Long before Kuakata’s beaches drew tourists, before Kalapara had its name on any map, this stretch of Bangladesh’s southern coast was far less hospitable. It was bordered by a wall of tidal forest, thick with mangroves and wildlife that made it quite dangerous for anyone to enter. As the colonial administrator Henry Beveridge, who served as Magistrate and Collector of Bakerganj (now Barishal), noted in 1876, “The aspect of these forest-tracts is by no means cheerful. The woods are dark and silent; the trees are seldom tall enough to be handsome, the rivers and creeks are sullen and muddy, and suggestive of fevers and alligators.”

It was into this wilderness that the Rakhines first arrived, fleeing a war they did not choose. In 1784, the Burmese king Bodawpaya launched a massive invasion that conquered the independent kingdom of Arakan, ending the Mrauk-U dynasty after more than 350 years of rule. It unleashed a period of tyranny so severe that two-thirds of the population were driven into exile. For the Rakhines (referred to as Mugs or Maghs in colonial records) who survived the conquest, the choice was either to stay and live under a conqueror’s rule or to take to the sea. Many chose the sea, and the currents and political winds of the time eventually carried a number of them north and west, towards the island cluster that the British would later call the Rabnabad Islands. As J.C. Jack put it in his 1918 Bakarganj Gazetteer, the Buddhists of the district “are Maghs, who came from Arrakan at the end of the eighteenth century, reclaimed the Rabnabad Islands and then spread over the Sundarbans.”

The dense cover of the Rabnabad Islands and the parts of the Sundarbans that covered the Bakerganj coastline at that time gave way to cleared ground, and cleared ground gave way, eventually, to rice paddies and homesteads. The land that is now Kuakata, Kalapara, and Rangabali took its first agricultural shape under Rakhine hands.

A weaver working at a handloom in a Rakhine village in Barguna’s Taltali upazila. Today, weaving and the sale of traditional textiles and handicrafts have become among the few remaining sources of income. File Photo: Star

The disappearing descendants
More than two centuries on, the descendants of those first forest-clearers are still here, in the same paras their ancestors carved out of a wild, unfamiliar terrain. But the forest the Rakhines once cleared has, in many ways, closed back in around them through a slow erosion of their land, language, and standing.

“Once Kalapara, Taltoli, Kuakata, and Amtali in present-day Patuakhali and Barguna were almost entirely Rakhine. They had a population of over 50,000; now barely 2,200 remain across the whole region,” said Sanjeeb Drong, General Secretary of the Bangladesh Indigenous People’s Forum. “Over the last 250 years, the population should have grown, but instead it has declined sharply because of rampant land grabbing and systematic marginalisation. Many returned to Arakan, some moved to Dhaka, and others were lost to floods and other natural disasters.”

The scale of the Rakhines’ former presence is reflected in J.C. Jack’s 1918 account, which noted that they were “chiefly found at Barguna, Nishanbaria, South Teakhali, Char Chapli, Lata Chapli, Bara Bagi, Chhota Bagi, Lalua, Baliatali, Dhulashar, Bara Baishdia, Raugabali, Khapra-bhanga and Chakamaia,” adding that “the Maghs are interesting people. They are excellent reclaimers of the forest...”

Today, only 44 Rakhine villages remain in the area: 27 in Kalapara, 13 in Taltoli and Barguna Sadar, and four in Rangabali. Maung Miya, Land and Case Monitoring Officer at the Caritas Barishal Regional Office, said, “In Barguna district, particularly in Kalapara and Taltoli upazilas, the Rakhine population is declining alarmingly. In Kalapara, there are now only 1,169 people from 306 families. In Taltoli, there are only about 1,000 people.”

What began as a story of settlement has become, in recent decades, one of displacement and attrition: land lost to forged documents, colonial-era laws still wielded against them, and a wider pattern of marginalisation that extends into every aspect of their lives.

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Much of this Rakhine burial ground in Kuakata’s Latachaplee area has been encroached upon by local influential individuals under the guise of tourism expansion. This is not an isolated case. Numerous lands belonging to the indigenous community in Kuakata and Barguna have met the same fate. The photograph was taken in May 2022. File Photo: Star

Losing the spiritual and the material
For the Rakhines, land is not merely an asset; it is a sacred tapestry woven with temples, reserved ponds, and cremation grounds. Traditionally, each Rakhine “palli” (village) is built around a Buddhist monastery and a holy pond used for ritual purification. These sacred spaces have long been under threat, with encroachment and occupation taking place with widespread impunity.

