BANGLADESH is once again in the midst of a sweeping anti-drug campaign. Law enforcement agencies, including the Bangladesh Police and the Rapid Action Battalion, are conducting operations across cities and districts, arresting suspected dealers and users in what officials describe as a ‘zero tolerance’ drive. The stated goal is clear: protect communities from the scourge of drugs, particularly the spread of yaba and other synthetic substances that have devastated families and fuelled criminal networks.
Few would dispute the seriousness of the yaba problem. Methamphetamine pills, often trafficked across borders, are addictive, destructive, and frequently tied to organised crime. They destabilise neighbourhoods and exploit vulnerable young people. The state has a duty to dismantle these networks and hold traffickers accountable.
But in the urgency of this crackdown, Bangladesh must pause and ask a deeper question: Are we distinguishing wisely between different substances, different harms and different cultural contexts? Or are we applying a single punitive lens to a complex reality?
Cannabis occupies a unique place in Bengal’s history. For centuries, it has been woven into spiritual, cultural and medicinal traditions. Among Shaivite ascetics devoted to Shiva, cannabis was used in devotional practice and meditation. It appeared in rural folk remedies and seasonal rituals. During the colonial period, even the British East India Company regulated and taxed cannabis rather than banning it outright.
This is not an argument for romanticising substance use. It is an argument for historical honesty. Cannabis was not born as a criminal enterprise in Bengal; it was part of lived tradition. Its blanket criminalisation in South Asia emerged largely in the 20th century under international prohibition frameworks and global political pressures.
Today, the world is changing again. Countries such as Canada and Uruguay have legalised cannabis nationally. In the United States, states like California regulate it under strict licensing systems. Even parts of Europe are experimenting with decriminalisation or controlled markets. The global debate has shifted from punishment toward regulation, public health and economic pragmatism.
Bangladesh must not blindly imitate foreign models. Our social fabric, religious diversity and population density are distinct. But neither should we ignore global evidence or our own cultural memory.
The current anti-drug expeditions risk conflating two very different issues: violent trafficking networks dealing in synthetic narcotics, and small-scale cannabis possession or use, often by young people. When a teenager is arrested for minor possession, the consequences can last far beyond the incident. A criminal record can close doors to education, employment and social mobility. Instead of rehabilitation, we may be creating long-term marginalisation.
If enforcement resources are limited, and they always are, should they not be directed primarily at dismantling large trafficking syndicates? Should police power focus on those who profit from addiction, rather than on users who may need education or counselling?
There is also an economic dimension that cannot be ignored. Bangladesh is an agricultural nation. A regulated cannabis framework, if carefully designed, could provide income opportunities for farmers, generate tax revenue and reduce the profitability of black markets. Instead of enriching illicit networks, revenue could support public health, addiction treatment and youth programs.
Critics will argue that legalisation sends the wrong message. They will warn of increased use among young people. These concerns deserve serious consideration. But evidence from several jurisdictions suggests that regulation — with age limits, licensing, quality control and education — can actually reduce harm compared to uncontrolled illegal markets.
Legalisation is not the same as encouragement. Regulation is not the same as chaos.
What Bangladesh needs is nuance. We need to differentiate between cannabis and high-risk synthetic drugs. We need to distinguish between organised traffickers and experimental users. We need to invest in prevention and awareness, not only punishment.
A culturally rooted policy would acknowledge that cannabis has historical presence in Bengal, while still setting clear age restrictions and public health safeguards. It would ensure that youth are protected through education and family engagement. It would strengthen border security against yaba smuggling and intensify efforts against criminal syndicates.
Above all, it would shift the narrative from moral panic to strategic governance.
The current drug expedition sends a message of strength. But true strength in policymaking lies not only in force, it lies in wisdom. A nation confident in its identity does not need to erase its cultural history to protect its future.
Bangladesh stands at a crossroads. We can continue a broad punitive approach shaped by global prohibition models of the past. Or we can craft a modern policy that is firm against dangerous narcotics, intelligent about public health, respectful of cultural heritage and economically forward-looking.
Our youth deserve protection. Our farmers deserve opportunity. Our culture deserves acknowledgment. And our law enforcement deserves a strategy that maximizes impact rather than dispersing it.
The question is not whether Bangladesh should fight harmful drugs. It absolutely should.
The question is whether we will fight them wisely.
Anusheh Anadil is a singer and social activist.
