Crisis from Abroad, Chaos from Within

There is a peculiar pattern that often emerges in Bangladesh whenever a global crisis knocks on the door.

The initial shock may come from outside, but the prolonged suffering is almost always manufactured within. The ongoing fuel situation appears to be following that familiar script.

The war in the Middle East has undoubtedly tightened global energy markets. Prices have surged, supply chains have become uncertain, and import-dependent countries like Bangladesh have found themselves navigating a precarious terrain.

With LNG prices climbing from around $9–10 per MMBTU to nearly $22, and crude oil hovering near $120 per barrel, the fiscal pressure is undeniable.

The government’s response has been predictable: increase imports, expand subsidies, and reassure the public that supply is being managed.

On paper, the state is doing what it can. Nine LNG cargoes have been secured for April. Fuel subsidies are projected to exceed Tk 20,000 crore this fiscal year. Daily subsidies on fuel oil alone have reached Tk 167 crore.

Storage capacity has reportedly been expanded from 15 days to nearly a month. These figures suggest not an absence of fuel, but a costly attempt to ensure its continuity.
And yet, on the ground, a different story unfolds.

Long queues snake out of filling stations. Motorists wait for hours, often under the sun, only to be told that fuel has run out. “No fuel” signs hang like quiet declarations of scarcity.

Transport operators scramble to keep vehicles running. Factories report disruptions in receiving raw materials. River transport slows as diesel shortages delay lighter vessels. Supply chains, already fragile, begin to stiffen under pressure.

If this were purely a supply crisis, the explanation would be straightforward. But it is not.
The contradiction is too stark to ignore. On one hand, the state claims sufficient reserves and continues to import at elevated prices.

On the other, fuel disappears at the retail level. Raids across multiple districts reveal thousands of litres of oil hidden in plain sight.

In Faridpur alone, nearly 28,000 litres were discovered in pumps that had publicly declared empty stocks. In Mymensingh, 24,000 litres lay concealed in underground tanks. Smaller seizures in Jessore, Netrokona, and Jamalpur point to a pattern rather than isolated incidents.
This is not scarcity. This is strategy.

A section of market actors appears to have identified opportunity within the crisis. By withholding supply, they create artificial shortages.

By creating shortages, they generate panic. And panic, in turn, inflates informal prices, encourages under-the-table transactions, and allows profit margins to stretch far beyond regulated limits. The crisis, therefore, is not merely endured. It is engineered.

Fuel is not a luxury good. It is the bloodstream of an economy. It moves goods, powers industries, sustains agriculture, and enables daily life.

When access to such a resource is deliberately restricted for profit, the act transcends ordinary market behaviour. It becomes an ethical breach with societal consequences.

The effects are already visible. Industrial production is slowing as raw materials fail to arrive on time. Trucks, constrained by fuel shortages, cannot maintain regular delivery schedules.

Retail markets begin to feel the strain as supply thinns. For consumers, this translates into higher prices, reduced availability, and growing uncertainty. Inflation, already a persistent concern, finds new momentum.

In such an environment, governance faces a dual challenge. It must manage external vulnerabilities while simultaneously disciplining internal distortions. The former requires fiscal resilience and diplomatic agility. The latter demands regulatory strength and political will.

So far, the response to internal manipulation has been reactive rather than preventive. Mobile courts conduct raids, fines are imposed, and seized fuel is redistributed.

These actions, while necessary, resemble firefighting more than systemic reform. They address symptoms but leave underlying incentives largely intact.

Why does hoarding persist despite the risk of penalties? The answer lies in the imbalance between potential gains and expected costs.

If the profit from withholding fuel significantly outweighs the penalty for being caught, the rational choice for opportunistic actors becomes clear. Enforcement, therefore, must not only be visible but also consequential enough to alter this calculation.

There is also the issue of monitoring. The fuel distribution network is extensive, spanning urban centres and remote districts. Ensuring transparency at every node is a complex task.

Yet, without such transparency, gaps emerge, and it is within these gaps that manipulation thrives.
Technology could offer part of the solution.

Real-time tracking of fuel inventories, digital reporting systems, and stricter auditing mechanisms can reduce the opacity that enables hoarding. However, technology alone cannot compensate for weak enforcement or lack of accountability.

The crisis also exposes a structural vulnerability that extends beyond immediate mismanagement. Bangladesh’s heavy reliance on imported energy leaves it exposed to global shocks. When international prices rise, domestic costs follow. When supply chains tighten, local availability becomes uncertain.

This dependence not only strains public finances but also creates fertile ground for internal exploitation.
Diversification of energy sources, investment in renewables, and improved efficiency are often discussed as long-term solutions.

But crises such as this highlight that resilience is not only about reducing external dependence. It is also about strengthening internal integrity.

A system that allows artificial shortages to flourish is a system that amplifies external shocks. It converts manageable challenges into acute crises. It erodes public trust, not just in markets, but in institutions.
And trust, once lost, is not easily restored.

The moral dimension of this issue cannot be overstated. In times of crisis, societies rely on a basic expectation of fairness. That essential goods will be distributed equitably. That hardship will be shared, not exploited. When this expectation is violated, the social contract weakens.

Those who hoard fuel in the midst of a national challenge are not merely engaging in economic opportunism. They are, in effect, redistributing hardship from themselves to others.

They profit while others wait in queues. They accumulate while industries slow.

They gain while consumers pay.
This asymmetry is what makes the crisis particularly corrosive.

It is tempting to frame the situation as a simple case of market failure. But that would be an incomplete diagnosis. Markets do not operate in a vacuum. They are shaped by rules, incentives, and norms. When these are misaligned, outcomes deviate from fairness.

The current fuel situation in Bangladesh is not solely the result of geopolitical turmoil. It is also a reflection of how domestic systems respond to that turmoil. The external shock may have been unavoidable. The internal response was not.

As the country navigates this challenging period, the focus must extend beyond securing additional cargoes or expanding subsidies. These are necessary but insufficient measures. The real test lies in ensuring that what is imported at great cost reaches the public without distortion.

Otherwise, the nation risks paying twice for the same crisis. Once in dollars at the international market. And again in trust, at home.

In the end, the question is not only about supply, price, or subsidy. It is about legitimacy. When a crisis is exploited rather than collectively endured, the legitimacy of both market actors and regulatory institutions comes under scrutiny. And in that scrutiny lies a warning.

A crisis, after all, reveals not just the strength of a system, but also its character.

(The writer is an Academic, Journalist, and Political Analyst based in Dhaka, Bangladesh. Currently he teaches at IUBAT. He can be reached at [email protected])