In the remote fishing village of Jaldash Para in Teknaf’s Hnila union, the once-familiar rhythms of life have vanished. The scent of salt remains in the air, but the sounds of oars slicing through the Naf River and nets hauling in fresh catch are now memories—faded and painful.
Since 2017, over 700,000 Rohingya refugees fleeing military violence in Myanmar have taken shelter in Cox’s Bazar. In response, the government declared the Naf River off-limits to local fishermen, citing security concerns over border crossings, drug trafficking, and smuggling. What was described as a temporary measure has stretched into an indefinite hardship, now in its eighth year.
The result: a livelihood crisis for more than 5,000 fishing families who once depended entirely on the river.
“Once our village was full of life... the smell of fish, the sounds of trade,” says 70-year-old Samapti Das, her fingers still weaving old nets beside her 96-year-old mother. “Now, there’s nothing. No fish, no work. We survive on hope, barely.”
The silence in Hnila is now pierced not by bustling trade but by hunger, illness, and desperation. In home after home, families sit with idle boats and decaying gear, trapped in poverty without state assistance.
Nabi Hossain lies groaning in his bed, untreated for a prolonged illness. “We don’t even have money for paracetamol,” his wife, Mostofa Khatun, says quietly. “Fishing was our only income.”
Local cooperative leader Abdul Gani counts over 200 boats left to rot. “Our tools are useless. Our spirit is gone,” he says. “What was once a thriving community is now on the edge.”
Despite a massive border security presence, drug and arms smuggling across the Naf continues, according to local officials and civil society groups. Acting Chairman of Hnila Union Parishad, Ali Ahmed, questions the logic of the ongoing ban. “Security is necessary, yes,” he says. “But are we really more secure if we’re starving our own people?”
He notes that while smuggling has grown, it is the innocent who are punished. “Border crime hasn't stopped—but our fishermen have.”
With international humanitarian aid also dwindling—UNHCR recently raised alarm over monsoon risks for Rohingya and underfunded support systems—the host communities find themselves increasingly neglected. A government project worth Tk 652.55 crore targets both refugees and locals, but on the ground, the impact remains minimal.
A limited policy change was introduced on August 5. Teknaf Upazila Nirbahi Officer Sheikh Ehsan Uddin confirmed that fishing is now allowed during daytime in certain areas like Shahporir Dwip. “The rest of the river remains restricted,” he added.
Abu Morshed Chowdhury, President of the Cox’s Bazar Civil Society Forum, says the long-term consequences could be devastating. “These communities need more than token allowances. If they cannot survive here, they must be given a chance to live and work elsewhere.”
Without a clear plan to support or compensate the affected families, entire generations in Teknaf face an uncertain future.As Ali Ahmed puts it, standing on the quiet banks of the Naf, “When the river was open, it fed our stomachs and our souls. Now, we are empty.”
While national security cannot be ignored, the continued restriction of river access without meaningful economic alternatives amounts to a policy failure. A livelihood lost over such a long period becomes more than an economic concern—it erodes dignity, agency, and intergenerational stability. These families are not collateral—they are citizens, and their exclusion from the national recovery narrative deepens cycles of injustice.
BOB Post
