Last Friday, three of my colleagues visited Haji Mazar Basti in Tongi, on the outskirts of Dhaka, on a reporting assignment to expose an illicit drug trade that has operated there unabated for far too long. They had no idea that a sophisticated CCTV network run by the drug cartel was recording their entry into the slum alleys in real time. Inside, they found brisk, open trading in drugs of every kind in broad daylight, completely unchecked by the state’s law enforcement apparatus.
While investigating this open narcotics trade, the three-member team was ambushed by an armed gang of 20 to 25 people. The Dhaka Tribune journalists endured unimaginable torture at the hands of these drug ruffians, who held them captive for three hours, beat them, threatened their lives at gunpoint, and robbed them of their belongings.
Since that barbaric attack, very little has happened -- not that we expected much -- apart from our newspaper's truthful reporting on the trade, the filing of a police complaint, and strong assurances from senior police officials that raids would be conducted and legal action taken against the perpetrators.
Badly injured and mentally traumatized, the three victims are still undergoing medical treatment. One continues to suffer from lightheadedness and hearing impairment.
Local residents later told us that last Friday’s assault on the Dhaka Tribune team was one of the worst, though not the first, such incidents in Haji Mazar Basti. Recently, journalists from at least two other national dailies also fell victim to the same tyrants.
It is the very spot where retired serviceman KM Tahsif Sauri was last seen before his tragic death. Tahsif went missing after leaving his family’s residence in Uttara on the evening of October 27, 2026. The following afternoon, Tongi River Police recovered his body floating near Rajabari Ghat in the Turag River, identifying him through an iPhone and wristwatch found on his person.
I stand to be corrected, but to my knowledge, since the recovery of his body -- and the subsequent discovery of his motorbike near the slum -- there has been no official drive to dismantle this notorious drug den.
In writing this, I do not mean to suggest that our law enforcers never raid criminal hideouts. They do. And when they fail to act, we see episodes such as that involving former junior minister Ishraque Hossain, who recently took matters into his own hands to fight neighbourhood drug dealers -- an act that ultimately cost him his ministerial job.
No sane person would endorse a public official taking up arms to chase down drug dealers. Yet one can certainly empathize with his frustration after dozens of pleas at official coordination meetings went unheard and the police failed to meet basic public expectations.
The Ishraque episode is a telltale sign of how law enforcement agencies, and the higher-ups who direct them, have failed citizens who ask only that an elected government free their neighbourhoods from an ever-expanding drug network.
To be fair to our law enforcement agencies regarding Haji Mazar Basti, they have conducted special drives there in the recent past. In May this year, police arrested 38 people and uncovered a concealed, air-conditioned luxury drug den complete with an escape tunnel.
Two months later, police arrested 42 more suspects, seized heroin and yaba, and disconnected electricity and internet connections to roughly 300 rooms suspected of being used for drug trading. Then, in August, authorities conducted eviction drives, demolishing around 100 illegal structures used as drug dens.
This raises an obvious question: How does the gang keep returning to operate a sprawling narcotics business in the very same area, time and again?
To understand this, we must look at Bangladesh’s thriving political economy, where political patronage quickly comes to the aid of illicit operations whenever they face the wrath of law enforcement.
Allegations are rife that, regardless of who holds power in the central corridors of the state, narcotics dealers at strategic distribution points enjoy vital political protection from both sides of the political aisle. That protection gives them the audacity to intimidate, terrorize, and unleash violence against any journalist who dares to expose them.
Why, then, is the press so determined to expose the drug threat? The answer is simple: It is a fight for our very existence.
We are living dangerously in this country. If police records and media reports are any indication, scarcely a day goes by without news of drug addicts killing or injuring people -- most often family members who refuse to give them money for a fix or neighbours who try to stop them. If we collectively fail to halt the rapid spread of this thriving market, it will soon catch up with every one of us in one way or another.
I will refrain from naming the specific spots in Dhaka where drugs are readily available. All it takes to score is the urge for a kick, the cash to pay for it, and knowledge of the selling points.
The media today is awash with reports on these hotspots and their unchecked trade. Just the other day, I read about a Toyota Land Cruiser Prado carrying 300,000 yaba tablets that set out from Cox’s Bazar for Dhaka on August 17. After stopping in Chittagong for a day, the vehicle took the Dhaka-Chittagong highway before being intercepted by the district detective branch police in Comilla.
According to reports, nearly 2.7 million yaba tablets were seized in six major incidents along the Cox’s Bazar border in the preceding five months alone. Five of those consignments were destined for Dhaka, from where, according to investigation sources, the drugs were to be distributed nationwide. Law enforcement data show that the largest consignments entering through our borders are now routed through metropolitan areas before being distributed across the country.
At the same time, the country’s eight major cities -- Dhaka, Chittagong, Rajshahi, Gazipur, Rangpur, Khulna, Barisal, and Sylhet -- have emerged as massive drug markets in their own right, largely due to their dense populations.
Data from pending court cases reveal the scale of this urban spread. Official figures indicate that 47,948 serious drug cases, carrying minimum sentences of five years or more, are awaiting trial in these eight metropolitan areas, out of 166,333 such cases pending nationwide. Nearly 29% of Bangladesh’s most serious drug cases are concentrated in these eight cities.
Before drawing the urgent attention of those in high offices to this crisis, let us briefly review how Bangladesh reached a point where the drug menace has become so pervasive.
Recall 2018, when the then government embarked on a nationwide "war on drugs" -- around the same time that the controversial Digital Security Act was enforced despite fierce opposition from civil society, rights bodies, and journalists. Over the next two years, Bangladesh witnessed at least 500 to 1,000 deaths in controversial "crossfire" shootings.
Then, in 2020, the killing of a retired serviceman at the hands of rogue policemen -- allegedly on the payroll of narcotics traders -- sparked a nationwide outcry. It compelled the government to take a measure almost unheard of in contemporary world history: Withdrawing and replacing the entire police force of Cox’s Bazar district, comprising between 1,100 and 1,400 personnel.
Fast-forward to 2026. In August this year, our current home minister, who hails from Cox’s Bazar, acknowledged that yaba tablets entering across the border were being distributed nationwide, ruining a large section of our youth. He spoke of preparing an “impartial list” of top drug traffickers as part of the government’s effort to curb smuggling and strengthen narcotics control.
When we put all these developments together -- the widespread crossfire killings of the late 2010s, the withdrawal of an entire district’s police force, and the unabated narcotics trade stretching from Gendaria’s Ghuntighar (of Ishraque fame) to Tongi’s Haji Mazar Basti -- a clear pattern emerges.
It is a cycle of half-hearted administrative measures, repeated empty assurances, and a section of politicians profiting from the proceeds of a thriving illicit market. Slowly but surely, and perilously, this network is engulfing the country like a spiderweb.
Now, it is up to us to decide: Do we truly intend to free ourselves from the grip of this drug crisis, or will we allow it to destroy the future of our children and generations to come?
Reaz Ahmad is Editor, Dhaka Tribune.
