From panic buying to administrative myopia, the ongoing fuel crisis in Bangladesh reveals a deep-seated disconnect between policy decisions and public sentiment. The government insists there is no fuel shortage, yet the sight of meandering queues at petrol pumps tells a different story. Hour after hour, commuters and motorists wait in frustration, a scene that has become the new ‘normal’. A recent personal experience highlights the gravity of the situation: while heading to a television station for a talk show, I found myself sharing an office vehicle with a senior lawyer and political leader from the government.
Ordinarily, such a shared commute would be rare, but the current reality-where vehicles sent to pumps have no guaranteed return time-forced us into this pragmatic arrangement.
The visual evidence contradicts official rhetoric. At 11 PM, the stretch from Jahangir Gate to the Bijoy Sarani signal is often choked with weary motorcyclists and drivers waiting for a few liters of fuel. While the government maintains that stocks are sufficient, law enforcement raids have recovered nearly 400,000 liters of illegally hoarded fuel from the most unlikely places-underground tanks, flour mills, laundry, and even grocery stores.
This leads to a critical question: what is driving this frantic ‘panic buying’? While individual hoarding-even by motorcyclists at their homes might seem irrational, it is a symptomatic response to uncertainty. When the state provides hyper-specific data about exactly how many days of diesel or octane remain, it inadvertently triggers alarm rather than providing comfort. In governance, total transparency regarding sensitive reserves can sometimes be “toxic” if not managed with psychological foresight.
The government’s decision to impose rationing on March 6, following global supply disruptions, was a classic example of a well-intentioned policy backfiring due to a lack of technical consultation. By limiting tankers (which typically hold 13,500 liters) to carrying only 3,500 to
5,000 liters, the authorities ignored logistical economics. For pump owners traveling hundreds of miles from depots, the overhead costs – fuel for the tanker, driver wages, and maintenance – remained static, making small-batch transport a losing venture.
Furthermore, the personnel required to manage a pump remained the same, but the time taken to dispense limited quantities to a panicked crowd doubled. This administrative friction led many owners to shut down their pumps simply to avoid financial loss and the wrath of aggressive customers who were unable to get the fuel they needed.
The Bangladesh Petroleum Corporation (BPC) later adopted a “Closing the stable door after the horse has bolted” approach, accusing owners of hoarding. However, the question remains: why was there no oversight when unusual amounts of fuel were being withdrawn from depots just before the rationing announcement?
The crisis was further exacerbated during the Eid-ul-Fitr holidays. With banks closed for seven consecutive days, pump owners could not issue the necessary pay-orders to collect fuel. It is baffling that the BPC did not foresee this or arrange an alternative. This lack of foresight directly led to another wave of panic buying.
Standards and Testing Institution (BSTI) has announced mobile court drives to check fuel quality. While quality control is essential, the timing-amidst a supply crisis-feels like “rubbing salt into a wound.” Such raids, if conducted insensitively, may prompt owners to close pumps to avoid harassment, further choking the supply chain.
Critics argue that years of unchecked bureaucracy and a lack of accountability have compromised the effectiveness of our administrative machinery. If the ghost is inside the mustard seed” (a local proverb suggesting internal corruption), no amount of external raiding will fix the problem.
To restore public trust, the government must move beyond mere statistics and address the structural inefficiencies in distribution. Policy should be crafted in consultation with stakeholders, not in an ivory tower. Only then can we replace the current atmosphere of dread with one of stability and relief.
The writer is a journalist and columnist
