By the time you read this, two families in Bangladesh are grieving.
Not because of a natural disaster. Not because of an accident.
But because their sons died—shot at the border by the Indian Border Security Force (BSF).
Again.
It’s always “again,” isn’t it?
This time, it was Shafiqul Islam, 45 years old, from Sunamganj.
Then, just hours later, Russel, only 20, from Thakurgaon.
One died while allegedly bringing cattle from across the line. The other—his father says—was poor, vulnerable, maybe tricked into something he didn’t even understand. What we know for sure is that neither came back alive.
And once again, the stories play out the same way:
“He crossed the border illegally.”
“BSF responded with force.”
“BGB has called for a flag meeting.”
“Investigations are ongoing.”
And then?
Nothing.
No justice. No accountability. No change.
Just two more names added to the long, tired list of Bangladeshi citizens who died on the edges of our country, at the hands of a force that claims to protect sovereignty, but acts with an authority beyond reproach.
Let’s be honest.
The border isn’t just a line. It’s a place where class, poverty, and politics collide.
Where the powerful draw maps, and the powerless try to survive between them.
Where men like Russel—too poor to dream, too desperate to wait—are lured into risks they shouldn’t have to take.
But even when they make mistakes, should the punishment be a bullet to the chest?
Let’s not pretend this is a new issue.
Let’s not act like this is the last time.
Because the truth is, unless someone demands more than flag meetings,
unless we stop calling these deaths “unfortunate incidents,”
unless we treat the border like part of our nation, not a forgotten zone—
this cycle will continue.
Shafiqul will become a memory. Russel’s story will fade.
And someone else, next month, or next week,
will die where the maps blur,
and where justice always arrives too late—if at all.
We have a voice. Let’s use it.
Not just to mourn, but to ask the hard questions:
- Why are our borders death zones?
- Why do the same things keep happening?
- Why are we so quiet every time?
We owe it to Russel.
We owe it to Shafiqul.
We owe it to the ones who will come next.