Iran: Why strategy matters more than firepower?

M A Hossain,

There are moments in international politics when the choreography of war becomes visible before the curtain officially rises. Aircraft carriers reposition. Bases quietly empty. Diplomats talk faster, if not more honestly. The current US military posture toward Iran suggests such a moment. The Pentagon is not improvising; it is staging. And when a superpower stages, it usually does so with more than one script in hand.

Yet the central question is not how the USA could strike Iran. It is why— and to what end. US history is littered with wars in which tactical brilliance outpaced strategic clarity. From Vietnam to Iraq, the USA has learned, relearned, and then inconveniently forgotten that military action untethered from clear political objectives tends to age badly. Iran risks becoming the next chapter in that familiar story.

The signs of preparation are hard to ignore. A carrier strike group steaming toward the Middle East. Patriot and THAAD missile defenscs deployed. Non-essential personnel pulled from exposed bases in Qatar and Saudi Arabia. Tanker aircraft and heavy transport planes moving into the theatre. This is not the posture of a power expecting imminent diplomacy. It is the posture of a power clearing the battlefield. 

Iran, for its part, is not passive. Arms shipments from Russia and China suggest anticipation, not surprise. Tehran has stockpiled weapons and upgraded its air defences, including Chinese HQ-9B systems. On paper, these defences look formidable. In practice, they are less so. Modern air defence requires deep integration, layered systems, and constant real-time coordination. Iran lacks much of that. Air defences are only as strong as their weakest sensor— and Iran has many.

Still, none of this explains the purpose of war. The protests inside Iran, however real and deadly, are a sideshow in US calculations. Washington’s sudden interest in Iranian democracy rings hollow given Donald Trump’s record— from his indifference to Venezuela’s democratic collapse to his transactional view of Ukraine and even Greenland. This is not a crusade for liberal values. It is about unfinished business.

That business dates back to the last confrontation, when US strikes failed to account for roughly 400 kilograms of 60-percent enriched uranium. Tehran had moved it in advance. If further enriched— a technically modest step— that stockpile could yield material for several nuclear weapons. As long as that uranium remains unaccounted for, the problem, in US eyes, remains unresolved.

Iran demands sobriety in abundance. The fuse may be burning. But history suggests that how wars begin matters less than how they are intended to end. And on that question, Washington remains conspicuously vague

Iran has tried to buy time by offering negotiations. But the terms have shifted. Washington now demands not only an end to enrichment and missile development, but the removal of existing nuclear material and the abandonment of regional proxies. No Iranian government, clerical or otherwise, could survive agreeing to such terms. Which brings us back to force.

Broadly speaking, the USA has three military options—three ways to strike Iran—each with distinct risks and implications.

The first is a focused strike on nuclear infrastructure. This would be the narrowest option and the easiest to justify strategically. Destroy the sites. Eliminate the missing enriched uranium if possible. Declare the mission complete. Such an operation would rely heavily on B-2 bombers carrying GBU-57 bunker busters, the only weapons capable of penetrating Iran’s deeply buried facilities. It would be violent, brief, and— crucially— limited.

This approach has historical precedent. Israel’s strikes on Iraq’s Osirak reactor in 1981 and Syria’s al-Kibar facility in 2007 delayed proliferation without triggering regional war. But Iran is not Iraq in 1981. Its programme is dispersed, hardened, and politically symbolic. Even a successful strike would likely buy time, not closure.

The second option is decapitation: targeting senior Iranian leaders or key IRGC figures in the hope of destabilizing the regime. The appeal is obvious. Remove the head, and the body collapses. The reality is less tidy. Iran’s political system is deeply institutionalized. The Revolutionary Guards have contingency plans for succession and control. Kill a leader, and you may get a martyr. History offers a cautionary tale here. The 1980 Operation Eagle Claw failed not because of Iranian resistance, but because of logistical overreach. Iran’s geography punishes hubris.

More importantly, assassination strikes risk producing precisely the unity they aim to shatter. Shiite political culture is steeped in martyrdom. External attacks tend to consolidate hardliners, not empower moderates. Regime change by airstrike is an idea that has aged poorly since Baghdad in 2003.

The third option is the most ambitious— and the most dangerous: a sustained campaign aimed at degrading Iran’s military, security apparatus, and political leadership over weeks or months. This would go far beyond a one-off strike. It would target IRGC infrastructure, command centres, missile forces, and internal security units. The goal would be to create a power vacuum so severe that Iran’s leadership is forced into submission or collapse.

This is not impossible. But it is costly. Iran would respond, calibrating its retaliation to the level of threat. At the low end, it might strike U.S. assets in Iraq or harass shipping in the Strait of Hormuz. At the high end— if it believed regime survival was at stake— it could escalate dramatically, risking a regional war that would draw in Gulf states and Israel.

Geography shapes all three options. With most regional states unwilling to grant airspace access, Washington’s choices narrow. A northern route via the Caucasus risks Russian detection. A central corridor through Israel, Jordan, and Iraq is tested but predictable. A southern approach via the Indian Ocean offers flexibility but demands heavy logistics. Most likely, any strike would combine the latter two.

Israel’s role adds another layer. Its interests are narrower but sharper. If Iran’s regime falters, Israeli jets would not wait for clarity. They would move to obliterate Iran’s military infrastructure, as they did in Syria after Assad’s fall. From Israel’s perspective, such moments are fleeting— and must be exploited.

All of which returns us to the central problem: strategy. What does Washington want when the smoke clears? A delayed nuclear programme? A weakened regime? A new government? Without a clear answer, military action risks becoming an end in itself— a demonstration of power untethered from outcome.

Iran demands sobriety in abundance. The fuse may be burning. But history suggests that how wars begin matters less than how they are intended to end. And on that question, Washington remains conspicuously vague.

(This was written before the USA attacked.)

This article published at :

1. Pakistan Today, Pak : 01 March, 26

Bangladesh’s Push for Credibility and Strategic Reform

M A Hossain 

Bangladesh has often been described as one of Asia’s great development stories. In half a century, it moved from famine and fragility to become a major manufacturing hub, a leader in garments, and a country whose economic rise surprised many skeptics. Yet success creates new tests. Low-cost growth is not enough forever. Nations eventually confront a harder question: can they modernize institutions as quickly as they once expanded factories?

The emerging framework of trade and labor reforms between Bangladesh and the United States suggests an answer. If implemented seriously, these measures would mark not merely a diplomatic agreement but a structural shift in how Bangladesh governs commerce, labor, technology, and strategic partnerships. It would be less about pleasing Washington than about preparing Bangladesh for the next stage of national development.

At the center of the reforms lies a long overdue truth: economic progress without labor dignity is unstable progress.

For years, Bangladesh’s garment industry powered exports and lifted millions into employment. But it also became synonymous abroad with weak worker protections, contested wages, and barriers to union organization. Investors may tolerate inefficiency for a while; they rarely tolerate reputational risk indefinitely. That is why proposed revisions to the Bangladesh Labor Act matter so deeply.

Reducing the union registration threshold to 20 percent is more than an administrative tweak. It lowers a barrier that often made legal organization nearly impossible in large factories. Simplifying registration requirements—accepting factory IDs, national IDs, or birth certificates—addresses the reality that bureaucracy frequently functions as a silent veto. And extending meaningful labor rights into Export Processing Zones would end a dual-track system in which some workers enjoyed protections denied to others.

