At the Helm of Flying Coffins: Legacy of neglect and poor maintenance comes crashing down
As the nation mourns the deaths of schoolchildren and a young pilot, this tragedy demands more than condolences. It demands accountability, structural overhaul and an end to the illusion that patriotism means silence
On the morning of 21 July, the skies over Dhaka were ripped open not by the sounds of war, but by the deafening roar of bureaucratic failure. A Bangladesh Air Force (BAF) F-7 BGI fighter jet, one of many relics of a bygone era still haunting our airspace, crashed into the campus of Milestone School and College in Uttara, killing at least 31, including the pilot Flight Lieutenant Towkir Islam.
Over 170 others were injured in a moment that will be etched into the national memory for years to come. But what happened on that day is not an accident in the technical sense. It is the predictable outcome of a system that has for too long treated human lives as expendable, and safety as negotiable.
This is not the first time an aircraft has failed midair. It is not even the first time an F-7 jet, a plane with origins tracing back to the Soviet MiG-21, has fallen from the skies. The F-7BGI variant, acquired from China in the early 2010s, was already outdated the day it landed on Bangladeshi soil. These planes, equipped with ageing avionics, minimal digital capabilities and fragile airframes, are poorly suited for the demands of modern flight.
Over the past decade, they have become a staple of training missions, not because they are inherently safe, but because they are inexpensive and easily replaceable. And so, the expendability trickles down: from aircraft to pilots, and now, heartbreakingly, to schoolchildren.
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Every few years, the headlines repeat themselves. An aircraft crashes, the pilot is declared a martyr, and the authorities solemnly promise a technical investigation. The nation mourns, but the machines keep flying. The tragedy at Milestone School has pulled back the curtain on a disturbing pattern that this is not about a single engine failure, nor is it about pilot error.
It is about an institutional culture that has normalised risk, minimised reform, and buried dissent under layers of chain-of-command silence. The Air Force remains caught in a loop of self-preservation, unwilling to admit that the very foundation of its aerial capability — the aging fleet — is no longer tenable.
It would be dishonest to blame the pilots. By all accounts, Flight Lt Towkir Islam did what he could to steer the dying aircraft away from crowded buildings. Like many in his position, he flew knowing the risks. BAF pilots are trained with intensity and rigour, often collaborating with international military academies. Their professionalism is not in question. What is in question is why these professionals are being sent into the skies in machines that barely belong in museums.
This is not merely a military issue; it is a national governance crisis. Defence procurement in Bangladesh has long operated under a veil of opacity. Aircraft are purchased not always based on performance or strategic fit, but through a mixture of diplomatic convenience, vendor lobbying and bureaucratic inertia.
The F-7 series, for example, was purchased not for its cutting-edge capabilities, but as a cost-effective solution to replace an ageing fleet. That "solution" has now cost the lives of children, and it demands a reckoning.
Even more troubling is what this incident says about the strategic thinking behind our national defence. The BAF today lacks the capacity to credibly defend our airspace. There is no functioning airborne early warning system. There are no modern multirole fighters capable of competing with neighbouring air forces, let alone defending against modern aerial threats. In a region where air power is increasingly central to national defence doctrines, Bangladesh's Air Force remains trapped in a Cold War time capsule maintained more for ceremonial presence than actual deterrence.
What is needed now is not another internal investigation or token compensation to grieving families. What is needed is a structural shift. The entire F-7 fleet must be grounded indefinitely. A comprehensive audit of all operational aircraft must be conducted with third-party oversight. Suppose the current inventory of airworthy fighter jets is insufficient, as all evidence suggests. In that case, Bangladesh must explore new procurement paths based not on cost or legacy agreements, but on survivability, reliability, and mission fitness.
There is also a deeper psychological shift required. We must end the culture of denial that surrounds our defence institutions. For too long, questions about military readiness, equipment quality, and strategic capacity have been dismissed in the name of patriotism or national security.
But the true patriotism lies in asking hard questions and demanding that our soldiers and citizens not be sacrificed at the altar of image management. Every crash, every "technical malfunction," every death that could have been prevented is not just a failure of machinery. It is a failure of leadership. And we must name it as such.
Let this moment not be buried under military ceremonies and bureaucratic reassurances. Let it instead become the moment when a nation looked itself in the mirror and said: never again. We owe that much to the children whose lives were stolen mid-lesson, to the pilot who went down doing his duty, and to every citizen who still dares to believe in a Bangladesh where safety is not a privilege, but a right.
Arman Ahmed is a Research Analyst at the Nicholas Spykman International Center for Geopolitical Analysis (France) and a Research Fellow at the International Council on Human Rights, Peace and Politics (ICHRPP).
Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the opinions and views of The Business Standard.
