I am angry.

Not in the abstract, performative way we often express outrage after a headline.

I am angry because the same pattern keeps repeating, and we refuse to call it what it is.

Children in Bangladesh are not just vulnerable, they are consistently the primary victims of our social, institutional, and policy failures.

Look at the data and recent incidents side by side.

Children make up the overwhelming majority of rape victims. Not adults; children.

In February, a five-year-old madrasa student in Noakhali had to be placed under police protection after her teacher attempted to rape her.

In March, a 10-year-old in Kushtia was hospitalised with signs of sexual abuse, her condition critical.

In April, multiple cases emerged: attempted rape, intimidation of families, attacks on those who dared to file cases.

And then Netrokona. An 11-year-old madrasa student, pregnant after alleged rape by a teacher.

These are not isolated “once-a-month” incidents.

They are part of a pattern where children are repeatedly abused in spaces that are supposed to be safe -- educational institutions, religious settings, and within communities that claim moral authority.

At the same time, we continue to defend those very institutions.

We talk about reputation, respect, religion, and tradition. We talk about protecting systems. But we do not talk enough about protecting children.

There is a deeper contradiction that we refuse to confront. We speak out against child rape, often loudly and publicly.

Yet we continue to tolerate, justify, and even encourage child marriage.

If a child is forced into sex outside marriage, we call it a crime. If the same child is married off and subjected to the same act, we call it norm, necessity, or protection.

Child marriage removes the label of “crime” without removing the harm.

Girls are still being taken out of school and married off before completing their education. Many of them are pushed into early pregnancies, with long-term physical and psychological consequences.

When they are not married, they are often pushed into labour -- which too remains widespread.

Children are working in factories, workshops, homes, and informal sectors under conditions that are both hazardous and exploitative.

The same children we claim are “our future” are also the ones we are most willing to exploit. And when they are not being abused or exploited, they are being failed by the state.

The ongoing measles outbreak is a clear example.

This is not an unknown disease. It is preventable. Bangladesh has had a functioning immunisation system in the past.

Yet in recent weeks, the country has recorded hundreds of child deaths linked to measles and measles-like symptoms, with thousands of cases reported nationwide.

On May 4 alone, 17 children died within 24 hours.

This did not happen overnight -- it reflects gaps in vaccination coverage, delays in response, and failures in maintaining routine immunisation systems.

When procurement, planning, or delivery fails, the impact is not evenly distributed.

And it falls on children -- they are the ones who die of preventable diseases, they are the ones who suffer when systems weaken, and they are the ones who pay for delays, negligence, and mismanagement.

There is no corresponding urgency to ensure that children will be safe. We do not ensure safe institutions, we do not ensure consistent protection, we do not ensure functioning health systems, we do not ensure that girls can stay in school, we do not ensure children are not forced into labour.

Some questions become unavoidable.

Why does this society continue to demand more children when it cannot protect the ones already born?

Why do children consistently have to bear the consequences of decisions made by adults, institutions, and governments? And why do we continue to accept this as normal?

Until we are willing to answer these questions honestly, we need to stop repeating the phrase “children are the future” as if it reflects reality.

Because right now, it does not.