History offers a clear lesson here. South Korea and Taiwan did not become advanced economies simply by exporting more goods. They gradually built stronger institutions, better labor protections, and a broader social contract. Workers who feel secure become more productive, more skilled, and less prone to explosive unrest. Bangladesh should read that lesson carefully.

Equally important is the commitment to address criminal cases linked to the 2023 wage protests. Governments have every right to preserve order. But when labor disputes become criminalized by default, trust collapses. A factory floor cannot be efficiently managed through fear. It can only be managed through legitimacy.

Then comes the second pillar: regulatory modernization.

Bangladesh’s agreement to recognize U.S. FDA approvals for pharmaceuticals and medical devices signals a welcome departure from redundant gatekeeping. If trusted foreign approvals can accelerate access to quality medicine and health technology, consumers win and businesses gain predictability. The same logic applies to automotive standards through recognition of U.S. vehicle safety benchmarks. Standards harmonization is not surrendering sovereignty. It is choosing efficiency over performative paperwork.

Too many developing states mistake regulation for progress. They multiply forms, licenses, and approvals while confusing complexity with competence. Real regulation protects the public. Fake regulation protects gatekeepers.

Agriculture presents another opportunity. Aligning sanitary and phytosanitary rules, accepting scientific certifications for meat and aquatic products, and creating rules for biotechnology can reduce trade friction while improving domestic food systems. Countries that reject science-based regulation often do so in the name of nationalism; they usually end up with shortages, higher prices, and poorer consumers.

The digital economy reforms may prove even more consequential.

Bangladesh is entering an era in which data governance matters as much as port infrastructure once did. Adopting cross-border privacy rules and reconsidering intrusive cybersecurity provisions could determine whether global technology firms see Bangladesh as a future partner or a compliance headache. Investors seek markets where data can move securely, speech is reasonably protected, and encryption is not casually undermined.

That last point matters. Demanding encryption backdoors or unrestricted key access may appear useful to bureaucracies, but it weakens trust for everyone. In the twenty-first century, digital confidence is a national asset.

Likewise, stronger intellectual property protections through adherence to major global treaties would help Bangladesh graduate from contract manufacturing toward innovation. Countries do not become knowledge economies by accident. They build legal systems where ideas, brands, and inventions have defensible value.

Then there is the geopolitical dimension—less discussed, but impossible to ignore.

The shift toward greater U.S. purchases of LNG, wheat, and soybean oil reflects a diversification strategy. So too does greater reliance on U.S. defense procurement and reduced dependence on Chinese digital logistics systems such as LOGINK. Bangladesh, like many middle powers, is learning that cheap dependence can become expensive vulnerability.

This does not require hostility toward China. It requires realism. Nations benefit when they trade widely but depend narrowly on no one. Strategic autonomy is built through options.

Some critics will call these reforms externally imposed. That is the wrong frame. External pressure may accelerate reform, but domestic interest should sustain it. Bangladesh does not need freer unions, cleaner regulations, transparent rulemaking, or stronger anti-corruption systems because America asks for them. It needs them because Bangladesh’s own future requires them.

Consider foreign investment. Investors compare countries not only on wages but on predictability. Can disputes be resolved fairly? Are regulations transparent? Is confidential business information protected? Can approvals be obtained without bribery or political patronage? Nations that answer yes attract long-term capital. Nations that answer no attract only opportunists.

Environmental provisions also deserve attention. Measures against illegal logging, wildlife trafficking, and wasteful production systems are often dismissed as elite concerns. They are not. Environmental decay imposes real economic costs—flooding, health burdens, export barriers, and degraded land. A circular economy is not fashionable jargon; it is resource discipline.

Still, none of this will matter if implementation becomes ceremonial.

Bangladesh has announced reforms before. The difference now must be enforcement. Labor inspectors need resources. Courts need independence. Ministries must publish draft rules openly. Agencies must stop treating discretion as a revenue source. Reform succeeds not in communiqués but in routine administration.

That is the real test.

Bangladesh stands at a threshold familiar to many rising nations: whether to preserve a growth model built on cheapness, opacity, and managerial control—or upgrade into one built on productivity, transparency, and trust. The first model can deliver a decade. The second can deliver generations.

If these reforms are pursued with seriousness rather than symbolism, Bangladesh will not merely deepen ties with the United States. It will modernize itself. And that is the partnership that matters most.

M A Hossain is a journalist and international affairs analyst, based in Bangladesh. He can be reached at: writetomahossain@gmail.com

 

This article published at :

1. The South Asian Times, USA: 01 May,26
   

বাণিজ্য, স্বচ্ছতা ও রূপান্তর

এম এ হোসাইন,

বাংলাদেশকে প্রায়শই এশিয়ার অন্যতম সফল উন্নয়নের দৃষ্টান্ত হিসেবে বর্ণনা করা হয়। অর্ধশতাব্দীর মধ্যে দেশটি  দুর্ভিক্ষ ও দারিদ্র পীড়িত থেকে একটি বৃহৎ উৎপাদন কেন্দ্র, শীর্ষস্থানীয় পোশাক শিল্পের অবস্থান এবং যার অর্থনৈতিক উত্থান অনেক সংশয়বাদীকে অবাক করেছে। কিন্তু সফলতা নতুন চ্যালেঞ্জ তৈরি করে। স্বল্পব্যয়ভিত্তিক প্রবৃদ্ধি চিরকাল যথেষ্ট নয়। দেশগুলোকে একসময় কঠিন প্রশ্নের মুখোমুখি হতে হয়: তারা কি যত দ্রুত কারখানা সম্প্রসারণ করেছিল, তত দ্রুত প্রতিষ্ঠানগুলোকে আধুনিক করতে পারে?

বাংলাদেশ ও যুক্তরাষ্ট্রের মধ্যে বাণিজ্য ও শ্রম সংস্কারের উদীয়মান কাঠামো একটি উত্তর ইঙ্গিত করে। যদি এগুলো যথাযথভাবে বাস্তবায়িত হয়, তাহলে এ ব্যবস্থাগুলো কেবল কূটনৈতিক চুক্তি নয়, বরং বাংলাদেশ কীভাবে বাণিজ্য, শ্রম, প্রযুক্তি ও কৌশলগত অংশীদারিত্ব পরিচালনা করে, সেই ক্ষেত্রে একটি কাঠামোগত পরিবর্তন চিহ্নিত করবে। এটি ওয়াশিংটনকে খুশি করার চেয়ে বাংলাদেশকে জাতীয় উন্নয়নের পরবর্তী ধাপের জন্য প্রস্তুত করার সম্ভাবনা বেশি।

