As forethought to the people killed in Savar, consider this: in Bangladesh, almost 30 people are killed every day on the road. This amounts to 11,000 deaths every year. Unbelievable? Xinhua will testify to the accuracy of the number.
Consider how many people are murdered in various crimes – police report the count at 3,988 in 2010 alone. Between 2005 and 2010, the count exceeds 23,000. Police reports often underestimate the numbers and Bangladesh police websites only have data up to 2010.
From 2009 to 2011, about 200 people have been killed in extrajudicial killings by Rab.
In 2013 alone, a reported 100 or more have been killed in political unrest and 800 others injured.
A week ago, the Rana Plaza collapse killed more than 400 people, with scores still missing.
It would be a lie to say there were no signs. Five years ago there was the Spectrum disaster; in 2010, there was a fire at Garib & Garib Sweater Limited. Six months ago, Tazreen Fashions was wilfully set on fire and more than 100 workers were burnt alive according to a BGMEA report.
This latest cannot be considered as an isolated incident in the context of Bangladesh. Accidents are waiting to happen – one after another after another. Worse still, many of these events seem designed and intended. We can no longer escape the facts by simply calling them accidents.
There has been significant global interest in the Rana Plaza collapse, and rightly so. The finger invariably is pointed to the readymade garment industry that accounts for a little under 80% of Bangladesh’s export volume. This is a reflexive action.
The connections between people getting killed in a building collapse and people getting killed in road accidents or criminal activities or political unrest is admittedly far-fetched. The fact of the matter, however, is that these are unnatural deaths that should not occur, can be avoided, and have the same root cause.
For argument’s sake, suppose, I know someone with high connections in the government. My neighbour is not as well connected as I am. I know that I can grab his land forcefully, and cut out a share for my political connection, who will make necessary arrangements for me to get away with this crime.
If opposed, I will simply kill my neighbour and use my influence to pay off the law who will keep silent about the matter.
Since I have the land now, what do I do with it? A barren slice of gravel offers no advantages. So, I decide to erect an establishment on the plot. On the base, a supermarket, over it an office or production space. Now, to reduce costs and taxes I get permission for a 5-storeyed building. I raise a 10-storeyed building instead, using the cheapest materials I can find and use my influence to silence the regulatory bodies, if any. If need be, I make necessary financial contributions to keep the regulators happy.
Now, this building, defective ab-initio, will fall under its own weight. It is a matter of when, rather than if. When it does collapse, the fate of all the people inside the building is connected to me and my misdeeds. It is a domino effect that had been initiated long before the building actually collapsed.
When the building falls, the finger is initially pointed at me, and afterwards, at the authorities. The authorities will then start a game of musical chairs. Ultimately, it’s nobody’s baby. Then again, every person and position involved in this vicious chain is actually responsible – except probably the actual owner of the land, who was powerless to defend his territory and was forced to keep silent.
Seems familiar? It is. And this analogy is not only restricted to Sohel Rana, his ill-fated building and the innocent people who have lost their lives in the tragedy. There are several Rana Plazas waiting for their moment of doom.
Rana Plaza is a representation of the culture of the right of might and money that rules Bangladesh, and is the root cause of most national problems.
It is easy to make Sohel Rana a scapegoat, point fingers at the ever-so-greedy factory owners who build their fortunes exploiting the lives and misfortune of the poor. Undoubtedly, along with Rana, all the owners who risk the lives and safety of their workers are culpable.
Then again, the people who create this chain of corruption and deceit are at least equally, if not more, culpable. Rana served his own purposes. He was neither paid, nor bound to think about social welfare or employee security.
The government, with its legislative, executive and judicial branches are assigned, elected and paid to take care of civic and human rights. Why did they turn a blind eye? Only time will tell if they will continue to ignore the wake up calls as they have ignored the warnings that have come before.
There is no point in singling out the current regime for criticism. This has been the unfortunate story, across regimes, of a country that is actually still ruled by a generation that literally fought for liberty.
Putting things into perspective, the entire population of Bangladesh is actually responsible for the sustenance of this culture. It is the masses who either pay the bribes to get work done, or accept this wicked culture as a way of being. We have never collectively asked our government to do the right thing. We have always put ourselves first, gotten the job done by whatever means necessary and have not bothered to raise dissent as long as the happenings have not affected us directly. We have never stood up for our rights. Never have we asked the government to earn the taxes that people pay. We have made the government believe that the government exists to be served by us and not the other way around. Apparently, we never learn.
Surprisingly, people have been talking about the image of Bangladesh in the aftermath of this major mass-killing. Yes, Rana Plaza is murder. The whole nation is responsible. In the end, Sohel Rana may be given a life sentence and pardoned by the president after 5 years. The engineers who failed to monitor whether the building was compliant or the engineers who certified it safe may escape with minimal punishment. Worse still, this case may stagnate like the murder of Bishwajit, or the Tazreen Fashions fire. Ultimately, nothing will happen.
My fear is that every single taka that has ever been spent as bribe, every single favour that has been extended illegally, every time justice has been denied and delayed – all the courses of action that have contributed to the creation of the empire of no rule that we bow to – will come back to haunt us. Even if we don’t pay the price personally, people we care about will.
Shahtab Mahmud is a journalist.
