As the World Food Program recently announced that food assistance for Rohingya refugees could drop to as low as $7 per person per month under a new needs-based system, refugees in Bangladesh are confronting not only hunger -- but the limits of a system that denies them both adequate aid and the means to survive without it.
More than eight years after the mass displacement from Myanmar’s Rakhine State, the crisis has shifted from emergency to endurance. What was once framed as a temporary humanitarian response has hardened into one of the world’s most protracted refugee situations.
Today, over a million Rohingya remain confined to camps in Bangladesh, caught between an unreturnable homeland and an increasingly uncertain future in exile.
The traditional pathways out of displacement -- repatriation, local integration, and third-country resettlement -- have all, in different ways, stalled.
Repatriation remains the most frequently cited solution, yet it is also the most unrealistic under current conditions.
Since the 2021 military coup, Myanmar has descended into a fragmented civil war. Rakhine State itself has become a contested battleground, marked by shifting territorial control, airstrikes, and widespread insecurity.
The structural drivers of the crisis -- statelessness, systemic discrimination, and exclusion -- remain firmly intact.
Neither the military authorities nor emerging actors on the ground have demonstrated a credible commitment to restoring Rohingya rights or citizenship.
Third-country resettlement, often presented as a complementary pathway, remains limited to symbolic numbers.
While small groups of Rohingya have been accepted by countries such as the United States and Canada, these efforts fall far short of addressing the scale of displacement.
For most refugees, resettlement is not a viable option but a distant hope.
Local integration in Bangladesh is also politically off the table. The government has consistently maintained that the Rohingya are temporary guests whose future lies in Myanmar.
This position reflects legitimate concerns about economic strain, environmental pressure, and long-term national interests, particularly in Cox’s Bazar -- one of the country’s most vulnerable regions.
The result is a condition of strategic limbo: A population unable to return, unlikely to be resettled, and not permitted to integrate.
It is within this narrowing space that the humanitarian response is now under strain.
Recent changes in food assistance illustrate both the fragility and the complexity of the current model.
As the WFP shifts to a needs-based system, many refugee families are seeing their monthly support reduced to levels that are widely perceived as insufficient.
The move has triggered anxiety and protests within the camps, as families fear an acute food crisis.
According to humanitarian reports and field observations, some policy-makers have pointed to the presence of distributed food items in local markets as a possible indicator that assistance levels exceed actual need. This perception has contributed to the shift toward a more targeted approach.
But this interpretation overlooks a critical reality.
For many Rohingya families, food assistance is not surplus -- it is their only lifeline. The sale of a portion of rations is not a sign of excess, but a survival strategy.
Refugees have virtually no access to formal income, yet they face essential expenses that food aid does not cover: Healthcare, transportation, clothing, and other basic needs.
When serious medical treatment is required -- beyond what is available in camp facilities -- refugees must travel to nearby urban centres such as Cox’s Bazar or Chittagong at their own expense.
Humanitarian agencies provide limited support for such cases, leaving many families to rely on informal coping mechanisms.
In these circumstances, selling part of their food rations becomes one of the few available options to generate cash.
What may appear as misuse is, in reality, a reflection of deeper economic exclusion.
This contradiction lies at the heart of the current response.
The humanitarian system provides food, but restricts income. It sustains life, but limits agency.
And now, as funding declines, it is beginning to do even less of the former while continuing to enforce the latter.
The result is a model that is becoming increasingly difficult to sustain.
More than a million people -- many of whom possess skills in agriculture, trade, and labour -- remain economically inactive, not because they lack capacity, but because they are not allowed to participate.
At the same time, international resources are spent to maintain a system of dependency that could, at least in part, be reduced through controlled economic inclusion.
The argument for expanding livelihood opportunities is therefore not only humanitarian -- it is practical.
Allowing Rohingya refugees to engage in income-generating activities could reduce reliance on aid, improve living standards, and restore dignity.
It could also generate economic benefits for host communities by stimulating local markets and increasing demand.
Yet large-scale livelihood programs remain limited. And the reasons are rooted in political economy.
For Bangladesh, the central concern is permanence. Expanding livelihoods risks signalling long-term settlement, potentially weakening the case for repatriation and intensifying local economic pressures.
Cox’s Bazar has already absorbed significant environmental and social strain. Introducing a large refugee workforce could heighten competition for jobs and resources.
These concerns are valid. But maintaining the current system carries its own risks.
Prolonged dependency erodes resilience and fuels frustration. For younger generations -- many of whom have grown up in the camps -- the absence of education and employment opportunities creates long-term vulnerabilities.
In this context, restrictions on livelihoods are not neutral; they contribute to instability.
The legal framework further constrains options. Bangladesh is not a signatory to the 1951 Refugee Convention, and the Rohingya are classified as “Forcibly Displaced Myanmar Nationals.” This designation limits their rights, including access to formal employment.
For humanitarian agencies such as the UNHCR and the World Food Program, these constraints are binding. They operate within government policy and cannot independently expand livelihood programs.
As a result, existing initiatives -- such as cash-for-work schemes, vocational training, and small-scale income activities -- remain insufficient to address the scale of need.
Meanwhile, the broader context continues to deteriorate.
Myanmar’s ongoing conflict has not only blocked repatriation but also created the conditions for prolonged instability.
The military retains significant capabilities, while opposition forces remain fragmented. In Rakhine State, competing actors control different territories, but none have articulated a clear and inclusive political vision that includes the Rohingya.
This suggests that the crisis is not moving toward resolution, but toward stalemate.
For the Rohingya, stalemate is not stability -- it is stagnation.
The recent protests over food rations reflect more than immediate hardship. They signal a deeper anxiety about the future -- a growing awareness that the system sustaining refugees is weakening, even as the barriers preventing them from moving forward remain unchanged.
This is where the limitations of the international system become most evident.
The United Nations can coordinate aid and advocate for solutions, but it cannot compel Myanmar to create conditions for return, nor can it override the policies of host countries.
Its effectiveness depends on the political will of its member states -- and that will has been inconsistent.
Geopolitical interests have often taken precedence over humanitarian priorities. Diplomatic efforts have yielded limited results, and accountability mechanisms have progressed slowly.
The consequence is a crisis sustained not by lack of awareness, but by lack of action.
This is not simply a failure of one institution -- it is a systemic failure.
Moving forward will require a shift in approach.
Controlled livelihood opportunities offer one possible path. Carefully designed programs -- aligned with host community interests and long-term repatriation goals -- could help bridge the gap between aid and self-reliance.
Such a shift will require political courage from Bangladesh and stronger support from the international community.
It will also require reframing the Rohingya not as passive recipients of aid, but as individuals with skills and potential.
Ultimately, the question is not whether the current system can continue.
It is whether it should.
Because in the absence of repatriation, in the absence of resettlement, and in the face of shrinking aid, a model based solely on containment risks pushing the crisis toward a more dangerous phase -- one defined not just by displacement, but by desperation.
For the Rohingya, the demand is simple: The right to return home with dignity -- or, until that becomes possible, the opportunity to live with dignity where they are.
Whether the international system can meet that demand remains an open question.
Sabit Hamid is a Rohingya genocide survivor currently living in a refugee camp in Bangladesh. He writes from lived experience on issues affecting displaced communities, including humanitarian response and refugee rights.