সংস্কারের কেন্দ্রে রয়েছে একটি দীর্ঘদিনের অগ্রাহ্য সত্য: শ্রমিকের মর্যাদা ছাড়া অর্থনৈতিক অগ্রগতি অস্থিতিশীল অগ্রগতি। বছরের পর বছর ধরে বাংলাদেশের পোশাত শিল্প রপ্তানী সচল রেখেছে এবং লক্ষ লক্ষ মানুষের কর্মসংস্থান সৃষ্টি করেছে। কিন্তু বিদেশে এই শিল্পটি দুর্বল শ্রমিক সুরক্ষা, বিতর্কিত মজুরি ও ট্রেড ইউনিয়ন গঠনে প্রতিবন্ধকতার প্রতীকও হয়ে উঠেছে। বিনিয়োগকারীরা কিছুদিন অদক্ষতা সহ্য করতে পারে, কিন্তু সুনামের ঝুঁকি তারা অনির্দিষ্টকাল সহ্য করে না। আর এজন্যই বাংলাদেশ শ্রম আইনে প্রস্তাবিত সংশোধনীগুলোর গুরুত্ব এত গভীর।

ট্রেড ইউনিয়ন নিবন্ধনের জন্য প্রয়োজনীয় কর্মীদের হার ২০ শতাংশে কমানো শুধু একটা ছোটখাটো নিয়ম পরিবর্তন নয়। এর মাধ্যমে বড় কারখানাগুলোতে আইনগতভাবে ইউনিয়ন করা যে প্রায় অসম্ভব ছিল, সেই বাধাই দূর হয়েছে। নিবন্ধনের শর্তগুলো সহজ করা (যেমন কারখানার আইডি, জাতীয় পরিচয়পত্র বা জন্ম নিবন্ধন গ্রহণ করা) এবং এই বাস্তবতাকেই মেনে নেওয়া যে, আমলাতন্ত্র প্রায়শই নীরব ভেটো হিসেবে কাজ করে। আর রফতানি প্রক্রিয়াকরণ অঞ্চলগুলোর (ইপিজেড) মধ্যেও যদি প্রকৃত শ্রম অধিকার বাড়ানো যায়, তাহলে সেই দ্বৈত ব্যবস্থার অবসান ঘটবে, যেখানে কিছু শ্রমিক সুরক্ষা পেত, যা অন্যদের থেকে অস্বীকার করা হতো।

ইতিহাস এখানে একটি পরিষ্কার শিক্ষা দেয়। দক্ষিণ কোরিয়া ও তাইওয়ান কেবল বেশি পণ্য রফতানি করে উন্নত অর্থনীতিতে পরিণত হয়নি। তারা ধীরে ধীরে শক্তিশালী প্রতিষ্ঠান, উন্নত শ্রম সুরক্ষা ও একটি বিস্তৃত সামাজিক চুক্তি গড়ে তুলেছিল। সুরক্ষা বোধকারী শ্রমিকরা আরও উৎপাদনশীল, দক্ষ এবং তুলনামূলক কম অস্থিরতাপ্রবণ হয়। বাংলাদেশের সেই শিক্ষাটি যত্নসহকারে পাঠ নেওয়া উচিত।

একইসঙ্গে গুরুত্বপূর্ণ হলো ২০২৩ সালের মজুরি প্রতিবাদের সাথে যুক্ত ফৌজদারি মামলাগুলোর সমাধানের প্রতিশ্রুতি। সরকারের শৃঙ্খলা রক্ষার অধিকার রয়েছে। কিন্তু যখন শ্রম বিরোধ আক্ষরিক অর্থে অপরাধী করে ফেলে, তখন বিশ্বাস ভেঙে যায়। ভয়ের মাধ্যমে একটি কারখানা ব্যবস্থাপনা দক্ষতার সাথে করা যায় না। এটি কেবল বৈধতার মাধ্যমেই পরিচালিত হতে পারে।

এরপর আসে দ্বিতীয় স্তম্ভ: নিয়ন্ত্রক আধুনিকীকরণ। ওষুধ ও মেডিকেল সরঞ্জামের জন্য যুক্তরাষ্ট্রের এফডিএ-র অনুমোদন বাংলাদেশ মেনে নিতে রাজি হয়েছে। এর ফলে  অহেতুক দাপিয়ে বাণিজ্য বন্ধ রাখার জায়গা থেকে সরে আসার একটা ইতিবাচক সংকেত। বিশ্বস্ত বিদেশি অনুমোদন যদি মানসম্মত ওষুধ ও স্বাস্থ্যপ্রযুক্তিতে দ্রুত প্রবেশের পথ খুলে দেয়, তাহলে ভোক্তারা লাভবান হন এবং ব্যবসায়ীরা পান আশার আলো। যুক্তরাষ্ট্রের গাড়ির সুরক্ষা মান স্বীকার করার মাধ্যমে যানবাহনের উন্নত মান নিয়েও একই যুক্তি খাটে। মানগুলোর সামঞ্জস্যতা মানে সার্বভৌমত্ব ছেড়ে দেওয়া নয়। বরং কাগজপত্রের জটিল অনুষ্ঠানের চেয়ে দক্ষতা বেছে নেওয়া।

অনেক উন্নয়নশীল দেশ ভুল বোঝে—তারা মনে করে নিয়মকানুন বাড়ালেই অগ্রগতি হয়। তারা ফর্ম, লাইসেন্স আর অনুমোদনের পাহাড় দাঁড় করায়, আর জটিলতাকে দক্ষতা বলে ভ্রম সৃষ্টি করে। আসল নিয়মকানুন জনগণকে রক্ষা করে। ভুয়া নিয়মকানুন রক্ষা করে দালালচক্রকে।

কৃষিতে আরেকটি সুযোগ। পোকা-মাকড় আর রোগবালাই সংক্রান্ত নিয়ম একীভূত করা, মাংস ও জলজ পণ্যের বৈজ্ঞানিক সার্টিফিকেট প্রচলন করা, এবং জৈবপ্রযুক্তির জন্য নিয়ম তৈরি করা—এসব বাণিজ্যের প্রতিবন্ধকতা কমাতে পারে ও একইসঙ্গে দেশের খাদ্য ব্যবস্থার উন্নতি করতে পারে। যেসব দেশ বিজ্ঞানভিত্তিক নিয়ম প্রত্যাখ্যান করে, তারা প্রায়ই তা করে জাতীয়তাবাদের নামে। শেষ পর্যন্ত তাদের দেশেই দেখা দেয় অভাব, উচ্চ মূল্য আর দারিদ্রতা।

ডিজিটাল অর্থনীতির সংস্কারগুলো আরও বেশি গুরুত্বপূর্ণ প্রমাণিত হতে পারে। বাংলাদেশ এখন এমন এক যুগে পা রাখছে, যেখানে তথ্য ব্যবস্থাপনা (ডেটা গভর্নেন্স) ঠিক ততটাই জরুরি, যতটা জরুরি ছিল একসময় বন্দরের অবকাঠামো। সীমান্ত পেরিয়ে তথ্যের গোপনীয়তার নিয়ম মেনে নেওয়া এবং হস্তক্ষেপকারী সাইবার নিরাপত্তা বিধিগুলো পুনর্বিবেচনা করা—এটাই নির্ধারণ করবে যে, বৈশ্বিক প্রযুক্তি কোম্পানিগুলো বাংলাদেশকে ভবিষ্যতের অংশীদার হিসেবে দেখবে, নাকি নিয়ন্ত্রনের মধ্যে চলার মাথাব্যথা হিসেবে। বিনিয়োগকারীরা সেই বাজার খোঁজে যেখানে তথ্য নিরাপদে চলাচল করতে পারে, বক্তব্য যুক্তিসঙ্গত মাত্রায় সুরক্ষিত থাকে, আর এনক্রিপশনকে সহজেই দুর্বল করা হয় না।

