Green Development Turns Deadly: The Sitakunda Tragedy and the Crisis of State Accountability

The deaths of workers at a ship-recycling yard in Sitakunda should not be dismissed as another industrial accident.

They expose a disturbing gap between Bangladesh’s development rhetoric and the lived reality of the people whose labor sustains that development.

On 14 August 2026, workers at Ferdous Steel Ship Recycling Industries in Bhatiari, Sitakunda, were exposed to toxic gas while dismantling a decommissioned vessel.

Initial reports said at least eight workers had died; later reports put the death toll at nine.

Authorities suspected toxicgas exposure, with reports indicating that carbon monoxide may have accumulated inside the vessel.

Whether eight or nine workers died does not change the central question: Why were human beings all6owed to enter a potentially lethal environment without adequate protection?

If the danger was foreseeable, the deaths were preventable. And if they were preventable, responsibility cannot end with condolences, compensation or an investigation committee.

The tragedy is particularly disturbing because it occurred amid the government’s emphasis on transforming ship recycling into a “green” industry.

Only weeks earlier, the Industries Minister had visited ship-recycling yards in Sitakunda and declared that no business would be allowed to operate without a green licence.

He spoke of international standards, environmental protection and restoring Bangladesh’s position as a global leader in ship recycling, while acknowledging the industry’s history of pollution, labor exploitation and unsafe conditions.

But the deaths raise a fundamental question: Has “green” become a language of policy rather than a reality of industrial practice?

A genuinely green economy cannot mean that ships are dismantled under environmental regulations while the workers doing the dismantling remain exposed to lethal hazards.

Sustainable development must integrate economic prosperity, environmental protection and social justice. Workers are not external to this equation; they are at its center.

Shipbreaking is inherently hazardous. Workers may encounter toxic gases, asbestos, oil residues, explosive materials, confined spaces, falling objects and fire risks. That is precisely why safety procedures cannot be optional.

Before workers enter a confined space, the atmosphere must be tested, dangerous gases detected, ventilation ensured, protective equipment provided and a permit-to-work system enforced.

Trained supervisors and emergency rescue arrangements are equally essential.

If an investigation confirms that workers entered a hazardous confined space without adequate atmospheric testing and protection, the incident should not be treated merely as an “accident”. It should be understood as a failure of duty of care.

The most troubling question is not whether Bangladesh has safety regulations, but whether they are enforced.Bangladesh’s regulatory problem is often not the absence of laws but weak implementation.

Rules exist, certificates are issued, committees are formed and inspections conducted, yet violations continue.

This creates a regulatory illusion: the appearance of governance without the substance of enforcement.

A green licence, safety certificate or inspection report has little value if workers remain vulnerable to preventable death.

Industrial conditions change, equipment deteriorates, contractors and workers change, production pressures rise and procedures may be bypassed.

The meaningful standard must therefore be continuous compliance.
The Sitakunda deaths are also a test of institutional accountability.

Responsibility should not automatically be placed on a worker, foreman or immediate employer.

A serious investigation must examine the entire chain: Who authorized entry into the vessel? Who determined it was safe? Was the atmosphere tested? Were gas detectors functional? Was the vessel cleaned and ventilated? Were workers properly equipped and trained? Was an emergency rescue system available? Had previous safety violations been identified, and if so, why was the operation allowed to continue?

If a regulator knew that a workplace was unsafe but failed to ensure correction, regulatory responsibility must also be examined.

These questions do not prejudge guilt; they are questions of institutional accountability.

An investigation committee is useful only if its findings are transparent, technically credible and followed by consequences. Otherwise, it risks becoming another administrative ritual.

Bangladesh’s ship-recycling industry has substantial economic importance. It supplies steel and other materials, provides employment and supports the country’s ambition to become a modern, environmentally compliant ship-recycling hub.

The problem begins when the economic value of the industry becomes more visible than the human value of its workers.

The fundamental bargain of a modern state is simple: citizens surrender the right to private retaliation because the state undertakes to administer justice through lawful institutions.

When mobs beat, humiliate or kill people, that bargain begins to collapse. Collective violence is not an alternative justice system; it is an erosion of the state itself.

The state is the institutional capacity to convert rights into reality. A constitutional right that cannot be enforced is only a promise.

A safety regulation that cannot prevent a worker from entering a poisonous environment is only a document.

A green licence that does not guarantee meaningful environmental and occupational standards is only a certificate.

This is the difference between government and governance: Government makes declarations. Governance ensures outcomes.

The families of the dead workers deserve compensation. But compensation cannot substitute for justice.

If negligence is established, those responsible must face appropriate legal and administrative consequences.

Bangladesh needs independent and surprise occupational-safety inspections in hazardous industries; documented atmospheric testing before confined-space entry; mandatory, independently verified gas detectors; proper protective equipment and training; emergency rescue capacity; and penalties strong enough to outweigh the economic benefits of ignoring safety.

Workers must have the right to refuse imminently dangerous work without fear of losing employment. Regulators must also be accountable when they knowingly permit unsafe operations.

Bangladesh has every right to aspire to become a major green ship-recycling center.

But it must decide what kind of green economy it wants: one focused primarily on licences, certificates, international recognition and competitiveness, or a human-centered green economy that combines environmental protection with occupational safety, decent employment, social justice and human dignity.

Only the second deserves to be called sustainable. The Sitakunda workers did not die because Bangladesh lacked a vision, but because there appears to have been a gap between vision and implementation.

Development cannot be measured only through GDP, bridges, industries, exports or foreign investment. It has a human test.

Can a worker earn a living without risking his life? Can a child receive protection from preventable disease? Can a woman live without fear of violence? Can an elderly citizen retain dignity? Can citizens expect the law to protect them from a mob?If the answer is uncertain, the problem is not merely isolated accidents or individual crimes.

It is a crisis of human security and institutional accountability.

The Sitakunda workers must not become another statistic buried beneath official statements.

Their deaths should force Bangladesh to confront an uncomfortable truth: a country cannot call itself green while its workers die from preventable industrial hazards. It cannot call itself developed while human dignity remains negotiable.

And it cannot claim strong governance when its most vulnerable citizens continue to pay the highest price for institutional failure.

The real meaning of development is not how high a nation can build. It is how securely its people can live beneath what it has built.

(The author: Professor, Canadian University of Bangladesh)