How many more must die before we act on factory fire disasters?

Infographic: TBS

On Tuesday morning in Mirpur's Shialbari, Nazmul Islam's final words to his wife came through a trembling voice note. "Nasima, the factory is on fire… save me." Within moments, the line went off. Nasima is still looking for her husband — yet to find him.   

Sixteen-year-old Muna Akter had started a new job just three days ago, dreaming of a better life with her husband, whom she married six months earlier. Her dead body was identified by her sister by the pink salwar kameez she had worn that morning. 

The fire broke out around 11:30am after a loud explosion inside an illegal chemical warehouse. Within minutes, toxic white smoke and flames spread to the adjacent five-storey building that housed several small garment printing units. Twelve firefighting teams were deployed, but the blaze had already reached its peak stage when they arrived. Workers trapped inside lost consciousness almost instantly as poisonous fumes filled the building. Those who ran upstairs found the roof door bolted with two padlocks. 

The tragedy was a structural failure — an avoidable disaster born out of years of regulatory indifference and unchecked illegal operations. We keep hearing about 'never again' kind of promises and 'fire safety' after each incident, and then, after a few days, all those promises and pledges sail into oblivion.  

The factory where Nazmul worked had no fire safety clearance, no trade licence and no occupancy certificate. The chemical warehouse beside it had no authorisation to exist in a residential area. Yet, these establishments operated openly for years in the heart of Mirpur, just a few minutes from a busy main road.

This pattern is neither new nor surprising. Fifteen years ago, the Nimtoli fire exposed the lethal consequences of storing flammable chemicals in residential areas. In 2012, the Tazreen Fashions fire left 112 workers dead after they were trapped behind locked doors. In 2021, 54 workers died in the Hashem Foods factory fire in Rupganj because they could not escape. Each time, the flames burnt through lives, the public mourned, investigations were initiated, and regulators pledged reforms. And each time, nothing changed.

Tuesday's fire followed that same script. A warehouse storing volatile chemicals without permission. A garment factory operating with no functional fire safety system. No evacuation route. A locked rooftop door. And when the worst happened, the same institutions expressed shock while abnegating their responsibilities. 

When firefighters reached the top floor, they found the door bolted with two padlocks. Inside, several bodies lay scattered, overcome by toxic smoke. Fire officials later said most of the victims died within minutes of inhaling the gas released after the warehouse explosion.

This same locked-door horror has been repeated again and again. In Tazreen, workers were trapped on the upper floors when exits were sealed. In Rupganj, the roof door was locked. Even in the aftermath of those disasters, no law was enforced to ensure criminal accountability for such negligence.

Factories continue to operate like cages in which the cheapest way to run a business is also the deadliest for workers. There is little deterrence when owners face minimal consequences.

The affected building was a typical structure in Mirpur's Shialbari. It was originally built as a residential property, later converted into a mixed-use facility housing several garment printing units. These subcontracting factories, like NR Fashion, produce apparel for export markets in the Gulf. They operate outside the formal fold of the Bangladesh Garment Manufacturers and Exporters Association (BGMEA), which means they escape most compliance audits and monitoring mechanisms.

Their location is also part of the problem. These factories are not in designated industrial zones but embedded deep inside residential neighbourhoods. Narrow lanes make it nearly impossible for fire service vehicles to arrive on time. Buildings are constructed without proper exits, emergency staircases, or ventilation systems.

Urban planners have long warned that Dhaka's chaotic sprawl has erased the line between industrial and residential land use. After the Nimtoli tragedy, there were discussions which long faded into oblivion. A chemical hub in Shyampur was established years ago to relocate hazardous warehouses, but traders never moved. Authorities never forced them. It was convenient for everyone to look away.

The officials of the Department of Inspection for Factories and Establishments (DIFE) admitted they had no prior knowledge or record of the Shialbari chemical warehouse and are yet to locate its owners. Although the law requires all chemical warehouses to be registered with and approved by the DIFE, officials acknowledged that with so many such establishments in Dhaka, comprehensive monitoring is practically impossible.
Atiqur Rahman, DIFE's Deputy Inspector General for Dhaka region, told The Business Standard that they only learnt after the incident that the site was a chemical warehouse, but they still do not know who owns it. "We have no information about this warehouse. Someone set up a chemical storage inside a house. It's not possible for us to know about all such places," he said.

Labour Inspector Md Ahsan Jamil added that they are yet to trace the owners.

Under existing law, any factory or establishment storing chemicals must obtain approval from the DIFE. Joint Inspector General (Engineering) Farid Ahmed confirmed this legal requirement, stating that all chemical warehouses must be authorised regardless of whether they are part of a factory.

However, a senior DIFE official, requesting anonymity, admitted that monitoring such facilities is nearly impossible in practice. "There are hundreds of thousands of such establishments in Dhaka," the official said. "Bringing all of them under regular monitoring is extremely difficult."

Bangladesh's industrial safety failures are not random accidents. They are the consequence of a system that functions through repetition. A fire breaks out. Workers die. Government agencies visit the site. Statements are issued about illegal operations. A committee is formed. A few owners disappear. Firefighters are praised as heroes. A report is published. And then, nothing happens.

The Bangladesh Fire Service and Civil Defence has repeatedly warned that thousands of chemical warehouses in Dhaka lack safety clearance. Academic research and civil society reports have documented these risks extensively. In 2021, a national initiative under the Bangladesh Investment Development Authority (BIDA) sought to inspect 5,000 non-RMG factories for fire, electrical and environmental compliance. But the inspection remained sluggish.

In the past decade, more than a thousand workers have died in factory fires in Bangladesh, according to data from the Fire Service and independent research institutions. Many were the sole breadwinners for their families. Their deaths leave not just grief but long shadows of economic ruin.

"We have no information about this warehouse. We got to know about such a chemical warehouse after the incident. Someone set up a chemical storage inside a house. It's not possible for us to know about all such places."

ATIQUR RAHMAN, DIFE'S DEPUTY INSPECTOR GENERAL FOR DHAKA REGION

For the victims of the Mirpur incident, this is not just another incident in a long line of tragedies. For them, Nazmul or Muna was not a statistic. They were a spouse; they too had dreams, they were trying to earn a living in a city that too often treats its workers as expendable.

When the fire was finally brought under control in Shialbari, thick smoke still hung over the neighbourhood. Families waited for DNA results to identify the bodies. Officials lined up before cameras to promise investigations.

It is easy to predict what comes next. In a few weeks, the news cycle will move on. The chemical warehouses will continue operating in alleyways. Subcontracting garment units will keep running from unmarked buildings. The regulatory agencies will retreat into silence. And somewhere in the city, another locked door will wait for the next fire incident.