শেষের কথাটা গুরুত্বপূর্ণ। এনক্রিপশনে ব্যাকডোর বা  সীমাহীন প্রবেশাধিকার দাবি করা আমলাতন্ত্রের কাছে কার্যকরী মনে হতে পারে, কিন্তু তা সবার জন্য আস্থা কমিয়ে দেয়। একবিংশ শতাব্দীতে ডিজিটাল আত্মবিশ্বাস একটি জাতীয় সম্পদ।

একইভাবে, বড় বড় আন্তর্জাতিক চুক্তি মেনে মেধাসম্পদ সুরক্ষা জোরদার করা বাংলাদেশকে ঠিকাদারি উৎপাদন (কন্ট্রাক্ট ম্যানুফ্যাকচারিং) থেকে সরে এসে উদ্ভাবনের পথে এগোতে সাহায্য করবে। দেশগুলো আকস্মিকভাবে শিক্ষিত অর্থনীতিতে পরিণত হয় না। তারা আইনি ব্যবস্থা গড়ে তোলে—যেখানে ধারণা, ব্র্যান্ড আর আবিষ্কারগুলোর রক্ষণীয় মূল্য থাকে।

তারপর রয়েছে ভূ-রাজনৈতিক মাত্রা—যা কম আলোচিত, কিন্তু উপেক্ষা করা অসম্ভব। যুক্তরাষ্ট্র থেকে এলএনজি, গম ও সয়াবিন তেলের ক্রয় বাড়ানোর দিকে ঝোঁক বাংলাদেশের জন্য একটি বৈচিত্র্যকরণ কৌশলের প্রতিফলন। একই কথা যায় মার্কিন প্রতিরক্ষা সরঞ্জাম কেনার উপর বেশি নির্ভরতা এবং লগিংক-এর মতো চীনা ডিজিটাল লজিস্টিক ব্যবস্থার উপর নির্ভরশীলতা কমানোর ক্ষেত্রেও। বাংলাদেশ, অন্যান্য মধ্যম শক্তির মতো, শিখছে যে সস্তা নির্ভরশীলতা ব্যয়বহুল দুর্বলতায় পরিণত হতে পারে।

এর মানে চীনের প্রতি বিদ্বেষ নয়। এটা বাস্তববাদ। দেশগুলো তখনই লাভবান হয় যখন তারা ব্যাপকভাবে বাণিজ্য করে কিন্তু কারও উপর অতি মাত্রায় নির্ভরশীল হয় না। কৌশলগত স্বায়ত্তশাসন গড়ে উঠে নানা বিকল্পের মাধ্যমে।

কিছু সমালোচক বলবেন এই সংস্কারগুলো বাইরে থেকে চাপিয়ে দেওয়া। এটা ভুল দৃষ্টিভঙ্গি। বাইরের চাপ সংস্কারের গতি বাড়াতে পারে, কিন্তু টেকসই করতে হবে দেশের নিজের স্বার্থেই। মুক্ত ট্রেড ইউনিয়ন, কঠোর নিয়মকানুন, স্বচ্ছ নীতিনির্ধারণ, বা শক্তিশালী দুর্নীতিবিরোধী ব্যবস্থা। বাংলাদেশের এগুলোর দরকার কারণ আমেরিকা চায় এজন্য নয় বরং এগুলোর দরকার বাংলাদেশের নিজের ভবিষ্যৎ সেগুলো চায়।

বিদেশি বিনিয়োগের কথা ভাবুন।বিনিয়োগকারীরা দেশ তুলনা করে শুধু মজুরির ভিত্তিতে নয়, বরং পূর্বানুমানের ভিত্তিতেও। বিবাদ কি ন্যায্যভাবে মীমাংসা হয়? নিয়মকানুন কি স্বচ্ছ? গোপন ব্যবসায়িক তথ্য কি সুরক্ষিত? ঘুষ বা রাজনৈতিক সুপারিশ ছাড়া কি অনুমোদন পাওয়া যায়? যেসব দেশ 'হ্যাঁ' উত্তর দেয়, তারা দীর্ঘমেয়াদি মূলধন টানে। যেসব দেশ 'না' বলে, তারা শুধু সুযোগসন্ধানী লোভীদের টানে।

পরিবেশগত বিষয়গুলোর প্রতিও নজর দেওয়া জরুরি। বন উজাড়, বন্যপ্রাণী পাচার আর অপচয়ী উৎপাদন ব্যবস্থার বিরুদ্ধে পদক্ষেপগুলোকে প্রায়ই উড়িয়ে দেওয়া হয় অভিজাত শ্রেণির উদ্বেগ বলে। এটা ঠিক নয়। পরিবেশের ক্ষয়ের বাস্তব অর্থনৈতিক মূল্য আছে—বন্যা, স্বাস্থ্যঝুঁকি, রফতানি বাধা, আর জমির অবক্ষয়। বৃত্তাকার অর্থনীতি (সার্কুলার ইকোনমি) ফ্যাশনের শব্দ নয়; এটা সম্পদের শৃঙ্খলা।

তবে, এসব সংস্কার যদি শুধু অনুষ্ঠানেই সীমাবদ্ধ থাকে, তাহলে কিছুতেই লাভ হবে না। বাংলাদেশ আগেও সংস্কারের ঘোষণা দিয়েছে। এখন পার্থক্য গড়ে দিতে হবে কঠোর বাস্তবায়নের মাধ্যমে। শ্রম পরিদর্শকদের প্রয়োজনীয় সংস্থান দিতে হবে। আদালতের দরকার স্বাধীনতা। মন্ত্রণালয়গুলোর উচিত খসড়া নিয়মাবলি উন্মুক্তভাবে প্রকাশ করা। সংস্থাগুলোকে 'বিবেচনাধীন ক্ষমতা' কে আয়ের উৎস বানানোর বদ অভ্যাসকে চিরতরে ত্যাগ করতে হবে। সংস্কার সফল হয় যৌথ বিবৃতিতে নয়, বরং দৈনন্দিন প্রশাসনিক কাজে। এটাই আসল পরীক্ষা।

বাংলাদেশ সেই সন্ধিক্ষণে দাঁড়িয়ে, যা অনেক উদীয়মান দেশের কাছে পরিচিত: একটি প্রবৃদ্ধির মডেল বজায় রাখা—যা গড়ে উঠেছে সস্তা দাম, অস্বচ্ছতা আর ব্যবস্থাপকের নিয়ন্ত্রণের ভিত্তিতে, নাকি সেটাকে উন্নত  করে গড়ে তোলা হবে উৎপাদনশীলতা, স্বচ্ছতা ও আস্থার ভিত্তিতে। প্রথম মডেল চালাতে পারে এক দশক। দ্বিতীয় মডেল চালাতে পারে প্রজন্মের পর প্রজন্ম। 

যদি এই সংস্কারগুলো প্রতীকী নয়, বরং কঠিন আন্তরিকতার সঙ্গে বাস্তবায়িত হয়, তাহলে বাংলাদেশ কেবল যুক্তরাষ্ট্রের সঙ্গেই সম্পর্ক গভীর করবে না—বরং নিজেকেই আধুনিক করে তুলবে। আর সেটাই সবচেয়ে গুরুত্বপূর্ণ অংশীদারত্ব।

লেখক : প্রাবন্ধিক। 

 এই লেখাটি প্রকাশিত হয়েছে :

১. দৈনিক সংবাদ, ঢাকা : ০১ মে,২০২৬

King Dollar still reigns supreme in liquidity - starved Gulf

M A Hossain,

There is a certain irony in seeing some of the world’s richest countries quietly ask the United States for financial relief. For decades, the Gulf monarchies cultivated an image of inexhaustible wealth: sovereign funds the size of nations, skylines raised from desert sands, and hydrocarbon revenues so vast that deficits seemed like a problem for lesser states. Yet history has a habit of humiliating assumptions. Wealth can evaporate into illiquidity. Rich countries, too, can run short of cash. And when the global system tightens, they often discover that real power still resides not in oil wells, but in the printing press of the U.S. dollar.

