Death traps are everywhere in Bangladesh. They lurk in accident-prone roads where vehicles race each other recklessly, in waterways where vessels capsize without warning, in sudden outbreaks of violence over trifling matters, and in bomb hurling in public spaces. Another type of quietest but deadliest traps also exists here - holes in the ground, abandoned and forgotten. Open-mouthed boreholes dot villages, towns, and urban neighbourhoods across the country. They are left uncovered after water extraction or construction work, turning ordinary landscapes into dangerous zones.
Recently, the nation was shocked by the death of two-year-old Sajid in Tanore upazila of Rajshahi district. The child slipped into a deep, uncovered borehole and could not come back alive. His death was not an accident in the true sense of the term; it was simply a predictable result of collective negligence. Eleven years ago, in 2014, a similar incident took place when four-year-old Jihad died after falling into a narrow hole at a construction site in Dhaka. In both the incidents, the nation watched helplessly for hours as rescue attempts failed. After every such tragedy, we mourn, express outrage, promise reforms, but no visible changes take place. The Rajshahi incident proves that we have learned nothing since the Dhaka tragedy a decade ago.
What is more frightening than the deaths themselves is that such tragedies have become normalised. A child dies, headlines scream, condolences are offered, probes are launched and then comes silence. Roads remain unsafe, boreholes remain uncovered, and rescue systems remain inadequate. We have reached such a point that we consider death a routine inconvenience rather than a moral catastrophe.
Abandoned boreholes are only one example of how casually danger is allowed to exist. There is no comprehensive database of such hazards, no visible enforcement mechanism, and no culture of accountability. Contractors drill boreholes and walk away after their work is done, local authorities either lack resources or the will to monitor them and communities accept these risks as unavoidable. This acceptance is perhaps the most dangerous element among all.
The tragedy of Sajid exposes not only negligence but also a frightening truth that as a nation, we are not prepared to rescue people in danger. We do not have specialised equipment, trained responders, or an emergency protocol to handle this type of accident. We dig frantically, argue, wait, and pray. Television cameras arrive before rescue tools. Time passes, oxygen runs out, and hope fades.
The countries which value human lives invest heavily in prevention and preparedness. They strictly regulate construction sites, seal boreholes immediately after use, and train emergency services for rare but high-risk scenarios. In Bangladesh, regulations exist only on paper and rarely in practice. Laws are ignored, court orders are forgotten, and violations invite little consequence.
The most unbearable aspect of this sort of tragedy is perhaps the trauma the families left behind are in. How do the parents live with the memory of watching their children disappear into the ground? How do they sleep, knowing that a simple cover could have saved their kids? They are haunted by this trauma for the rest of their lives.
We, as a nation, need to do everything necessary to prevent recurrence of such tragedies. Preventing such deaths is neither complicated nor that expensive. Sealing of boreholes should be made mandatory after the work - water extraction or construction - is done. Local fire services and civil defence units should be trained on confined-space rescues. Community awareness campaigns are necessary to teach people to identify and report hazards.
If these steps are not taken, Sajid will not be the last child to die this way. More names will be added to the list, more parents will grieve, and more promises will be broken. We will continue to live among death traps.
