H. M. Nazmul Alam :
The story of Bangladesh’s agriculture has long been told as one of triumph. A nation that once struggled with food scarcity now grows enough to feed itself and even export.
Behind the shimmering fields of rice and the lush rows of vegetables, however, lies a darker truth—one that smells faintly of chemical vapours and seeps silently into the soil, the water, and the human body. The success story of our agriculture has come at the cost of poisoning its very roots.
Bangladesh’s farmers, once known for their intimate understanding of nature, are now waging war against it with chemicals as their weapons. Pesticides and fertilizers, meant to nourish and protect, have turned into silent killers. What began as an attempt to protect crops from insects and diseases has evolved into a dangerous addiction.
From morning till sunset, the fields are sprayed and sprinkled with chemical cocktails, often without masks, gloves, or even the slightest understanding of what they contain.
This dependence has grown dramatically over the decades. In 1972, the country used around 4,000 metric tons of pesticides. By 2023, that number had skyrocketed to nearly 40,000 metric tons—ten times higher. The pesticide market alone is now worth over 5,000 crore taka, an astonishing indicator of how agriculture has shifted from being soil-driven to chemical-driven. Most of these pesticides are used in rice, vegetables, and fruits—the very foods that end up on our plates every day.
Yet, the tragedy does not end with contaminated food. The damage begins deep beneath the surface, in the very soil that sustains life. The Soil Resources Development Institute (SRDI) reports that about 61 percent of Bangladesh’s 16 million hectares of arable land now suffer from severe organic matter deficiency. An ideal soil should have at least 3.5 percent organic content, but in most areas, it has fallen to barely 1.17 percent. Some lands record less than 1 percent, meaning the earth has lost its ability to breathe and regenerate.
The consequence is a deadly chain reaction. Excessive use of urea produces carbon dioxide that worsens air pollution. Ammonia-based fertilizers drain oxygen from water bodies, making it impossible for fish to survive. Over time, the soil turns sterile, water sources become toxic, and crops lose their natural resistance. Fertility is not only lost in the fields—it is lost in the nation’s long-term capacity to feed itself.
And then there is the human cost. According to research presented by the Center of Agriculture and Bioscience International (CABI), about 27 percent of farmers in Bangladesh suffer from pesticide-related illnesses. These range from skin blisters, eye irritation, and breathing difficulties to more serious consequences such as cancer, kidney and liver damage, and reproductive complications.
The same study found that around 8,000 commercial pesticides are registered in the country, containing 363 active ingredients. Most farmers, however, do not follow dosage or safety instructions.
The World Health Organization estimates that around 3 million people worldwide are affected by pesticide poisoning every year, with nearly 200,000 deaths. Bangladesh’s farmers form part of this grim global statistic. The irony is that those who feed the nation are themselves being poisoned by the very food they produce.
The issue, however, is not merely agricultural—it is profoundly political and social. Decades of policy incentives have encouraged farmers to maximize production, not sustainability. In the name of “green revolution,” the country pursued quantity over quality. The goal was to produce more rice, more vegetables, and more fruits. But in that race, we forgot to ask a fundamental question: produce more for how long, and at what cost?
When the soil itself turns against the seed, no miracle fertilizer can reverse the damage. Experts at the Bangladesh Agricultural Research Council note that soil fertility has declined from 2.5 percent to 1.5 percent in the last decade. Zinc deficiency now affects more than half of the arable land. The same fields that once produced golden harvests are becoming barren faster than they can be replenished. Climate change, industrial expansion, and deforestation only accelerate the collapse.
It is tempting to think this is a farmer’s problem. It is not. Every tomato, every grain of rice, every mango sold in the market carries traces of this invisible crisis. The story from Raiganj in Sirajganj, where 70 percent of a tomato field was destroyed due to misuse of pesticides, is a small reflection of a much bigger catastrophe. The same fields that were once green with promise are now brown with chemical burns.
The economic consequences are equally severe. Bangladesh’s agricultural exports continue to struggle in global markets because they often fail to meet international standards for safe food. Western and Middle Eastern importers regularly reject consignments due to excessive pesticide residues. As the world become more health-conscious, Bangladesh risks losing its competitive edge not for lack of productivity, but for lack of purity.
Despite this, government actions remain piecemeal. Around 40 pesticides have been banned, but thousands remain in circulation. Laws exist, but enforcement rarely reaches the fields. Farmers often buy what they are sold, not what they need. Vendors, chasing profits, recommend stronger and more frequent doses.
The solution, then, cannot be a quick policy fix. It must begin with changing the philosophy of farming itself. Farmers need to be educated, not merely instructed. Awareness campaigns cannot be confined to seminars in the capital; they must reach every village, every farmer who mixes a pesticide without gloves. Local agricultural officers must act as guides, not bureaucrats.
Bangladesh has already formulated good agricultural practice (GAP) policies, but their implementation remains weak. Organic composting, crop rotation, biological pest control, and sustainable irrigation are not utopian dreams—they are time-tested methods that our ancestors practiced before the chemical age began. The future may depend on revisiting that past with scientific precision rather than blind nostalgia.
Bangladesh’s agricultural success was never meant to be toxic. Yet somewhere between survival and greed, between innovation and ignorance, the balance was lost. The question now is whether we can find our way back before the soil gives up entirely.
The poisoned harvest may feed us for a few more seasons. But when the land itself begins to die, who will grow what we eat? The future of food security will depend not on how much we produce, but on whether we can produce without poisoning the hand that feeds us.
(The writer is an Academic, Journalist, and Political Analyst based in Dhaka, Bangladesh. Currently he is teaching at IUBAT. He can be reached at [email protected])