That appears to be the logic behind recent discussions over currency swap lines between Washington and several Gulf states, particularly the United Arab Emirates. The request is not for charity. It is for access. In modern finance, those are not the same thing.

A currency swap line is one of the least understood but most consequential tools in international economics. It allows a foreign central bank to exchange its own currency temporarily for dollars from the U.S. Federal Reserve, then reverse the transaction later. No grants. No bailout in the theatrical sense. Merely emergency liquidity. But in moments of crisis, liquidity is everything.

Ask Britain in 1931, when sterling’s weakness exposed the fragility of imperial finances. Ask South Korea in 2008, when dollar shortages intensified panic during the global financial crisis until Federal Reserve swap lines restored calm. Ask Europe in 2020, when pandemic-era disruptions again made the dollar scarce, forcing the Fed to reopen facilities to allied central banks. In each case, the issue was not long-term solvency. It was immediate access to the currency that lubricates global trade. That currency remains the dollar.

The Gulf economies understand this better than most. Their oil exports are priced overwhelmingly in dollars. Their currencies are pegged, formally or informally, to the dollar. Their reserves are invested heavily in dollar assets. Their domestic banking systems depend on dollar flows. Remove those flows long enough, and even states with large balance sheets begin to feel strain. This is where geopolitics enters the ledger.

Any conflict that disrupts shipping lanes in the Gulf—especially through the Strait of Hormuz—threatens not only energy supply but the monetary architecture built around it. A prolonged interruption in exports means fewer incoming dollars, rising pressure on pegs, tighter domestic liquidity, and nervous markets. It does not take insolvency to produce instability. It takes uncertainty.

So the Gulf states are behaving rationally. They are seeking insurance.

The more interesting question is whether the United States should provide it.

There is a strong argument in favor. If Washington wants to preserve the dollar’s global role, it must occasionally act as steward of the system. Reserve currency status is not maintained by speeches about American greatness. It is maintained by reliability. Nations hold dollars because they trust that in moments of stress, dollar markets will function and America will not weaponize access capriciously.

That was one lesson of the 2008 crisis. The Federal Reserve’s swap lines did more than calm markets; they reaffirmed U.S. centrality. At a time when many predicted American decline, the crisis instead reminded the world that when panic strikes, everyone still runs toward the dollar.

The Gulf requests present a similar opportunity. By extending temporary facilities to key partners, Washington could reinforce alliances, stabilize markets, and discourage a drift toward alternative payment systems dominated by Beijing. Every time a country doubts access to dollars, it has an incentive to experiment with yuan settlements, gold mechanisms, or regional clearing systems. None can yet rival the dollar. But erosion rarely begins dramatically. It begins gradually, through hedging.

Still, caution is warranted.

Swap lines are not costless diplomatic favors. They are signals. To grant one is to imply institutional trust, policy confidence, and strategic closeness. Historically, the Federal Reserve has reserved permanent swap lines for a narrow club: major advanced economies such as the eurozone, Japan, Britain, Canada, and Switzerland. Extending such privileges more broadly raises questions of precedent.

If the UAE receives one, why not Saudi Arabia? If Saudi Arabia, why not Turkey? If Turkey, why not every strategically useful but financially pressured partner? Soon a prudential instrument risks becoming a geopolitical bargaining chip.

There is also the moral hazard problem. States that assume Washington will provide dollar liquidity may take greater external risks, maintain rigid pegs longer than prudent, or neglect domestic reforms. One reason financial crises can be cleansing is that they expose bad habits. Easy rescues can preserve them.

Then there is the Trump factor.

Donald Trump’s instinct in foreign policy has often been transactional: allies are clients, commitments are leverage, economics is theater. That can produce tactical wins, but it rarely builds durable trust. If swap lines are handled as political favors—granted to flatterers, withheld from critics, linked to unrelated concessions—they cease to be stabilizing instruments and become another source of uncertainty.

Markets dislike uncertainty more than they dislike bad news.

A neutral observer might conclude that both sides are trapped by the same reality. The Gulf states dislike dependence on Washington, yet need access to the system Washington anchors. America dislikes underwriting wealthy partners, yet benefits from the very dependence it complains about. Each resents the other’s leverage while relying on it.

That is the essence of empire in its late-modern form: not colonies, but balance sheets.

The wiser course for Washington would be conditional generosity. Temporary, transparent, rules-based swap facilities tied to measurable market stress, not personal diplomacy. Limited tenor. Clear pricing. Strong collateral standards. Coordination with the Federal Reserve rather than improvisation through political channels. In short: treat the matter as central banking, not campaign spectacle.

For the Gulf, the lesson is equally clear. Sovereign wealth is not the same as monetary sovereignty. Owning ports, football clubs, skyscrapers, and foreign equities does not eliminate dependence on the currency in which global trade clears. If anything, such assets often deepen it.

Many countries have learned this the hard way. Argentina had resources but lacked credibility. Russia had reserves but found them vulnerable to sanctions. Britain had prestige but lost monetary primacy. Wealth is situational. Liquidity is power.

That is why one of the world’s richest regions may now be seeking what looks, to the untrained eye, like a bailout.

It is not a bailout. It is a reminder.

The reminder is that the dollar remains king, though perhaps a more contested king than before. It is that crises reveal hierarchies more honestly than peacetime rhetoric. And it is that nations boasting independence often discover, in moments of stress, just how interdependent they truly are.

The Gulf is asking for dollars because dollars still matter most. America should recognize the leverage that gives it—while remembering that misuse of leverage is how dominance eventually declines.

M A Hossain is a senior journalist and international affairs analyst, based in Bangladesh. 

This article published at :

1. Asia Times, HK : 29 April, 26

2. Sri Lanka Guardian, Sl, 30 April, 26

3. Nepal Today, Nepal : 30 April, 26

Russia Profits While Power Slips

M A Hossain, 

Wars have a way of exposing illusions. Some collapse instantly; others linger, propped up by wishful thinking and selective analysis. The latest conflict in the Gulf does both. It reveals a Russia that cannot protect its partners, yet paradoxically profits from their peril. Weakness and advantage—coexisting, uneasily.

That contradiction sits at the center of Moscow’s current calculus. It is not a new pattern. History is littered with powers that lost influence on the battlefield but gained leverage in markets, diplomacy, or timing. The question is whether such a balance can last—or whether it inevitably breaks under its own contradictions.

