Battery-run rickshaws are easy to dislike. Mere minutes on social media is enough to see how intense the public backlash these days against them has become. These vehicles clog up lanes designated for faster traffic. Their drivers seem to understand only two things, twisting the handle and pulling forward, while everything else on the road becomes someone else's problem. An even more pressing concern is the use of narcotics by some drivers. Passengers are often unaware of this impairment until they have already climbed aboard and have to spend the rest of the ride bracing for whatever comes next.
This frustration has also spilled over to the streets from social media. Last week, Gulshan Society organised a public gathering demanding action against battery-run rickshaws and relief from the congestion they create. Among the demands was the complete removal of these vehicles from the roads, along with alternative livelihoods for their drivers. From time to time, the authorities also launch drives to clear auto-rickshaws from the streets. But these efforts are usually localised and occur in sporadic bursts rather than as a sustained campaign. In Mohammadpur, for instance, the state minister for primary and mass education, who also happens to be the local member of parliament, ordered a crackdown. The drive removed a number of the vehicles along with the charging equipment and electrical connections that power them.
Legally speaking, the case against these vehicles is strong. Battery-run rickshaws are illegal under the Road Transport Act of 2018 which bans battery- or motor-powered rickshaws, vans and similar three-wheelers. In November 2024, the High Court directed the authorities to take administrative measures to stop illegal battery-run rickshaws and easy-bikes in metropolitan areas and on highways. The order triggered protests by drivers across the country, including road and railway blockades. A Supreme Court chamber judge later ordered a status quo on the High Court directive, granting the drivers temporary relief.
Even from a purely technical standpoint, the operation of these vehicles without licensing or permits makes little sense. Untrained drivers weaving through fast-moving traffic on Dhaka's roads and highways, ignoring whatever lane discipline exists, produce accidents on a regular basis. Most of these rickshaws do not even carry a rear-view mirror, so drivers switch lanes with no real awareness of what is coming from behind. This is a genuine road-safety concern that cannot be brushed aside.
The question then arises why battery rickshaws keep multiplying instead of disappearing despite so many difficulties and so much opposition. The simple answer is intense demand. The majority of people avoid pedal rickshaws the moment motorised options turn up. Even the officials responsible for enforcing the law can often be seen using battery rickshaws for their daily commute. In a city where buses are overcrowded and walking long distances is hard in heat and rain, battery rickshaws fill a gap that no other mode fills as easily. Denial of that would mean denial of what happens on the streets themselves.
But there is something more serious underneath all this, something that goes beyond public convenience. The proliferation of these vehicles is also a reflection of the country's economic troubles. Jobs are scarce, inflation is high and most people earn a living however they can whether through a footpath stall or an auto-rickshaw. Official counts of these vehicles are hard to find, but CPD estimates put the national total at up to six million. Other estimates place the figure for Dhaka alone between 1.5 and 2.0 million, and the national total closer to 10 million. In a country of 160 million people, this means somewhere between six and 10 million livelihoods depend directly on the sector.
The magnitude of the problem becomes even clearer when compared with the limited employment opportunities available elsewhere. Good jobs are nowhere to be found for the millions of unemployed people. Government positions are limited while private companies have little room to create new jobs as they struggle with high borrowing costs, energy shortages and weak business conditions. Foreign-funded organisations are also not creating jobs at the pace they once did. Established banks and businesses provide some decent positions, but they cannot employ even one per cent of the people who need work. Just recently, a World Bank report noted that as many as 600,000 people could lose their existing jobs this year.
Against this harsh economic backdrop, administrative calls for sweeping bans on electric rickshaws are highly counterproductive. Such a move would inevitably turn public frustration towards the government itself. Public representatives and officials advocating action against these drivers rarely explain what would happen to them if their livelihoods were taken away. Nor do they offer any realistic alternative employment. This amounts to little more than a cheap political exercise aimed at appeasing the urban middle class and diverting attention from broader failures in economic management.
Not long ago, the state minister for LGRD and cooperatives announced a plan to ban these vehicles from main roads while allowing them on inner roads under strict registration limits and specific design standards. How much of this can realistically be implemented remains an open question. The country has a long history of drafting rules that look impressive on paper and then fail to enforce them consistently. This does not mean the current chaos on the roads should be allowed to continue indefinitely. The vehicles must be permitted to operate, but under strict discipline. Drivers need clear rules on which roads and lanes they may use, where they can stop, how they should turn and how they must behave around larger vehicles.
More importantly, driving under the influence is already a punishable offence, and operating a rickshaw while under the influence of drugs puts lives at risk just as much as any other form of dangerous driving. Proper drug testing and enforcement should therefore be part of the regulatory system. Licensing drivers would help as well, not only by making enforcement easier but also by creating a potential source of government revenue. With genuine political will, bringing order to urban roads is entirely possible without destroying livelihoods. The same people who drive rickshaws here often follow strict rules when they work abroad as migrant workers. If discipline can be maintained on foreign soil, there is no reason why the same cannot be done on roads in the native land.
