In Bangladesh, numbers often speak more clearly than words. For nearly a decade, the country has lived under a quiet arithmetic of death, a pattern that has become disturbingly ordinary. Since 2016, an average of ten murders have taken place every single day. In 2021, the number dipped slightly to nine. Even in 2024, the turbulent year of the coup, the figure remained unchanged. But this year, the trend has reversed sharply. In the first nine months alone, the country has recorded 2,911 murders, which means about eleven people have been killed each day. That is the highest daily average in ten years.
The rise might look small in statistical terms, but behind every digit lies the erosion of order. This is not simply an increase in crime; it is the reflection of a deeper instability that runs through the nation’s politics, policing, and collective psychology. When nearly three thousand lives are lost to murder in just nine months, it becomes impossible to treat violence as a passing problem. It becomes a mirror of the state’s moral and institutional decay.
From 2016 to 2018, the murder rate barely fluctuated. In 2016, there were 3,591 murders; in 2017, 3,549; and in 2018, 3,830. During those years, ten people were killed every day on average. Those years were marked by political centralization and tight control, yet the level of violence remained alarmingly high. In the years that followed, the figures dipped but never disappeared. Between 2019 and 2023, the daily average hovered between eight and nine. In 2023, 3,023 people were killed. In 2024, the year of political upheaval and mass uprising, 3,432 cases were registered. The numbers have remained consistent enough to suggest something more than coincidence. They reveal a society that has normalized violence as part of its governance and existence.
The post-uprising period exposed this reality more sharply. After the fall of the Awami League government in August 2024, law enforcement collapsed. Police stations were attacked, officers were killed, and the institution was stripped of public confidence. Forty-four policemen lost their lives during the uprising. For weeks, the police could not function. When they eventually returned to work, it was under army protection. That paralysis created a vacuum that criminals were quick to fill. Murder, robbery, and abduction spread across cities and towns. The law no longer appeared capable of protecting citizens.
Officials now argue that the increase in the number of registered cases does not necessarily indicate a rise in actual murders. Some older cases, previously unreported, were filed this year, which may have inflated the total. If that is partly true, it may suggest improved reporting practices. Yet such explanations cannot obscure the deeper problem. Even if some of these cases are from previous years, the fact remains that thousands continue to be murdered annually. Whether recorded now or before, those deaths belong to the same continuum of lawlessness.
The geography of murder tells its own story. Dhaka, as always, stands at the center. In the first nine months of 2025, 685 murders occurred in the Dhaka Division. Within the Dhaka Metropolitan area alone, there were 352, more than the 339 recorded in the same period last year. The capital’s gravity draws people from across the country, swelling its population far beyond its capacity. Many live without stable addresses, jobs, or community ties. It is a city of floating lives, of frustration and fierce competition. In such a city, even small disputes over property, loans, or personal insults can end in violence.
Dhaka’s political climate adds another layer. Rivalries between local leaders, disputes over influence, and the use of hired muscle have long turned neighborhoods into battle zones. The change in government has reshuffled loyalties, and in that reshuffling, violence has resurfaced. The murders in the capital are not isolated acts of passion. They are the outcome of a culture that uses violence to prove control and silence dissent. Every shift in political power redraws the lines of dominance, and with each redraw, new waves of conflict emerge.
But the roots of the problem run even deeper than politics. The rising number of murders reveals the disintegration of social trust. In many cases, witnesses refuse to come forward, fearing harassment or retaliation. People have learned to protect themselves through silence. When they see violence, they turn away. When they hear cries for help, they close their doors. Fear has become a collective habit. This silence strengthens the hands of criminals, who thrive on the belief that no one will testify against them. Over time, a society conditioned by fear loses its capacity to defend justice.
The justice system, plagued by inefficiency and delay, reinforces this paralysis. Trials drag on for years. Convictions are rare. When criminals have political protection, impunity becomes a rule, not an exception. Under these conditions, murder ceases to be a desperate act; it becomes a calculated one. The perpetrator knows that the cost of killing is lower than the cost of justice.
The authorities, as always, assure citizens that law and order are under control. They argue that the rise in reported cases is a sign of greater transparency rather than an increase in crime. But such statements only highlight the gap between official optimism and public reality. For ordinary citizens, safety is not measured by the number of cases filed but by the ability to live without fear. Transparency without accountability changes little. A crime reported but never solved only deepens public despair.
As the country prepares for its thirteenth parliamentary elections, this sense of insecurity carries broader implications. A fair election requires more than ballots and booths; it requires a climate where citizens feel free to speak, gather, and participate without fear. When the streets are governed by intimidation and revenge, democracy becomes a performance rather than a choice. Political violence and criminal violence often merge, turning every election into a contest not only for power but for survival.
The link between politics and crime is an old one. Local power brokers have long served as both political operatives and enforcers. Their influence does not depend on ideology but on proximity to power. Every change in government replaces one set of patrons with another. The structure remains intact. This continuity explains why the murder rate remains stable even as regimes change. The faces at the top may differ, but the ecosystem of violence remains the same.
This year’s surge in murder cases is therefore more than a policing issue. It is a measure of governance itself. It shows how fragile state institutions become when politics consumes everything, and how quickly public faith erodes when justice is selective. The deeper danger lies not in the numbers but in the acceptance of those numbers as inevitable. When a society learns to live comfortably with daily murder, something fundamental within it has already died.
A nation cannot thrive on the arithmetic of death. As long as murder remains an ordinary occurrence, development will be hollow, and democracy will remain fragile. The challenge now is not only to bring down the numbers but to restore the meaning of life itself. Only when every citizen feels protected by the law, not threatened by it, can Bangladesh begin to heal from its long addiction to violence.
H. M. Nazmul Alam is an Academic, Journalist, and Political Analyst based in Dhaka, Bangladesh. Currently he is teaching at IUBAT. He can be reached at nazmulalam.rijohn@gmail.com