The Illusion of Strategic Control

There was a time when Moscow prided itself on being a decisive actor in the Middle East. Syria was the showcase. Intervention there signaled a return to great-power status, a declaration that Russia could shape outcomes far beyond its borders. That confidence now looks overstated.

Recent events tell a different story. A partner falls here, another is pressured there. A war erupts—and Moscow watches, reacts, adjusts. It does not lead. It does not deter. It adapts.

The latest confrontation underscores this shift. A major ally comes under direct military assault. The response from Moscow? Calibrated, cautious, indirect. Intelligence sharing, diplomatic cover, rhetorical opposition—but no decisive intervention. No dramatic show of force. No reversal of events. This is not strategy in the classical sense. It is management of decline, disguised as restraint.

History offers parallels. Late Soviet foreign policy often relied on proxies and posturing when direct engagement became too costly or risky. The British Empire, in its twilight years, frequently masked retreat as prudence. Great powers rarely admit erosion; they reinterpret it.

What makes the current moment striking is not just the limitation—it is the visibility of it. Allies can see it. Rivals can exploit it. And markets, as always, respond with ruthless clarity.

The Windfall of Chaos

If geopolitics exposes Russia’s limits, economics tells a more forgiving story. War disrupts. Disruption inflates prices. And in a world still dependent on hydrocarbons, higher prices mean one thing: revenue.

The ongoing conflict has done precisely that. Oil markets, shaken by uncertainty and logistical bottlenecks, have moved upward. Supply routes are threatened. Insurance costs rise. Traders hedge. Prices climb. For Russia, this is not incidental. It is lifeblood.

After a difficult start to the year—sanctions tightening, revenues shrinking—the shift has been dramatic. Oil that once sold at steep discounts now commands far better prices. In some cases, even premiums. Revenues per barrel have effectively doubled in a short span.

The implications are immediate. Budget pressures ease. Difficult political decisions—cuts, austerity, reform—can be delayed. Financial reserves, once nearing depletion, gain breathing room. But the significance goes beyond accounting.

Energy has always been more than an economic asset for Moscow. It is leverage. Influence. A tool of statecraft. When prices rise, so does that leverage. Import-dependent economies feel the strain. Political calculations shift. Dependencies reassert themselves.

Yet here lies the paradox: this advantage is built on instability. It depends on a crisis Moscow did not initiate and cannot control. That is not power. It is opportunism.

The Ukrainian Equation

No discussion of Russia’s strategic position is complete without Ukraine. And here, the Gulf conflict introduces a subtle but meaningful shift.

Wars compete—for attention, for resources, for political will.

As the Middle East demands greater focus, Western priorities adjust. Defensive systems are redeployed. Strategic attention is divided. Supply chains stretch thinner. This does not mean abandonment. But it does mean dilution.

For Moscow, even marginal changes matter. A slight delay in deliveries, a minor reallocation of defenses, a temporary distraction—each contributes to a broader picture. Not decisive on its own, but cumulatively significant.

History again provides context. During the Cold War, peripheral conflicts often influenced central theaters in unexpected ways. The Yom Kippur War, for instance, reshaped superpower dynamics far beyond the Middle East. Resources are finite; priorities shift.

The current situation reflects that same dynamic. A war in one region alters the balance in another—not through direct confrontation, but through redistribution of focus.

Still, it would be a mistake to overstate the impact. Economic relief from higher oil prices does not translate into unlimited military capacity. Structural constraints remain. Sanctions still bite. Logistics still matter. Russia gains time, not transformation.

Balancing Without Commitment

Perhaps the most delicate aspect of Moscow’s position lies in its diplomacy. Supporting one partner risks alienating others. Escalation invites consequences. Restraint invites doubt.

The current approach is a study in careful ambiguity. Public criticism of Western actions is loud and visible. Behind the scenes, engagement remains measured. Assistance is provided—but kept below thresholds that would trigger broader confrontation.

At the same time, relationships with other regional actors are preserved. Lines are not crossed. Signals are calibrated. This is not indecision. It is calculated flexibility.

However, such balancing acts are inherently unstable. They rely on precise calibration in an unpredictable environment. One mistake—too much support, too little restraint—can destabilize the equilibrium.

Empires have previously struggled with this issue. The Austro-Hungarian Empire's attempt to balance competing alliances and internal pressures proved unsustainable. The Ottoman Empire faced similar quandaries, navigating between powers while attempting to maintain autonomy.

Russia’s current posture echoes those historical tensions. It seeks influence without entanglement, support without escalation, presence without overcommitment. That is a narrow path.

The Fragile Future of Energy Power

There is one more layer to this story—less immediate, but more consequential. High oil prices are a blessing in the short term. Over time, they can become a curse.

When energy becomes expensive, alternatives become attractive. Investment flows shift. Technologies accelerate. Consumers adapt. This is not speculation. It is precedent.

The oil shocks of the 1970s prompted efficiency, diversification, and innovation across industrial economies. Dependence did not disappear, but it did decrease. 

A prolonged period of high prices could have a similar impact today. Electrification is gaining momentum. Renewable energy becomes more competitive. The structural demand for fossil fuels has weakened.

For a state heavily reliant on hydrocarbon exports, this is a long-term risk that no short-term windfall can offset. Russia’s current advantage, then, contains the seeds of its future challenge.

Between Opportunity and Decline

So where does this leave Moscow? Stronger than it appeared at the start of the year, certainly. Financially more stable. Strategically less constrained in the immediate term.

But also exposed. Dependent on external events. Limited in its ability to shape outcomes. Navigating a landscape where gains are contingent, not guaranteed.

It is tempting to view the current situation as a clever exploitation of global turmoil. There is truth in that. States survive, and sometimes thrive, by adapting to circumstances beyond their control. But adaptation is not the same as mastery.

The deeper reality is more complex. Russia is benefiting from a crisis that underscores its own limitations. It is gaining from instability it cannot direct. It is buying time in a system that is gradually shifting beneath its feet. History suggests such moments do not last indefinitely.

They eventually come to an end, either abruptly or gradually. When they do, the underlying balance of power resurfaces. For now, Moscow plays its hand carefully. Watching. Calculating. Profiting where it can. But the game is not entirely its own. And that may be the most important fact of all.

M A Hossain is a senior journalist and international affairs analyst, based in Bangladesh. He can be reached at: writetomahossain@gmail.com

This article published at :

1. Sri Lanka Guardian, lk: 4 April, 26

Pakistan’s strategic depth turns strategic trap

M A Hossain,

For nearly half a century, Pakistan’s generals spoke in the language of geometry. Depth. Flanks. Strategic rear space. Afghanistan, in this cartography of fear, was never just a neighbor; it was a buffer against India, a fallback position in the event of war, a pliable hinterland that could be shaped through influence and proxies. The phrase was deceptively clinical—“strategic depth.” The consequences have been anything but.

It was a doctrine born of insecurity after 1971, hardened during the Soviet war, refined during the first Taliban emirate, and resurrected in the long American twilight in Afghanistan. Today, that doctrine lies in ruins. What was meant to be depth has become quicksand.

