IT BEGINS innocently enough. A young man, scrolling through social media, stumbles upon a bright, enticing advertisement. A national celebrity smiles warmly and offers him a dream: ‘Earn money from home without investment! Just play and win!’ One tap later, the world of online gambling unfurls before him, promising lakhs of taka for a few swipes and taps. Apps like CK444 have quietly but effectively woven themselves into the fabric of daily life in Bangladesh, exploiting the hopes and vulnerabilities of a generation.
The numbers tell a grim story. More than 3,500 gambling websites have been shut down by authorities in recent years, and more than a hundred have been arrested by law enforcement agencies. Yet the tide remains relentless. Every site closed is swiftly replaced, often through VPNs and encrypted apps, reappearing in new avatars faster than regulators can act. In March alone, CK444 was searched 95,000 times across the country, with traffic particularly high in Rangpur, Khulna, and Chittagong divisions.
The crisis is no longer one confined to a shadowy underworld. It has spilt onto the footpaths and marketplaces and into tea stalls and construction sites. Sidewalk vendors, CNG drivers, domestic workers, and security guards — ordinary working people — are now daily participants in a digital lottery that quietly drains their livelihoods. From wagers of a thousand taka to bets of ten thousand, their hopes are invested in algorithms they do not understand, their dreams carried away by a click and a prayer.
Sociologist Emile Durkheim once observed that times of social dislocation breed deviant behaviour. The surge of online gambling among Bangladesh’s youth seems a living testament to that idea. In a nation where unemployment remains stubbornly high and economic uncertainty grows, the lure of easy money becomes less a temptation and more a desperate need.
The High Court, alarmed by the worsening situation, has ordered the formation of an investigation committee to identify online gambling websites and advertisements and to track those involved. It has given the committee 90 days to report back, a bold and necessary step, though many wonder whether action will be swift enough to counter a problem growing at digital speed.
Following the court’s order, Faiz Ahmed Tayyab, special assistant of the interim government on posts, telecommunications, and IT, recently wrote a stern warning on Facebook. He assured that the new Cyber Security Act, expected to pass soon, would criminalise online gambling. He warned mobile banking services and financial institutions to remain vigilant, noting with concern the irregular, pooled, and one-way cash flows that characterise gambling transactions. It is an open secret that many of these transactions, funnelling through bKash, Nagad, and other mobile financial services, remain largely unchecked.
The scale of the crisis is staggering. An estimate during the last government suggested that around five million Bangladeshis are engaged in online gambling. India Today reported last year that illegal online gambling in the region generated around 100 billion dollars annually — a figure that hints at how much is at stake and how deeply intertwined the networks of profit and addiction have become.
The psychological trap is well understood. Behavioural scientist BF Skinner demonstrated that intermittent rewards — the random reinforcement gamblers receive when they win — create stronger addictions than predictable rewards. Gambling apps exploit this ruthlessly, ensuring that even devastating losses are masked by occasional, intoxicating wins that lure players back into the cycle.
Albert Camus wrote that the absurd is born from the confrontation between human need and an unfeeling world. The addiction to online gambling among Bangladeshi youth can be seen as a similar confrontation — between genuine aspirations and a system that offers few real pathways to prosperity. For millions, placing a bet offers a fleeting illusion of control in lives otherwise governed by uncertainty.
It is no wonder that many young men describe gambling as an addiction they cannot escape. One such gambler from Bagerhat confessed, ‘This is a kind of addiction. It is very difficult to get out of it. I win, I lose, but I play again.’ Another noted that ‘every upazila has people hooked’, with some turning to petty crime to fund their betting habits.
Transparency International Bangladesh has previously called for an immediate ban on online gambling advertising, warning of the grave social consequences if the spread continues unchecked. Despite clear Supreme Court directives, the response from regulatory bodies has been sluggish, if not indifferent.
There is a grim irony to this situation. In 2019, when law enforcement agencies raided illegal casinos in Dhaka, there was national outrage. The scandal was supposed to be a turning point. Instead, the casino culture simply migrated online, finding in smartphones and cheap internet a new, almost unstoppable frontier.
Today, gambling addiction is no longer hidden in the neon-lit backrooms of clubs but thrives silently in millions of pockets. Every cheap smartphone becomes a portal not just to entertainment but to financial ruin.
The human cost of this phenomenon cannot be overstated. For the poor and the working class, the impact is catastrophic. Already burdened by low wages, insecure jobs, and rising costs of living, losing even a few thousand taka can mean missing a child’s school fees, going hungry for a few days, or falling into a debt trap. For a class of people with little margin for error, gambling offers nothing but devastation.
And yet, the marketing continues, often disguised as harmless games or financial opportunities, blurring the line between entertainment and exploitation. When success stories are paraded on social media without context, and the state machinery reacts only sporadically, the message to the vulnerable is clear: hope lies not in work, but in wagers.
Ultimately, online gambling in Bangladesh is not simply a question of law enforcement or cybersecurity. It is a reflection of a deeper malaise — a profound crisis of opportunity and trust. As philosopher Jean Baudrillard warned, in a hyperreal world, simulations of hope replace real hope. Online gambling is just such a simulation: a glittering mirage that leads only to greater despair.
The government’s current moves to criminalise and regulate cyber gambling are necessary, but they must also be accompanied by a broader rethinking of how opportunity, security, and ambition are distributed across society. Without real alternatives, no amount of regulation will stem the desperate desire to gamble for a better life.
Until then, Bangladesh will remain a nation of reluctant gamblers, spinning wheels in a game they cannot win — not because they are foolish, but because they are trapped.
And each day, with every tap on a screen, another future quietly slips away.
Ìý
HM Nazmul Alam is an academic, journalist, and political analyst based in Dhaka.
