Once rice seedlings are in the ground, a farmer's greatest hope rests on the rain and the fertility of the soil. But when the fertiliser sack becomes a symbol of uncertainty, the crisis no longer belongs to the farmer alone; it slowly becomes a question of food security, markets, inflation and, in the end, the capacity of the state. For Bangladeshi farmers fertiliser is not a luxury. It is the life of the crop. The unrest over fertiliser now seen in various parts of the country recalls an old nightmare.

The government says there is no shortage. On 9 September it told the Jatiya Sangsad that the likely demand for urea, TSP, DAP and MOP from October 2026 to February 2027 is 35.87 lakh tonnes, against a ready supply of 51.71 lakh tonnes. On paper, that leaves a surplus of about 15.84 lakh tonnes. But the farmer's question is simple: if there is fertiliser, why is it not in my hands?

That question is now the most urgent one, because fertiliser in a warehouse and fertiliser reaching a farmer's field on time are not the same thing. The state's success cannot be measured by warehouse accounts; the real test is whether fertiliser reaches the field at the right time, at the fixed price and in the quantity needed.

In recent weeks farmers in various areas have complained of not getting fertiliser and of paying more for it; there have been road blockades, vandalism at dealers' warehouses and fertiliser taken by force. In Kurigram farmers took fertiliser from a dealer's warehouse; in Rajshahi about 300 farmers blocked a highway.

The government says the crisis stems mainly from flaws in the supply system, irregularities in stocking and marketing in some places, and an artificial shortage. Farmers say fertiliser is unavailable at designated dealers' shops, forcing them to buy on the open market at higher prices. In several districts there are allegations of Tk 300 to Tk 350 extra being charged on a 50 kg sack.

So the problem may not be a national shortfall in total quantity, but where the fertiliser is, who holds it, when it is available and at what price it reaches the farmer. That is the most dangerous point, because when weaknesses in supply collide with the farming calendar, a surplus on paper becomes a shortage in the field.

Farming does not wait. Rice seedlings do not negotiate with the farmer. Fertiliser, irrigation and weeding must happen at set times, and even a week's delay can affect yields. When a farmer stands for hours in front of a dealer's shop and still leaves empty-handed, the official line that "the country has adequate stocks" means nothing to him.

Farmers must be given fertiliser on time, at a fair price and with dignity. Getting fertiliser into a farmer's hands is not just delivering a sack of chemicals; it keeps a family's hopes alive, saves a crop, stabilises a market and ultimately protects the country's food security.

History's warning must be remembered here. Major political and social crises over fertiliser are not new in Bangladesh. From late 1994 to early 1995 the country faced a severe fertiliser crisis. An International Monetary Fund assessment said a shortfall in urea supply, combined with misguided government intervention in distribution, pushed the situation into crisis. Demand rose at the same time for Boro cultivation. Production fell while urea exports rose, putting pressure on domestic supply.

The consequences were terrible. In March 1995 farmers' protests over the shortage and high prices spread across the country. In some places people tried to take fertiliser from government warehouses; elsewhere roads were blocked and there were clashes with police. Contemporary international reports said at least 18 farmers were killed by police gunfire. A US human rights report said at least 19 people died when police opened fire in the March incidents. Later Bangladeshi reports have put the toll at 17 or 18 farmers.

The difference in numbers does not change the central pain of that history. Farmers asked for fertiliser, and farmers' blood was shed in that movement. What could be more shameful for a state than pointing guns at the farmer who grows its food instead of handing him fertiliser?

Almost three decades on, the same history seems to be returning in another language. It would be wrong to equate the present situation with 1995 just yet: the government's national stock figures show no overall supply shortfall. But history teaches that crises do not arise only from production shortfalls; administrative failure, wrong forecasts, weak market management, dealer irregularities and hoarding can at some point make a crisis explosive. So the question "are farmers getting fertiliser?" must be given the same weight as the statement "there is fertiliser".

Seeing the farmer's right to fertiliser as just a market transaction would be a mistake. It is part of national food security. If a farmer cannot get fertiliser at the fixed price and must pay more, his production costs rise. Higher costs push up rice prices, and higher food prices hurt low- and middle-income people most. A small crisis that begins in front of a dealer's shop can end up in the kitchens of urban consumers.

What is needed now is not an exchange of accusations but transparency in the supply system. How much fertiliser has been allocated to each upazila, how much each dealer has received and sold, and how much remains in stock could be published regularly. Opening dealer-wise stock and sales data to farmers through a digital system should not be difficult. Sales could also be recorded through a limited digital registration based on farmers' national identity cards or farmer cards, reducing the scope for a dealer to show the same fertiliser sold several times on paper and divert it to the market.

At the same time there must be surprise field inspections, quick settlement of complaints and cancellation of dealerships where irregularities are proven. The government has already said action will be taken against dishonest dealers and that steps are under way to fix the distribution problems. But announcements are not enough; farmers must see results.

Another point is vital: farmers must never be viewed with suspicion. Why a farmer wants more fertiliser, why he crowds in front of a shop, why he is angry—the answers must be sought in his real production situation. If there is excess demand somewhere, its cause should be investigated. But withholding fertiliser and blaming farmers as "panicking" or "hoarders" is no solution.

Farmers, too, must refrain from taking the law into their own hands. Breaking into dealers' warehouses to take fertiliser can never become normal, because it only increases disorder and in the end genuine farmers suffer. But maintaining law and order is also the state's responsibility. If the state denies farmers fertiliser and then treats their anger as a crime, it cannot hide the root cause of the problem.

Above all, fertiliser must not become a tool of political vengeance. The mistakes of the past are not the current government's fault, but failing to learn from them is the present's responsibility. The bloody chapter of 1995 reminds us that ignoring farmers' anger can carry a terrible price. That history is not a political slogan against any party; it is a warning for those who run the state.

Bangladesh's farmers have pulled the country out of food crises many times. Floods, droughts, cyclones and pandemics have come, yet farmers have not left their fields. When those farmers have no fertiliser, the state cannot rely on statistics alone. The gap that has opened between the warehouse ledger and reality in the field must be closed quickly.

There is no time to play down the fertiliser crisis, because it is not only about fertiliser; it is bound up with farmers' income, food prices, the rural economy and national food security. The anxiety seen today in front of dealers' shops may show up tomorrow in the price of a sack of rice.

So one thing must be ensured now: fertiliser must not become a curse for farmers, a cause of political conflict or a symbol of the distance between the state and its farmers. Above all, fertiliser must never again be the reason farmers' blood is spilt.

The bloody memory of 1995 leaves a hard question: will the demands of the people who produce food be answered with administrative mismanagement and force, or will the state stand by the farmer first? The answer will shape the future not only of the government but of the whole system of the state. Fertiliser should be in the farmer's hands, not in the warehouse—that should be the state's greatest commitment now.

The writer is a journalist, columnist and deputy editor of Jago News.

Source: Jagonews24. First published in Bengali on The Agro News.