The policy’s unintended consequence is now unmistakable: internal militancy, cross-border insurgency, and a Taliban regime in Kabul that behaves less like a proxy and more like a sovereign actor with its own agenda. Blowback is no longer theoretical. It is measurable—in bomb blasts, funerals, refugee convoys, and diplomatic isolation.

Strategic Mirage 

Pakistan’s concept of strategic depth emerged in the 1980s, when the anti-Soviet jihad in Afghanistan offered both opportunity and leverage. Through patronage of Islamist factions—most notably the precursors to what would become the Afghan Taliban—Islamabad sought influence in Kabul. The assumption was simple: a friendly Afghanistan would prevent encirclement by India and provide fallback space in the event of conventional war.

That logic endured long after the Soviet collapse. During the 1990s, Pakistan backed the Afghan Taliban’s rise to power. After 2001, even as Islamabad formally joined the U.S. war on terror, elements within its security apparatus were accused of maintaining selective ties to Taliban factions. The gamble was that militant proxies could be calibrated—useful against external rivals, containable at home.

History is littered with examples of states believing they could tame irregular forces. The United States thought it could manage Afghan warlords. The Soviets assumed they could control revolutionary allies in Eastern Europe. Pakistan believed it could ride the tiger of jihadist militancy. Tigers, as it turns out, do not accept leashes.

Taliban’s Miscalculation

When the Afghan Taliban swept back to power in August 2021, many in Islamabad quietly celebrated. The expectation was not public but palpable: the new rulers in Kabul would reciprocate years of support. Pakistan anticipated cooperation against anti-Pakistan militants operating from Afghan soil, particularly the Tehreek-e-Taliban Pakistan (TTP).

Instead, the Taliban prioritized autonomy. They sought legitimacy beyond Pakistan’s shadow—courting regional actors, consolidating internal unity, and resisting overt Pakistani pressure. Ideological affinity with the TTP complicated matters further. Both movements share Deobandi roots, tribal linkages, and a history of collaboration.

Rather than dismantle TTP sanctuaries, the Taliban adopted what might be called strategic ambiguity. Public denials. Private tolerance. Occasional mediation. No sustained crackdown.

The result? The TTP resurged with vigor.

TTP’s Resurgence

Since 2021, the TTP has grown in strength, organization, and ambition. Estimates suggest its fighting force has expanded into the thousands, bolstered by released prisoners, unification of splinter groups, and access to Afghan safe havens.

The numbers tell part of the story. Attacks surged dramatically after 2021. By 2024 and 2025, incidents ranged from ambushes in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa to bombings in urban centers and operations extending into Balochistan and Punjab. In early 2026, a single January week reportedly witnessed dozens of attacks.

This is not mere insurgent persistence. It is a strategic adaptation. The TTP has refined its tactics—improvised explosive devices, coordinated ambushes, targeted assassinations—while attempting to cultivate a narrative of disciplined resistance. The group’s leadership under Noor Wali Mehsud has emphasized unity and strategic focus. Blowback has a body count. Pakistani soldiers, police officers, and civilians have paid the price.

Safe Havens 

The Afghan Taliban’s role in enabling TTP operations is central. Reports from international monitoring bodies indicate that TTP fighters operate from eastern Afghan provinces such as Kunar, Nangarhar, Khost, and Paktika. Safe houses, logistical networks, and access to weaponry have provided operational depth to a group once battered by Pakistani military campaigns.

Financial and logistical facilitation, whether direct or permissive, has allowed the TTP to regroup. The Taliban leadership insists it does not allow Afghan soil to be used against neighbors. Yet actions—or inaction—suggest otherwise.

This dynamic reflects ideological kinship and political calculus. The Taliban fear that aggressively suppressing the TTP could fracture their own ranks or push militants toward rivals like Islamic State Khorasan Province (ISKP). Containing TTP without confronting it has become Kabul’s uneasy compromise. For Pakistan, that compromise feels like betrayal.

Management to Confrontation

Islamabad’s response has shifted from negotiation to coercion. Diplomatic talks mediated in cities like Doha and Istanbul collapsed. Cross-border artillery exchanges and airstrikes followed. By early 2026, Pakistani officials spoke openly of “open war” scenarios after alleged Taliban drone incursions and cross-border assaults.

Airstrikes in Afghan territory have reportedly caused civilian casualties, inflaming Afghan public opinion. Meanwhile, Pakistan deported hundreds of thousands of Afghan refugees in 2025, a move framed as a security policy but criticized as collective punishment.

The border, once imagined as a manageable frontier, has hardened into a volatile frontline. Strategic depth has inverted into strategic exposure.

Internally, Pakistan faces a convergence of crises: economic fragility, political polarization, and militant resurgence. Security operations drain resources. Casualties strain morale. Public frustration mounts.

The specter of a two-front dilemma—India to the east, instability to the west—haunts military planners. Even if a conventional war with India remains unlikely, the psychological pressure shapes policy. No state can sustain chronic insurgency without cost.

Trust erodes. Investors hesitate. Citizens question. Militant proxies once justified as instruments of national security now appear as liabilities undermining that very security.

Regional Recalibrations

Regional actors are adjusting accordingly.

India, long wary of Pakistan’s Afghan maneuvering, has deepened engagement with Kabul through humanitarian assistance, infrastructure projects, and diplomatic outreach. New Delhi has simultaneously strengthened counterterror vigilance along the Line of Control, wary of spillover from TTP–Al-Qaeda linkages.

China, for its part, approaches the crisis pragmatically. Beijing’s primary concern is the protection of Belt and Road investments, particularly the China–Pakistan Economic Corridor (CPEC). TTP attacks on Chinese interests have prompted tighter security cooperation between Islamabad and Beijing. China has engaged the Taliban diplomatically, seeking assurances that Afghan territory will not endanger regional connectivity.

Neither India nor China desires chaos in Afghanistan. But neither will subordinate its interests to Pakistan’s strategic anxieties.

Al-Qaeda Dimension

The TTP’s historical and operational ties to Al-Qaeda add another layer of complexity. Access to training expertise, ideological reinforcement, and transnational networks elevates the threat profile. For the United States and other Western actors, such linkages violate the spirit—if not the letter—of the Doha Agreement.

Washington has relied primarily on sanctions and diplomatic pressure rather than renewed military intervention. Yet the perception that Afghanistan could once again serve as a platform for transnational jihadism unsettles global security planners.

Pakistan, ironically, now finds itself urging the very Taliban regime it once sheltered to fulfill counterterrorism commitments. History has a dark sense of humor.

The Strategic Trap

Analysts increasingly describe Pakistan’s predicament as a “strategic trap.” Escalation risks wider conflict with Kabul. Restraint invites continued TTP attacks. Mass deportations strain humanitarian norms. Airstrikes inflame nationalism across the border.

The Taliban, meanwhile, diversified diplomatic ties—with Russia, China, Iran, and regional forums—reducing reliance on Pakistan. Afghan nationalism resists subordination. The proxy era, if it ever truly existed, is fading.

Islamabad’s recalibrated approach now blends deterrence with selective engagement. Precision strikes coexist with offers of ceasefire. Multilateral diplomacy supplements unilateral force. Yet the core dilemma remains unresolved: how to neutralize a militant threat rooted in ideological affinity and geographic sanctuary without igniting full-scale war.