“Due to various kinds of forgery and document fraud, 90–95% of the Rakhines have lost their lands,” said Maung Miya of Caritas Barishal, adding that ownership records in nearly 26–27 of the remaining Rakhine pallis have been forged. Community members say forged land cases have even been filed in the names of deceased village headmen years after their deaths, allowing courts to transfer land to occupiers before families were even aware that legal proceedings had taken place.

With land lost, they are losing their spiritual ground as well. Caritas data show that only 13–14 functioning temples with resident monks remain in the region where the community can continue its religious practices. “Even 10–15 years ago, there were temples in almost every Rakhine village,” according to Maung.

Reserved ponds, once carefully maintained for worship and ritual purification, are also disappearing. Many have been contaminated or leased to non-Rakhine settlers, creating tensions within the community. In several villages, traditional cremation grounds have been encroached upon, with outsiders planting crops on land where generations of Rakhines once performed funeral rites.

“Every Rakhine community has its own cremation ground, which can only be used by the people of that particular village. However, in Kalapara and Taltoli, we can see serious problems. The Rakhines in Kuakata no longer have their own cremation ground. If someone dies there, they have to conduct the funeral rites by the seaside,” said Aung Cho San, a member of the community.

The community’s religious life also faces more subtle disruptions. Bengali outsiders and tourists frequently enter temples during prayer hours, creating noise that breaks the silence required for meditation. The influx of curious visitors often hampers the community’s observance of rituals according to their ancestral customs.

The loss of land has also reshaped how they make a living. Once primarily engaged in farming, Rakhine families used to cultivate paddy, potatoes, and vegetables on their ancestral lands while supplementing their incomes through trades and businesses. As land has steadily disappeared due to encroachment, salinity, and natural disasters, they have had to shift their livelihood strategies as well.

Today, weaving and the sale of traditional textiles and handicrafts have become among the few remaining sources of income. Some also run small shops and tea stalls, while others earn a living by fishing or catching crabs in nearby rivers. Rakhine women, the primary custodians of the weaving tradition, produce traditional shawls and bags during the winter season. Yet the craft itself is increasingly under pressure because of a lack of institutional support.

Moreover, the near-total absence of formal credit prevents most families from expanding their modest businesses. Government bank loans remain largely out of reach. Although some households are able to access informal loans through NGOs, such support is neither guaranteed nor sufficient. Government assistance for fishing, which could feasibly be extended to the entire community given how small the population now is, is distributed only partially.

The economic decline has had consequences far beyond household incomes. It has accelerated migration, weakened community networks, and left families with fewer resources to preserve their language, traditions, and cultural institutions. The loss of land has become the loss of an entire way of life for the Rakhine.

Exotification, mistrust and lack of political representation
The growing tourism industry in Kuakata has become a double-edged sword: the “exotified” view of the Rakhine. While tourism provides some market for traditional handlooms, it has disrupted the community’s privacy and cultural integrity. Rakhine villages are often treated as open-air museums for tourists to wander through without restriction, interrupting the community’s private social life.

A 2021 study indicates that the Rakhines are increasingly reluctant to discuss the threats they face with outsiders. Living in a state of mistrust with the wider society, they often fear that disclosing discrimination will only make them more vulnerable to further violence or legal harassment. This social isolation is further reinforced by a majoritarian political culture in which their representation is virtually non-existent.

Older members of the community remember a time when the Rakhines had a political voice, but that space has steadily disappeared over the past few decades. “There was a time when the Rakhines had political representation,” said Adivasi human rights activist Myentthein Promila. “In my own family, my maternal grandfather served as a member and chairman around 1965. Even in what is now Kuakata, then part of the larger Latachapli Union, my mother’s maternal uncle served as chairman.”

According to Promila, from the 1960s until the mid-1970s, Rakhine representatives held elected local offices. During the British period, according to her, community leaders were entrusted with responsibilities such as tax collection and local panchayat administration. “Even around 1970, one of my uncles, who also participated in the Language Movement in 1952, contested the parliamentary election under the NAP’s ‘Kureghar’ (hut) symbol. But if we look at the fifty years since independence, this representation has virtually disappeared,” she said.

The decline, she argues, coincided with demographic changes that transformed the region’s electoral landscape. “After independence, due to the growth of the Bengali population and its electoral dominance, the situation changed,” she said. “Now there are hardly any Rakhine representatives, even at the level of local government members.”

Without political representation, they have essentially lost an important avenue through which they could seek protection or justice, particularly in disputes over land. Promila believes this marginalisation is closely tied to the influence of local power structures. “Influential groups and local power networks often emerge within the majority population,” she explained. “There is also the issue of being a minority, combined with economic weakness and the inability to secure political representation.”

