By RO Maung Shwe | June 2025
On a warm afternoon near the Bangladesh-Myanmar custom road in Ghumdhum, a local tea vendor leaned forward and lowered his voice. “They say a ‘corridor’ will open to Myanmar… but I don’t know what that word really means. What I do know is that if they open the border, we’ll be finished. People with guns will come. And we won’t sleep at night—like now, but worse.”
His concern isn’t unique. Since the interim government of Bangladesh announced that it had agreed “in principle” to open a humanitarian corridor from the Chittagong Hill Tracts to Myanmar’s Rakhine State—pending UN oversight—fear has rippled through local communities, political circles, and Rohingya refugee camps alike.
Locals who live along the border, long accustomed to unease, say the anxiety has escalated. Many fear that instead of offering relief, this corridor could trigger violence, usher in conflict, or even change the political map of the region.
A Border that Breathes Uncertainty
The custom road—originally built to facilitate trade and improve security—is now at the heart of a national debate. What was once a quiet infrastructure project has transformed into what some fear could be a strategic vulnerability. Residents point to the rising movement of armed groups, including the Arakan Army (AA), across the Myanmar side of the border.
“Our children used to play in these hills,” said a resident of Bandarban who requested anonymity. “Now, we tell them to stay inside after sunset. We hear gunfire sometimes. We hear rumors. And now this ‘corridor’… We don’t want to be caught in someone else’s war.”
Their fears aren’t baseless. Since Bangladesh’s independence in 1971, the southeastern border has remained volatile—affected by insurgency, narcotics trafficking, and military operations on both sides. Recent escalations in Rakhine, where the Arakan Army has gained control of key territories from the junta, have further complicated the landscape.
Political Backlash: “This is Not Gaza”
The reaction from Bangladesh’s opposition has been swift and fiery. The BNP (Bangladesh Nationalist Party) condemned the corridor proposal, calling it a threat to national sovereignty. At a recent virtual meeting chaired by Acting Chairman Tarique Rahman, party leaders unanimously voiced opposition.
“We’ve already taken in more than a million Rohingya refugees,” said a senior BNP Standing Committee member in conversation with UNB. “Now the government wants to open our border again, in the middle of a war? This could drag us into a conflict like Gaza.”
BNP Secretary General Mirza Fakhrul Islam Alamgir also criticized the lack of political consultation. “This isn’t just a humanitarian issue. It’s about national security, independence, and the peace of our region,” he said during a televised speech.
Some party officials speculated whether the corridor was part of a larger, possibly foreign-backed, geopolitical plan to destabilize the region—an allegation with no public evidence but one that reflects deep political mistrust.
Rohingya Voices: “This Corridor Is Not for Us”
For Rohingya refugees in Bangladesh, the proposal adds to an already heavy burden of uncertainty. Many are unsure whether the so-called “humanitarian corridor” is a step toward repatriation—or a cover for forced return into a war zone.
Ro Khin Maung, a young Rohingya political leader, offered a frank assessment:
“This corridor is about Bangladesh and Myanmar. It’s not about the Rohingya. I don’t think it will succeed, because the people of Bangladesh are not supporting it. And if it happens, the Arakan Army—not us—will benefit the most.”
His concerns are echoed in the camps. Since late 2024, over 60,000 Rohingya civilians have crossed into Bangladesh after fleeing violence triggered by the Arakan Army’s capture of territories. Despite AA’s claims of protecting Rakhine people, many Rohingya say the group has targeted them as well—accusing them of collaborating with the Myanmar military or simply being in the way.
“We’ve seen villages burned and children killed,” said a refugee in Kutupalong camp. “Now the idea that a corridor could let the same armed groups get closer to us—it’s terrifying.”
Another camp resident added, “We’ve been refugees for years. We want to return home, but only if it’s safe and dignified. If the Arakan Army controls the area, it’s not safe for us. We don’t want to be sent back just to die again.”
The Unspoken Fear: Losing Control
Though Foreign Adviser Touhid Hossain has assured that the humanitarian corridor would be under UN supervision and bound by conditions, the lack of transparency has stirred speculation and suspicion.
“What are these ‘conditions’?” asked Dr. Khandaker Mosharraf Hossain of BNP. “Why hasn’t the public been informed? Why weren’t other political parties consulted?”
Salahuddin Ahmed, another BNP leader, raised a starker concern:
“This could destroy our national security. Any action that brings foreign military forces, refugees, or armed groups into our border is a recipe for long-term disaster.”
Conclusion: Between Aid and Anxiety
The idea of a humanitarian corridor may sound noble in theory. But on the ground, in the quiet hills of Ghumdhum and the crowded lanes of Kutupalong, people hear echoes of conflict—past and future.
While the government speaks of compassion and international cooperation, communities at the border speak of fear. Political parties speak of sovereignty. And Rohingya refugees speak of betrayal.
For now, the corridor remains a concept. But as the debate intensifies, one thing is clear: unless transparency, inclusion, and safety are guaranteed for all communities involved, what starts as a passage of aid may end as a gateway to chaos.
