Here is the thing about tragedies: They don’t announce themselves. One moment, children sit in their classrooms waiting for the school bell to ring. Ten more minutes, and they’d have been home. But those ten minutes never came.
What happened at Milestone School and College on July 21 is almost too painful to process. An Air Force F-7 BGI training jet fell out of the sky and crashed directly onto the school’s canteen building. Many lives were lost instantly, mostly students, along with some teachers and others who were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. Students are now in hospitals, badly burned and fighting for their lives. Families are grieving deeply, and the harsh reality is that many may never receive the answers they deserve.
But this wasn’t just a random accident. It was a failure, a failure of judgment, of systems, of leadership at every possible level. And it’s a failure that demands accountability.
Why, in one of the most densely populated cities in the world, are military training flights even allowed over civilian areas? This wasn’t wartime. These weren’t emergency operations. These were routine training flights. Over schools. Over homes. Over thousands of innocent lives. Yet, as the dust settled over Milestone’s ruined campus, what followed may have been even more heartbreaking. There was no coordinated rescue. There was chaos. Crowds swarmed the site.
What unfolded was even more painful: Political leaders, surrounded by their party workers, rushed to the hospital to “offer help” and meet the wounded during emergency treatment. But the reality is they weren’t helping if anything, they made things worse. Their presence created chaos and could have delayed critical care, turning victims into even greater victims. Many injured couldn’t even get into the hospital because the crowds, fully loaded with political supporters, blocked access. Meanwhile, doctors were already there, working tirelessly to save lives.
Instead of stepping back and letting medical teams do their job, these leaders brought large entourages and forced their way into the hospitals treating burn victims. The consequence? Treatment was delayed. People with severe burns who require strict isolation to prevent infections were exposed to crowds, cameras, and confusion. Doctors struggled to move patients through hallways clogged.
Why does this happen every time disaster strikes? Why do our leaders think every tragedy is their political stage?
While politicians scrambled for attention, it was ordinary young people who stepped up. University students. Strangers. Friends of friends. They rushed to hospitals to donate blood. They coordinated supplies. They tracked missing children. In the absence of real leadership, they became the frontline of compassion. That’s the Bangladesh we rarely talk about but it’s the Bangladesh that showed up when it mattered.
And what about our so-called crisis management system? Let’s be honest: It has failed. Fire service teams and the army arrived quickly, but their work was crippled by unregulated crowds. There was no perimeter control. No clear chain of command. Inside the hospitals, the failure became even more visible.
And here’s the harder truth: Our trauma care facilities are nowhere near the standard they need to be. In trauma cases, immediate treatment saves lives yet we don’t have the systems in place to deliver that care. Bangladesh must treat trauma care as a national priority, not an afterthought. Hospitals need protected emergency access routes, so ambulances aren’t blocked by crowds or chaos. We need more specialized trauma vehicles, ambulances, helicopters, and rapid transport units to move critical patients quickly and safely. Trauma care isn’t just another wing of healthcare; it demands its own dedicated protocols, equipment, and trained teams. The government must invest in this infrastructure alongside general health services.
And this isn’t just about responding to today’s tragedy but ratherabout preparing for the next one. Whether it’s another crash, a factory fire, a building collapse, or a flood, rapid trauma response will save lives. The systems we build now will decide who survives in the future. Trauma readiness is national preparedness and the time to build it is before the next disaster hits.
And where was our national health adviser in the midst of this crisis? Missing. Absent. Silent. But even if she had shown up, what difference would it have made? The person leading Bangladesh’s national health emergency response is neither a doctor nor a health sector professional. She lacks medical knowledge, crisis management skills, and any public health experience. That’s not just personal failure, it's a failure of the system that put her there.
Burn injuries aren’t like other injuries. They’re time-sensitive emergencies. Every minute without proper treatment means more pain, more deaths, and more lifelong disability. Yet we’ve entrusted public health leadership to someone who doesn’t understand burn care and had no plan to manage the crisis. Why does Bangladesh keep handing critical health roles to political appointees with no qualifications? Why are lives being left in the hands of people who don’t know how to save them?
Instead, we heard absurdities like “we will bring doctors from abroad if necessary.” Really? In a country that boasts one of Asia’s largest burn hospitals, are we pretending we don’t have the capacity? What we lack is not skill, but leadership. Our medical professionals are capable if only the system lets them work.
What this all means is simple: The state failed the children of Milestone.
And we must talk about the F-7 jets. These aircraft are obsolete. China stopped producing them in 2013. They’re notorious for technical failures and crashes. Yet, in 2025, Bangladesh is still flying them over its capital city. Who authorized that? When was the last proper inspection?
The truth is, this crash wasn’t just an accident it was a policy failure, years in the making.
And while we are asking questions, here’s one more: Why do school ID cards lack guardian contact information? In a disaster, when emergency contact protocols could save lives, this basic oversight is indefensible.
Now, here’s what must happen not for headlines, but for real change.
First, military training flights over populated areas must stop immediately. This should not even be a debate. The Bangladesh Air Force must explain why this plane was in the air, over that school, at that time. Who signed off on the exercise? Who kept approving the use of a plane model known for fatal technical issues? And how long will we treat cities like Dhaka as open skies for fighter jets?
Second, Bangladesh must overhaul its crisis management systems. We must rethink its crisis management. Hospitals need protected emergency routes, not roads blocked by crowds. Trauma care isn’t just part of healthcare; it needs its own systems, training, and equipment. The government must prioritize trauma management alongside general health services because in disasters, minutes cost lives.
Third, there can be no confusion surrounding the death toll. Families deserve the truth, not PR-managed information.
Fourth, launch a full, independent investigation into why the F-7 is still operational. Publish the findings. Name those responsible.
Fifth, the government should seriously consider appointing a health adviser with real expertise in public health and emergency response. This isn’t just about addressing today’s crisis, it isabout preparing for the next one. Leadership in health needs to be grounded in knowledge, not just position.
And finally, to our political leaders: Ask yourselves honestly are you there to help, or to pose? In moments of national grief, don’t treat hospital corridors like campaign stages.
What happened at Milestone School is more than a tragedy.Those children had ten minutes left before they would’ve gone home. Ten minutes that could’ve saved them. For every child lost, for every parent broken, for every student who will never return to class we owe them truth. We owe them justice.
And we owe them a future where schools are places of learning, not crash sites. Because what happened on July 21 wasn’t just an accident. It was a symptom of negligence, of incompetence, and of a political culture that values visibility over service. Bangladesh now faces a choice: Mourn quietly and move on, or demand that never again will its children be treated as collateral damage. And that choice must be made now.
Kollol Kibria is an advocate, human rights activist, and political analyst. He can be reached at: kollolkibriaa@gmail.com.