The Blowback 

As of February 2026, volatility persists. Ceasefires are fragile. Airstrikes invite retaliation. Refugee flows strain humanitarian systems. The possibility of miscalculation looms large.

Yet history offers cautionary lessons. States that cultivate irregular forces for short-term advantage often confront long-term blowback. The United States learned this in Central America. The Soviet Union learned it in Afghanistan itself. Pakistan is confronting its own iteration of that pattern.

Strategic depth, once heralded as strategic wisdom, now appears a strategic mirage. The buffer has become a breach. The backyard has become a battleground.

Whether Islamabad recalibrates decisively—or doubles down on coercion—will shape not only its own security but the stability of South and Central Asia. For now, one conclusion is unavoidable: the doctrine meant to shield Pakistan has returned as blowback, and the costs are still unfolding.

 

M A Hossain, senior journalist and international affairs analyst based in Bangladesh. He covers South Asia and Southeast Asian region for The News Analytics Herald. He can be reached at : writetomahossain@gmail.com

    

This article published at :

1. The News Analytics Herald, India : April, 26, edition 

Fuel, Fear, and Fiction of Scarcity

M A Hossain,

There is a peculiar pattern in modern crises: the line between real scarcity and perceived scarcity blurs faster than policymakers can respond. Bangladesh’s current energy predicament sits precisely on that fault line. It is, at once, a crisis born of geopolitics and one manufactured—quietly, incrementally—by human behavior.

To understand where we stand, one must begin not in Dhaka, but in the narrow waters of the Strait of Hormuz. History has taught us that chokepoints define outcomes. When Egypt nationalized the Suez Canal in 1956, global trade trembled. When oil embargoes followed the Arab-Israeli war in 1973, Western economies learned the hard way that energy is not merely a commodity—it is leverage. Today, with tensions in the Middle East threatening Hormuz, we are watching a familiar script unfold, albeit with new actors and higher stakes.

For Bangladesh, the vulnerability is structural. A nation that once relied entirely on domestic gas has, since 2018, tethered its economic engine to imported liquefied natural gas. Roughly one-third of its gas now arrives from Qatar and Oman, a dependency that seemed pragmatic in times of stability. It looks precarious in times of war.

The numbers tell a sobering story. Domestic gas costs a fraction of imported LNG—Tk 3 per cubic meter versus nearly Tk 55. Yet necessity has overridden prudence. When global prices spike, Bangladesh pays. When supply routes falter, Bangladesh waits. And when both happen simultaneously, Bangladesh strains—financially, industrially, socially.

But geopolitics alone does not explain the queues at petrol pumps or the “no fuel” signs appearing across cities. If anything, those are symptoms of a deeper, more uncomfortable truth: scarcity is being amplified from within.

Consider the psychology of panic. During the COVID-19 pandemic, shelves emptied not because supply chains had collapsed overnight, but because consumers acted as if they had. Hoarding became rational behavior in an irrational moment. The same dynamic is now visible in fuel markets. Motorcyclists visiting multiple stations, households storing petrol in containers, opportunistic traders diverting supply into black markets—these are not responses to absolute shortage. They are accelerants of perceived shortage.

In economic terms, this is the anatomy of an “artificial crisis.” Supply may be strained, but it is not absent. Yet demand surges irrationally, distribution falters, and the system buckles under pressure it was never designed to withstand.

Government responses, to be fair, have not been idle. Rationing measures, fuel cards, the deployment of monitoring officers at stations—these are necessary interventions. Price stability, maintained through subsidies, reflects a political commitment to shield citizens from immediate pain. But here lies the uncomfortable question: are these measures treating the disease, or merely its symptoms?

History offers a cautionary note. In the 1970s, many governments attempted to control oil crises through price caps and administrative controls. The result, more often than not, was distortion—shortages worsened, black markets flourished, and inefficiencies multiplied. Bangladesh risks treading a similar path if structural weaknesses remain unaddressed.

Take storage capacity. At present, the country holds fuel reserves sufficient for barely 8 to 12 days. In a volatile world, that is not a buffer; it is a gamble. Advanced economies maintain strategic reserves covering months, not days. The difference is not merely technical—it is strategic. Without adequate storage, every disruption becomes a crisis. With it, disruptions become manageable.

Then there is the question of distribution. Reports of fuel shortages amid claims of adequate national reserves point to coordination failures. In an era defined by data, the absence of real-time monitoring systems is more than an administrative gap; it is a vulnerability. Transparency in supply chains is no longer optional—it is essential.

Yet even if these immediate issues are resolved, a larger challenge looms: the structure of Bangladesh’s energy economy itself.

The reliance on LNG is not merely expensive; it is inherently unstable. Global markets are volatile, subject to geopolitical shocks far beyond Dhaka’s control. The Russia-Ukraine war should have been a warning. When LNG prices soared to unprecedented levels, Bangladesh was forced to retreat from the spot market, leading to widespread load shedding. That lesson, it appears, has not been fully absorbed.

Meanwhile, the economic consequences are already visible. Gas supply shortfalls—demand exceeding 4,000 mmcf against supply below 2,700—are constraining industrial output. The ready-made garment sector, which accounts for over 80 percent of exports, is operating under severe stress. Production has dropped in some cases to 30 or 40 percent of capacity. Exports are declining. Costs are rising. This is not merely an energy issue; it is an economic one with far-reaching implications.

And yet, within this crisis lies an opportunity—one that Bangladesh has been slow to seize.

Renewable energy is often discussed in abstract terms, as a distant aspiration. It should not be. The economics have shifted decisively. Solar power, once prohibitively expensive, is now among the cheapest sources of energy globally. With advances in battery storage, its intermittency is no longer an insurmountable obstacle.

The potential is staggering. Experts suggest that Bangladesh could generate up to 50,000 megawatts of solar power using just 1 percent of its agricultural land. This is not a utopian vision; it is a practical pathway. Countries far less endowed with sunlight have made the transition. The question is not feasibility, but will.

Diversification, too, must become more than a policy slogan. Reliance on a single region or route—be it Hormuz or any other—invites vulnerability. A resilient energy strategy requires multiple sources, multiple routes, and multiple technologies. It requires, above all, a shift in mindset: from short-term crisis management to long-term risk mitigation.

None of this, however, absolves society of responsibility. Crises reveal character, not just capability. Hoarding fuel in times of uncertainty may seem prudent at the individual level, but collectively it is destructive. Black marketeers exploiting scarcity are not merely breaking laws; they are undermining social trust. Enforcement matters, but so does civic behavior.

In the end, Bangladesh’s energy crisis is not a single problem with a single solution. It is a convergence of external shocks and internal weaknesses, of policy gaps and behavioral excesses. Addressing it requires more than administrative action; it requires strategic clarity.

The lesson from history is clear: energy security is not achieved in moments of crisis. It is built in the years before them. Bangladesh now finds itself at a crossroads—reacting to events it cannot control, while still possessing the agency to shape what comes next.

The choice is stark. Continue managing crises as they arise, or begin constructing a system resilient enough to withstand them. In that choice lies the difference between vulnerability and stability—and, ultimately, between stagnation and progress.

This article published at :

1. New Age, BD : 31 March, 26

2. Asian Age, BD : 31 March, 26