Border That Bleeds: Parvez Ahmad Rony’s floating crusade against border killings

In the stagnant waters of the Korail Slum lake, seven massive frames bob gently against the backdrop of one of Dhaka's most densely populated settlements.

They look like billboards. Up close, they reveal fences, bodies, borders and the nightmare that has haunted the 4,000-kilometre periphery between India and Bangladesh for decades.

This is Border That Bleeds, the latest instalment of photojournalist Parvez Ahmad Rony's unconventional, peripatetic exhibition. These photos have the smell of death and the piercing gaze of those who have lost everything to the bullets of the Indian Border Security Force (BSF).

"My work is deeply human-centered and they constantly questions power — it questions India, it questions how, despite repeated commitments, lethal weapons are still used along the Bangladesh border," Rony said, "and after each killing, there is hardly any explanation, only a display of power, a kind of arrogance."

Born and raised in Sylhet, Rony grew up in the shadow of the Jaintapur border, fascinated by the "mysterious and thrilling world" of boonga — the informal cross-border trade of betel leaves, sugar, and cattle. 

However, the adventure of his youth curdled into a grim reality in 2012. He recalls watching exhausted cows being pushed down from Indian hills. When a beast collapsed from fatigue, traders didn't see a living creature; they saw a product. They dragged it violently and slaughtered it on the spot. 

"That scene deeply triggered me," Rony admits. "It was the starting point."  From cattle, his lens naturally drifted toward the humans caught in the same machinery of profit and violence.

A protest on the move

Rony's journey with such projects has been a series of unconventional, public-facing installments that began as a response to the political climate of early 2020. During the anti-Modi protests at Dhaka University, Rony reached out to student leader Nasiruddin Patwary, who was staging a long-term sit-in at the Raju Sculpture. 

In a show of solidarity, Rony held his first informal exhibition there on International Women's Day, choosing the date to honour the memory of Felani Khatun, who was just a teenager when she was shot and killed in 2011.

Later that year, Rony expanded his reach by joining activist Hanif Bangladeshi, who was marching across the country with a symbolic corpse to protest border killings. Rony walked with him from Gaibandha to Rangpur, documenting the journey and sharing the activist's message via social media.

By 2021, the project moved from urban centres to the intimate spaces of the victims themselves, starting with an installation in Felani's own courtyard on the anniversary of her death. 

This was followed in 2022 by an exhibition at the home of another victim, Bipul, in Patgram, and a subsequent display in the local village market. 

In 2023, Rony returned to Dhaka's Rabindra Sarobar, where he engaged the public through name tags representing the deceased, before moving to the elite space of Justice Shahabuddin Park in 2025 to directly confront urban policymakers with these uncomfortable border stories.

Beyond the "smuggler" label

Rony's work is a direct challenge to the urban apathy that defines the Bangladeshi middle class's relationship with the border. 

According to data from Odhikar, approximately 1,356 Bangladeshi citizens were killed at the border between 2000 and 2025. In the media, these victims are almost always flattened into a single, derogatory word: smuggler. 

"We scroll through headlines: 'Smuggler killed in Hili,' 'Smuggler killed in Romari,'" Rony said. "But 80% of the investment for this trade comes from Dhaka. The cattle end up in Gabtoli; the cosmetics end up in Gulshan dressing tables. We use the goods, someone else risks their life to bring them, and when they die, we call them criminals." 

This hypocrisy is why Rony refuses to hang his work in traditional galleries. To him, galleries are "polished spaces that metaphorically wash the blood off people's hands."  They normalise injustice by making it aesthetically pleasing.

Instead, he takes the images to the people. 

He has exhibited in the courtyard of Felani Khatun's home – whose hanging corpse on a barbed-wire fence became a symbol of border brutality – and in the yard of Bipul, another victim of the BSF. Since its inception in 2020, Border That Bleeds took place from Raju Sculpture at Dhaka University to the elite walkways of Justice Shahabuddin Park. 

The weight of the frame

When asked why choosing Korail lake this year, Roni explained how the current installation in Korail is strategic. Korail is the "engine room" of the city; it houses the drivers, cleaners, and technicians who sustain the elite of Gulshan. By floating the images on the lake between these two worlds, Rony forces a confrontation.

The repetition of the seven photographs is intentional. Rony wants the public to ‘memorise’ these images until they are as recognisable as a national monument.

"I want to tell one community's story through another," he explained. "If someone hears there is an exhibition floating on water in Korail, perhaps the word 'Korail' and the word 'border' will meet in their minds for a few seconds. Change begins in those few seconds." 

The repetition of the seven photographs is also intentional. Rony wants the public to "memorise" these images until they are as recognisable as a national monument.  

He recalls a moment on a boat when a man pointed to a photograph and said, "This is a border image. I know this." For Rony, that recognition is the only metric of success that matters to him. 

The emotional toll of documentation

However, thirteen years of documenting border killings has left deep scars. Rony speaks of a "numbness" that sets in when death becomes too easy, too frequent. He describes the frantic, "drug-like" compulsion to rush to remote borders – Panchagarh, Thakurgaon, Banglabandha – the moment he hears a body is being handed over. 

The work is a logistical and emotional nightmare. He recalls waiting until 1:30am for the BSF to return the body of a murdered boy named Joyonto.  He remembers the father of a victim who recognised him from a previous funeral where Rony had struggled to fly a drone. The father told him, "I kept praying that my son would never be killed, but today you are here at my house to take his pictures."

"Statements like that are extremely difficult to handle," Rony said. "We return to Dhaka, we laugh, we eat, but these experiences leave marks." 

A lifelong commitment

What started as a project has morphed into a "lifelong commitment." Rony is now working on a book — not a conventional coffee-table book, but a "contextual" archive of the state's narrative and the victims' lived realities. He spends his commutes in CNGs talking to drivers from border regions, constantly seeking feedback, constantly refining the story. 

As the monsoon approaches and the winter fades, the photographs of Border That Bleeds continue to float on the Korail Lake. They are weathered by the sun and splashed by the polluted water, mirroring the resilience and the neglect of the people they represent.

For the boatmen who navigate the lake, the images have become part of the landscape. They occasionally call Rony to tell him, "It's still there."  And as long as the killings continue, Parvez Ahmad Rony will ensure that the images – and the uncomfortable truths they carry – stay there too.