The consequences extend well beyond electoral politics. Research published in 2026 has found that decades of land dispossession have fundamentally reshaped the community’s sense of security. Repeated land disputes and legal battles have fostered deep psychological distress and eroded trust not only in neighbours but also in state institutions. Many Rakhines say they no longer believe the courts or local administration will protect their rights, even where legal safeguards exist on paper.

That insecurity has also altered how many engage with public life. Speaking out, pursuing justice, or becoming politically visible can carry risks in an environment where many already feel outnumbered and unprotected. As a result, some choose silence over confrontation, withdrawing from politics in the hope of avoiding further conflict.

State vs. Rakhine
The fundamental challenge facing the community is perhaps the structural violence perpetuated by the state and its allies. Experts describe this as “accumulation by dispossession”, where state-backed development projects and market growth repeatedly seize land and resources from the minority. A striking example is the construction of the Payra Port, which resulted in the eviction of six Rakhine families from Chho-Ani Para. Despite promises of compensation, these families reportedly received very little. “A non-Rakhine produced forged documents to withdraw around BDT 3 crore. The actual owners barely received anything,” said Maung Miya of Caritas Barishal.

The legal system rarely provides a refuge. Instead, it is often weaponised against them, enabling politically influential individuals to seize land and secure court verdicts in favour of the occupiers. Lacking the financial capacity or political influence to navigate a court system that can drag on for decades, many Rakhines are forced to surrender their land simply to survive.

The state’s neglect is further evidenced by a total lack of social safety nets for the Rakhine community. Members report having no access to government old-age allowances, disability benefits, or support programmes for marginalised women, such as the Vulnerable Group Development (VGD) programme. This exclusion is often attributed to their minority status and the indifference of the local administration.

Healthcare is similarly difficult to access. Transport infrastructure within the villages is severely underdeveloped, with few paved roads connecting the Rakhine settlements. Most villages are situated along rivers or in remote areas, making travel to healthcare facilities difficult and costly. “In Kuakata, for example, there is only one 20-bed hospital serving 14 Rakhine villages. For many residents in the Kalapara area, it is located 20 to 30 kilometres away,” said a local development worker. Many families, already pushed into poverty by the loss of land, simply cannot afford treatment or the transport needed to reach it.

The decay of language and culture
The linguistic heritage of the Rakhines is also under threat of extinction. There is virtually no government support for preserving the Rakhine language. Buddhist monasteries once served as centres for teaching the language, but they are no longer active. Today, only around 12 or 13 Buddhist monks remain across the two districts.

Filmmaker and cultural worker Aung Rakhine recalled learning the language through a monastery-based system that existed alongside mainstream schooling. “The Rakhine language was taught in Buddhist monasteries outside the formal education system. But now there is no government funding or initiative for that, and it depends solely on individual efforts.”

As a result, the younger generation is no longer able to learn the language properly. At the same time, they increasingly view Bangla as the only pathway to higher education and employment, accelerating the decline of their mother tongue. Yet many Rakhine children begin school without understanding Bangla, placing them at an unequal starting point compared with their Bengali peers. Community members say appointing Rakhine teachers in schools near Rakhine villages would significantly ease this transition.

Their cultural traditions have also steadily faded. “In our childhood, there used to be boat races and many traditional Rakhine games and cultural events,” recalled a community member. Today, boat races and wrestling competitions have disappeared. Traditional Rakhine folk theatre (jatra), once staged annually in almost every village with its own musicians and performers, has also vanished.

According to a local official, “There are Rakhine cultural academies in Kuakata and Taltoli, but they exist only in name. The buildings have been abandoned for years. Since their inauguration, there has been virtually no cultural activity there.”

The future of an “invisible minority”
The Rakhines of the coastal Barishal region are currently struggling for their very existence. They are caught between a rising tide of environmental vulnerability and a crushing wave of socio-political marginalisation.

The government should formally demarcate and protect Rakhine villages, cremation grounds, and Buddhist monasteries. These lands should be officially mapped and handed over to the Rakhine communities, clearly establishing their ownership. The reserved ponds, which are often leased to non-Rakhine individuals, should be leased to Rakhines on a priority basis. Experts also recommend that the upazila or district administration meet with the heads of Rakhine villages every few months to better understand their concerns, helping to prevent disputes and reduce legal complications.

Historian Vazira Zamindar, writing about the aftermath of the 1947 Partition, argued that displacement is rarely a single event. Rather, it is a long process, built through property laws, documentation regimes, and bureaucratic categories that slowly make people strangers in their own land. The Rakhines of Patuakhali and Barguna would recognise the description, even though no border was formally drawn through their paras. Without immediate intervention and the enforcement of constitutional protections, this unique community will continue to vanish.

Miftahul Jannat is a journalist at The Daily Star. She can be reached at [email protected].

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