BANGLADESHI farmers today face a silent struggle. The very people who enrich this nation鈥檚 soil, whose sweat sustains our food security, have become the cruelest victims of state negligence. While the urban elite enjoy lavish comforts, stash wealth abroad, and wield political clout, the farmers in the fields cry out simply to save their crops.
The fertiliser crisis is no longer a mere market failure; it is a profound moral collapse. State responsibility has evaporated, administrative systems have crumbled and human conscience has decayed. Its severity is starkly visible: although the government fixes the price of urea fertiliser at Tk800, farmers are forced to pay up to Tk1,100. Dealers and distributors exploit official receipts to extract more, while the administration turns a blind eye. During crucial crop seasons, farmers queue for hours only to return empty-handed, as fertiliser consignments vanish into the black market or are smuggled across districts and borders under the cover of night.
A dangerous commercial cycle has emerged beyond state control, one in which the farmer鈥檚 sweat is converted into capital for profiteering traders. This is not merely an economic failure; it is administrative rot. The monitoring system of the Department of Agriculture has become dysfunctional, with field data distorted before it reaches the capital. District officials shirk responsibility, collude with dealers, and reduce government policy to paperwork. Field realities tell one story; reports tell another. The government insists there is no shortage, yet farmers cannot access fertiliser at the official rate. This is not just negligence, it is a quiet conspiracy that breaks the farmer鈥檚 back.
Bangladesh鈥檚 agriculture has reached a perilous stage where fertiliser, its most vital input, has become a political weapon for corrupt businessmen. No matter how much the development budget rises, farmers鈥� woes remain unsolved. Development flows upward, rarely downward. Farmers today feel alien in their own land. The worth of their labour is dictated by urban markets, while the means of production are trapped in the warehouses of traders.
On the one hand, the government trumpets an agricultural revolution; on the other, farmers drown in debt just to afford fertiliser. This is a fundamental failure of the state. A state that cannot protect its farmers cannot sustain genuine development. Agriculture is not merely an economic sector, it is a security concern. Food security is state security. Yet today鈥檚 fertiliser crisis reveals how we have severed agriculture from the main current of development, not only in policy, but in mentality.
Urban educated elites often trivialise rural labour, forgetting that their own lives rest upon it. Until this mental subjugation is dismantled, agriculture will never revive. What we see instead is an invisible syndicate 鈥� an unholy alliance of local politicians, influential businessmen, complicit officials and distributor networks 鈥� controlling the fertiliser market. They engineer artificial scarcity, inflate prices, mislead the government, and then demand new allocations as supposed solutions. This is corporate anarchy: a marketplace where policy-making is hostage to business interests and the farmer is reduced to a pawn sustaining others鈥� profits.
Each time agriculture is discussed in policy circles, the authentic voice of the farmer is silenced. Officials treat field data as mere numbers. One may report, 鈥楾here is no fertiliser shortage,鈥� while behind those figures lie thousands of farmers鈥� cries, hundreds of uncultivated fields, and a decline in food output. Deprived of fertiliser, farmers take loans, sell their land, or migrate to cities for day labour. Agriculture ceases to be viable, and the once-proud label 鈥楤angladesh is an agrarian country鈥� now rings hollow.
Economically, when the primary input of production slips beyond control, the entire system collapses. Fertiliser is that vital input. Without it, yields fall, farmers suffer, prices rise, and consumers ultimately pay the cost. The crisis extends far beyond the fields, it destabilises the national economy. Food security weakens, inflation grows, and social unrest festers. The state then resorts to imports, draining foreign reserves. Thus, the fertiliser crisis becomes a cascading economic disaster touching every stratum of society.
Global factors play their part, but they do not justify the scale of this crisis. When international raw material prices rise, production costs increase only modestly. Yet here, the escalation is grotesquely exaggerated. Powerful importers and business groups manipulate the government with fabricated scarcities, importing at inflated prices to secure profit. This manipulation is not only economic, it is a betrayal of governance itself.
The government should have established independent monitoring units to ensure transparency in fertiliser import and distribution. Instead, businessmen dominate the market while bureaucrats hide behind red tape. If the state truly wishes to safeguard agriculture, it must first ensure transparency. Digital monitoring of fertiliser distribution, tracking every bag from port to field, is essential. Dealers charging above the official rate should face immediate licence cancellation and legal action. Direct supply to farmers, perhaps through farmer ID cards guaranteeing fixed quotas, would reduce middlemen鈥檚 grip.
Yet the problem is not merely administrative or technological, it is moral. Society praises farmers in speeches but neglects them in practice. The urban elite dismiss their struggles, though their own comfort depends on them. This moral decay underpins our governance failure. Without rekindling a human sense of duty towards farmers, no sustainable solution will ever emerge.
Curbing unscrupulous business demands political will, yet these businessmen are deeply entwined with politics. Even when the government wishes to act, it finds its hands tied. This is state defeat: when administration bows to commerce and the farmer becomes the silent casualty. We often declare, 鈥業f the farmer survives, the nation survives.鈥� In reality, we do not let them survive. Billions are spent on subsidies and projects that rarely reach farmers鈥� hands. Development reports celebrate success, but for the farmers, 鈥榙evelopment鈥� means more debt, higher costs and deepening uncertainty.
The fertiliser crisis is not a seasonal disruption, it is a chronic disease of the system, where the powerful remain indifferent and the powerless remain voiceless. If the state does not awaken now, agriculture may reach an irreversible decline. Farmers will lose heart, fields will lie barren, rural economies will crumble, food prices will soar and eventually, the national economy will shudder.
The solution lies not in technology but in morality. The state must decide: will it stand with the farmers, or with the syndicate? Without respecting the sweat of those who feed the nation, no development is real or sustainable. Farmers are not mere producers, they are the lifeblood of the nation. To neglect them is to sever our own roots.
It is time for the government, the administration and society to awaken their conscience. Honour the farmer鈥檚 labour. Restore transparency to the fertiliser market. Punish those who profit from exploitation. Ensure fair distribution to every field. Because if the farmer perishes, the state cannot endure. Solving the fertiliser crisis is not just about protecting agriculture, it is about saving the nation鈥檚 very soul.
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Rafael Ahmed Shamim is a retired teacher and columnist.
