In the bustling alleys of Dhaka, the winding roads of Chattogram and the fast-urbanising zones of Rajshahi and Sylhet, thousands of young workers — on bicycles, motorcycles or, even, on foot — move swiftly to deliver food, parcels and ride-hailing services. No single company employs them, but they work through digital platforms such asÌýPathao, Uber, Foodpanda, Daraz, Shohoz, Foodi, Redx, Truck Lagbe, Steadfast. etc. Whether it is driving passengers across the city or delivering online orders to doorsteps, the app-based services operate entirely on flexible, task-based arrangements. Ride-sharing giants such as Uber and Pathao, in particular, epitomise the gig work model, where drivers use their vehicles, bear their costs and receive no employment benefits. Once considered marginal or supplemental, this form of labour has now become a central fixture in the urban economy.
The gig economy in Bangladesh has experienced a significant growth in 2025. The ride-sharing industry alone is estimated to be worth $259 million and it is expected to grow to $1 billion in five to seven years. Furthermore, Bangladesh is home to nearly 14 per cent of all freelancers worldwide, underscoring its substantial contribution to the global gig economy. The numbers demonstrate the importance of gig workers in Bangladesh’s economy and the necessity of having laws in place that value and safeguard their contribution.
Gig workers are not recognised, protected or have any recourse because the labour laws are still based on the industrial paradigm of long-term contracts and stable employers. A specific platform labour act is urgently needed to identify, acknowledge and safeguard gig workers operating in the expanding digital economy. In addition to providing clarification on gig worker’s legal status, such a law should guarantee that they are afforded fundamental labour rights, including equitable compensation, safety safeguards and the capacity to form an organisation.
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Legal fiction of flexibility
THE term ‘gig worker’ may sound modern, but it revives a long-standing legal dilemma: who qualifies as a ‘worker’ under the law? Traditionally, the labour law draws a firm distinction between employees, who receive job security and legal protection, and independent contractors, who do not. Platforms such as Uber, Pathao and Foodpanda exploit this divide by classifying riders and drivers as self-employed, thereby avoiding certain obligations. They claim that workers control their own time and tools, yet in practice, algorithms assign tasks, evaluate performance, set pay and enforce compliance — forms of control that resemble conventional employment. This misclassification is not accidental. It underpins the platform economy. By denying a formal status, companies avoid responsibilities such as minimum wage, sick leave and social security. The International Labour Organisation estimates that a reclassification could raise labour costs by 25 to 30 per cent. Legal ambiguity here is not confusion. It is a deliberate strategy to avoid accountability.
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Global jurisprudence
COURTS in different jurisdictions have begun to question the legitimacy of this structure. In the United Kingdom, the Supreme Court’s 2021 judgement in Uber BV versus Aslam (2021) was a landmark. It acknowledged that even without a fixed schedule, Uber exerted enough control to classify drivers as ‘workers’ under the law, entitling them to minimum wage and paid leave. California’s AB5 Law, also known as the gig worker bill, attempted similar reform but faced a fierce rollback. These battles show that the fight for recognition is not only legal, it is also political and ideological.
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Bangladesh’s silence
IN BANGLADESH, however, the law’s silence is conspicuous. The Labour Act 2006 was drafted in a world where work meant garments, construction or public services, not algorithms and apps. Gig workers, therefore, fall into a legal limbo. Neither the Labour Rules 2015 nor any subsequent amendments acknowledge platform-based labour. In practice, this means gig workers have no recourse to labour courts, no right to unionise and no protection under the minimum wage board. Yet, the economic significance of their work continues to grow.
Proponents of gig platforms often highlight flexibility. Workers can set their hours, take breaks or go offline. But this apparent freedom masks economic necessity. A food delivery driver from Dhaka says, ‘I never know how much I’ll make at the end of the day. Some days are good. On others, I’m left wondering why my earnings drop.’ Another ride-hailing driver from Chattogram says, ‘I try to work when surge pricing is high, but that doesn’t always happen.’ Income tied to unpredictable algorithms and ratings turns ‘choice’ into an illusion. This opacity systematically disempowers workers and shields platforms from accountability, undermining fairness and informed consent. Flexibility becomes a euphemism for risk transfer, where instability is passed to those with the least power, disguised as autonomy.
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Why misclassification is no accident
THE ambiguity surrounding gig workers’ legal status is intentional. Platforms deliberately classify workers as ‘independent contractors’ to avoid responsibilities such as providing paid sick leave or adhering to minimum wage standards. One food delivery worker says, ‘When I was injured, I couldn’t work for days, but they didn’t pay me a thing. I was told I’m an independent contractor. So, they had no responsibility.’ Platforms save significant costs by avoiding employment obligations. According to the International Labour Organisation, re-classifying gig workers could increase costs by 25–30 per cent, which is why platforms resist reforms. This mis-classification is not a legal oversight. It is a deliberate business strategy to avoid accountability for controlling workers.
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Localising international principles
THERE is growing international consensus on the need for regulating gig work although global approaches remain far from uniform. The International Labour Organisation has proposed minimum guarantees — safe working conditions, fair pay and access to redress — regardless of employment status. While these principles are commendable, they must be adapted to local realities and contexts. In Bangladesh, where informal labour dominates, reforms should strike a balance between flexibility and protection. Directly transplanting western models may prove ineffective or even counterproductive. Legal reforms must be shaped by context, not imposed in abstraction.
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Case for national platform for labour law
WHAT Bangladesh needs is not piecemeal reform but a new legal architecture— a platform labour (regulation and protection) act. Such legislation must begin by clearly defining platform work and prohibiting forced misclassification of workers. It should mandate minimum protection: occupational safety, transparency in algorithmic decision-making and dispute resolution forums. Crucially, it must guarantee the right to organise, whether through digital unions or platform councils. Legal scholars such as De Stefano and Aloisi have argued that rights should follow the worker, not the contract.Ìý Bangladesh would do well to adopt that principle.
Another overlooked dimension is data. Gig workers generate vast amounts of data — locations, performance metrics and customer feedback — yet have no control over how it is used. Platforms can penalise them based on opaque criteria or even sell aggregate data to third parties. A meaningful regulatory response must include provisions for data rights: transparency, correction and limited use. Without this, platforms exercise a kind of invisible control that eludes both workers and regulators.
Ultimately, the question is not only legal but also ethical. Are we willing to accept a future where millions work without security, protection or recognition simply because their labour is mediated through a screen? Or, will we insist that dignity remains a non-negotiable principle of employment, whatever its form is? The answer lies not in avoiding innovation, but in guiding it. Gig work is here to stay. Our legal frameworks must evolve not to stifle but to humanise it.
Either we code justice into the platform or we let the algorithm write the rules of exploitation. The gig economy cannot run on invisible hands and invisible rights. We must decide: will workers be gears in a silent machine or voices in a living constitution? If the law stays mute, the algorithm will speak for us all.
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Joydeep Chowdhury is a lecturer in law a Sonargaon University.
