, the timing of these disasters raises a troubling question: are these incidents simply unfolding from long-standing infrastructural decay, or do they represent a more calculated pattern of unrest?
That concern is not without basis. Bangladesh has seen an unusual rise in fires in slums, commercial hubs and industrial zones. Last month’s blaze at the cargo section of Hazrat Shahjalal International Airport caused nearly $1 billion in losses, later attributed to an electrical arc and short circuit.
The Mirpur garment factory and chemical warehouse fire on 14 October, which killed 16 workers trapped behind a locked rooftop exit, exposed glaring safety failures once again. Firefighters battled that inferno for more than 27 hours.
But it is the pattern—and the timing—that has sharpened suspicion. The Bangladesh Secretariat fire erupted shortly after officials sought documents connected to former Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina. Several homes of Awami League leaders have been torched. And even symbolic landmarks such as Bangabandhu’s historic house at Dhanmondi 32 have not been spared. Together, these incidents have fuelled serious speculation that not all fires are accidental.
In the industrial sector, the risks remain even starker. Locked exits, overcrowded floors and improperly stored chemicals continue to turn workplaces into deadly traps. The Mirpur tragedy underscored just how quickly negligence can turn catastrophic—and how deeply such incidents damage Bangladesh’s standing as the world’s second-largest exporter of ready-made garments.
What should have been a period of rising political anticipation ahead of the February national election has instead turned into a stretch of quiet fear. And for many, the timing of these disasters raises a troubling question: are these incidents simply unfolding from long-standing infrastructural decay, or do they represent a more calculated pattern of unrest?
Every fire—whether accidental or deliberate—strikes directly at Bangladesh’s economic core. Slum infernos displace thousands of workers, leaving industries suddenly short of labour. Production slows. Relief efforts drain already stretched public funds. In factories, fires trigger shipment delays, damage inventories, shake buyer confidence and drive up insurance premiums. For a country that has built its export momentum on reliability, each blaze chips painfully at its competitiveness.
Despite reforms introduced after the Rana Plaza collapse, including sweeping compliance measures under the Accord on Fire and Building Safety, the persistence of such disasters exposes deep structural rot. Corruption, poor enforcement and political volatility have allowed unsafe practices to persist—and potential sabotage to blend easily into the backdrop of recurring systemic failures.
As families in Korail sift through the ashes of their homes, and as the tremors of Friday’s earthquake linger in the public psyche, Bangladesh stands at a defining crossroads. These are not isolated misfortunes. They are warnings—urgent, disruptive and increasingly impossible to dismiss.
The question now looms larger than ever: are these disasters tragic coincidences, or signs of deeper vulnerabilities and forces that Bangladesh can no longer afford to ignore?
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