The fires of October are not merely stories of smoke and ashes-they are signs of a deeper national ailment. They burn through more than just buildings; they burn through our collective complacency. When a five-storey garment factory in Mirpur's Shialbari caught fire on October 14, the workers inside could hardly imagine that their final day had dawned. Within moments, the fire leapt from floor to floor, consuming dreams, families, and futures. The black smoke that rose above the skyline was not just a symbol of loss-it was a mirror reflecting our urban disorder, where every act of negligence fuels another tragedy.
Even before that horror faded, another inferno erupted in Chattogram's EPZ area. The blaze that began on the seventh floor of Adams Cap & Textile Limited swept downward with terrifying speed. Twenty-three units of the Fire Service, aided by the army, navy, and air force, fought for hours, yet the flames defied control. The city's industrial skyline turned gray with smoke, as helpless onlookers watched an entire zone reduced to cinders. The fire was not an isolated accident-it was an indictment of a broken system. Once again, it revealed how fragile our industrial safety standards are, and how the absence of accountability turns every workplace into a potential death trap.
Barely a day later, another plume of smoke darkened the skies above Dhaka airport. Panic spread among travelers and workers alike, as fire trucks rushed to contain yet another blaze. Three major fires in a single week cannot be dismissed as coincidence. They are warnings-each flame a signal from the heart of a dysfunctional urban ecosystem, where human lives are trapped between greed, ignorance, and state incapacity.
Firefighters fight with heroism and heart, but courage alone cannot defeat chaos. Bangladesh now has more than five hundred fire stations, yet the coverage remains grossly inadequate for cities as dense as Dhaka or Chattogram. In developed nations, every high-rise is equipped with sprinklers, smoke detectors, and automated alarm systems. In Dhaka, by contrast, nearly 55 percent of all buildings lack even the minimum fire safety features. A Fire Service inspection report shows that many structures have no proper exits, no emergency signage, and no working hydrants. Owners routinely block fire escapes, occupy rooftops, and ignore design approvals to add illegal floors. Investing even one lakh taka in fire safety is seen as an unnecessary expense. The result is predictable: lives lost, families shattered, and the same cycle of grief repeated year after year.
Fire Service officials are trapped in their own bureaucratic limitations. They can list risky buildings, but they cannot legally seal or demolish them. This powerlessness is a cruel irony-the very agency responsible for safety is denied the authority to enforce it. Every major blaze turns into a tragic ritual: brave firefighters arrive late due to traffic and narrow lanes, water fails to reach upper floors, and rescue ladders stop short. Between 2006 and 2025, the number of high-rise buildings in Dhaka increased fivefold, yet firefighting capacity has barely evolved. Even with Tk 174 crore worth of foreign-donated equipment, most tools are only effective for mid-level buildings. The result is a war fought by brave soldiers with blunt weapons.
The real question now is-have we learned anything from these fires? Urban planners warn that total dependence on the Fire Service is "suicidal confidence." True safety must begin inside the building, not outside it. Every new structure should have its own fire exits, alarm systems, and sprinklers, along with clear evacuation routes. The government must enforce mandatory Fire Safety Certificates for every building, renewed annually. Non-compliant owners should face not just fines but closure orders. To ensure this, the Fire Service must be granted magisterial authority-the power to seal, not merely to warn. Awareness campaigns alone cannot save lives; only enforcement brings change.
Modernization of the Fire Service must no longer remain a bureaucratic slogan. The Tk 4,000 crore Modernization and Capacity Building Project, along with the establishment of 207 new fire stations and 10 specialized rescue units, represents an essential investment in survival. What Bangladesh needs is not more paper plans, but rapid execution. Training must be scaled up through a National Fire Academy; firefighters should be equipped with drones, thermal cameras, and robotic rescue vehicles to tackle high-rise or chemical fires. An integrated emergency response network must connect fire stations, police, hospitals, and city corporations in real time-because in a fire, not minutes but seconds determine who lives and who dies.
Yet even with laws and technology, the most powerful safeguard remains public consciousness. Civic safety cannot be outsourced-it must be internalized. Every office, market, and garment factory should hold at least one fire drill every month, so that workers know how to act in a crisis. Schools should teach disaster preparedness as part of their curriculum. Local citizen committees can monitor risky establishments in their neighborhoods. Media outlets must continue to raise awareness, not just after tragedies but before them. Fire does not stay within four walls-it consumes communities, cities, and moral sensibilities alike.
The time has come to redefine fire safety as a fundamental right, not a privilege. A nation that dreams of smart cities cannot ignore the primitive reality of unsafe buildings and powerless firefighters. Our urban future depends not just on skyscrapers and highways, but on the invisible architecture of safety, awareness, and accountability that keeps lives intact.
The flames of October, then, are more than disasters; they are messages-burning reminders that prevention is not optional, awareness is not decorative, and safety is not a choice. If we fail to learn now, the next fire will not surprise us-it will simply expose how little we changed after the last one.
The writer is an essayist
