Crime on Dhaka’s streets steals more than your money

One evening, while returning from tuition, Tousif took a route he usually avoids. It is a stretch he has learned to be cautious about — poorly lit, loosely policed and long associated with petty crime. Still, it was only early evening. There were people around, traffic was moving, and taking the shortcut did not feel, at the time, like an unreasonable decision.

That assumption proved misplaced.

The incident itself was brief. It unfolded quickly, left little room for resistance, and ended almost as abruptly as it began. 

Within moments, he was without a phone he had bought only days earlier and the cash meant to last the rest of the month. He was not physically injured, and by the standards we have learned to accept, that alone counted as being "lucky".

What lingered, however, did not end there. 

The sense of uneasiness, and unsafety crept up on the days that followed. Not just the route, the entire city slowly felt unsafe to him. 

"It did not strike me at first. I accepted my fate, but social interactions became harder for me. I had to summon courage to ride public transport, or trust people at all," said Tousif. 

Many people, like Tousif, go through a similar experience after getting mugged. Initially calm, soon flashbacks begin to appear. The trauma the incident inflicts can eventually turn into social anxiety. 

Crimes like mugging, robbery, and murder take a heavy mental toll by creating a pervasive sense of insecurity in society. Recently, such incidents are regularly making headlines against the backdrop of political uncertainty.

In the first half of 2025, Dhaka Metropolitan Police recorded 248 robbery incidents and 121 murders across the city. This amounts to an average of more than 40 robberies and 20 murders per month. 

In Mohammadpur alone, police and intelligence lists identify 205 individuals actively involved in mugging and related crimes, with multiple cases registered against many of them.

Lack of accountability

Mugging victims often experience persistent social anxiety, marked by distrust of strangers and heightened alertness in public spaces. 

Even when the financial loss is manageable, the loss of a phone carries a deeper cost. In today's world, a smartphone holds an individual's digital identity. Without access to banking apps, personal data, and social media, he or she can feel functionally erased.

However, many victims who lose their belongings do not even approach the police. This reluctance is not driven by fear, but by a sense of futility. 

When victims do file a general diary (GD), confidence in the process remains low. Sahib Abdullah, a university student who has been mugged twice in the past three months, describes a growing sense of hopelessness and distrust toward law enforcement.

"After I lost my phone, people told me to file a complaint. I did, the first time. But when it happened again, I saw no point in doing that," Sahib said. "I knew they were not going to help. I was emotionally attached to the phone — the memories and data mattered more to me than the money."

Sahib's experience echoes a wider sentiment among victims. The repeated absence of accountability erodes faith not only in law enforcement, but in the social contract itself. Over time, this quiet disillusionment shapes larger life choices — among them, the decision to leave the country in search of a system where safety and justice feel less negotiable.

The opportunity cost of insecurity

Beyond the immediate financial loss, living in an unsafe city carries another, often overlooked cost: the opportunity cost of insecurity. Many people forego jobs, decline paid training or tuition-based courses, or avoid professional commitments simply because they involve night-time schedules or travel through unsafe routes. 

Beyond the immediate financial loss, living in an unsafe city carries another, often overlooked cost: the opportunity cost of insecurity. Many people forego jobs, decline paid training or tuition-based courses, or avoid professional commitments simply because they involve night-time schedules or travel through unsafe routes.

"I was offered a tuition job in Mohammadpur but I turned it down. No matter how attractive the pay, if my life is at risk, what use is the money?" said Monowar Hossain, a student of Dhaka University. 

These self-imposed curfews cut down working hours and limit job opportunities. In turn, it leaves a profound impact on the psyche of residents in a city where lawlessness prevails. When safety becomes a constraint on mobility and participation, an entire city pays the price. This loss of potential and productivity is difficult to quantify but deeply consequential.

Despite the fear and losses, people keep moving through the city. They change their routines, take extra precautions, and find ways to live with the constant threat in the background. Some avoid certain streets, skip night shifts, or refuse opportunities that require travel after dark. 

Their resilience is real, but it also exposes a hard truth: in a city where safety is never guaranteed, just getting through the day becomes a negotiation. 

Over time, this constant negotiation shapes not only individual behaviour but the character of the city itself. Productivity stalls, social trust erodes and the ambitions of a generation are quietly constrained. 

The potential of its people is limited, not by their will, but by the environment around them. Survival, in such conditions, becomes both a personal challenge and a measure of the city's failure to protect those who live within it.