Are environmental crimes acknowledged enough?

When we think of crime, we mostly picture handcuffs, courtrooms, and crime scenes splashed with police tape. Rarely do we imagine a river slowly turning black, a forest vanishing overnight, or children breathing toxic air as victims of crime. Think about something- when a man steals a phone, he gets labeled as a criminal, but when a person who poisons a river that feeds millions is often called a 'violator of rules.' This difference in language explains why environmental crimes remain among the most ignored and most dangerous crimes of our time.  

Environmental crime, from a criminal justice perspective, refers to illegal acts that harm the ecosystem, endanger human health, and violate ecological laws for profit, convenience, or negligence, and by extension, damage human life. 

These crimes include illegal waste dumping, industrial pollution, river grabbing, deforestation, wildlife trafficking, brick kilns operating without clearance, and the systematic violation of environmental laws. The harm may not be immediate, but it is profound, long-lasting, and often irreversible. Unlike conventional crimes, the offender is usually invisible, and the victims are countless.  

The most troubling question is not whether environmental crimes exist in Bangladesh but whether we acknowledge them as crimes at all!  

Look at the rivers. The Turag, Buriganga, Shitalakkya, and Balu are no longer rivers in the traditional sense; they are slow-moving carriers of toxic waste. Take the Buriganga River. Once the lifeline of Dhaka, it is now a floating chemical graveyard. 

For decades, untreated waste from tanneries and industries in Hazaribagh was dumped directly into the river. Even after tanneries were relocated to Savar, reports show that waste treatment plants were either dysfunctional or poorly operated. The river didn't die overnight- it was murdered slowly. Yet, how many convictions followed? If poisoning a single person is homicide, what do we call poisoning an entire river that sustains millions? 

Or consider the ship-breaking yards of Sitakkunda, Chattogram.

The industry is frequently praised for its economic contribution, yet its darker reality has been documented for years.

Marine ecosystems are scarred beyond repair. Hazardous substances leach into surrounding water bodies, poisoning both nature and people. 

These are not merely industrial mishaps. 

Illegal brick kilns offer another grim example. Despite clear laws restricting thin operations near residential areas, schools, and farmlands, thousands continue to operate unlawfully. 

Then there is hill cutting- an environmental crime that literary reshapes geography. In regions like Chattogram, Cox's Bazar, and parts of Sylhet, hills are illegally cut to make way for housing and commercial projects. The result is a deadly landslide during the monsoon season.

Lives are lost, homes collapse, and emergency relief follows. But the root crime, which is illegal hill cutting, rarely leads to sustained prosecution. Disasters are called 'natural' when in reality they are human-made crimes with predictable outcomes.  

Air pollution tells a similar story. Dhaka frequently ranks among the world's most polluted cities. Children develop asthma, older adults suffer respiratory failure, and hospitals fill up during the winter months. Yet polluters continue to operate openly.

From a criminological standpoint, knowingly exposing a population to harmful substances should qualify as criminal negligence at the very least. But socially, it is normalised – 'that's just Dhaka air.' 

Wildlife crime exposes another layer of neglect. Bangladesh has seen repeated seizures of trafficked animals- turtles stuffed into sacks, exotic birds crammed into cages, animal parts meant for international markets. These are organised crimes with transnational links. Yet they rarely dominate headlines for more than a day.

Why does society fail to acknowledge environmental crime properly?  

Because the victims are collective and silent, a murdered river does not scream. There is no CCTV footage or a single moment to outrage over. The violence is stretched over years, diluted across populations, and buried under phrases like 'economic necessity.' But here is the 'bitter truth', environmental crime is the only crime where future generations are automatic victims. Children not yet born will inherit poisoned soil, unstable climate, and dead rivers without having committed or consented to anything. 

If environmental crimes were treated with the seriousness they deserve, we would see specialised investigative units, harsher penalties for repeat offenders, and criminal cases rather than 'symbolic' fines. 

If crime is defined as harm plus illegality, then environment crime is among the gravest forms of criminality we have.

The fact that we hesitate to call it that says more about our moral blindness than legal ambiguity. Perhaps the real crime is not pollution itself but our refusal to see it as violence. 

ashfah257@gmail.com