by R. Rahman
Bangladesh forgets its most vulnerable far too easily, and nothing proves this more clearly than how quickly the country stopped talking about 15-year-old Preeti Urang. Preeti, an Indigenous tea garden child worker, died in February 2024 inside the home of The Daily Star’s then–executive editor, Syed Ashfaqul Haque, and his wife, Tania Khondoker. She didn’t simply “fall,” and this wasn’t some mysterious household accident; she died while trying to escape the home of one of the most powerful media professionals in the country. And yet The Daily Star, a newspaper that constantly claims to champion ethics, justice, and accountability, treated this death as an inconvenience rather than a crisis that required immediate scrutiny, honesty, and institutional responsibility.
What makes this silence even more disturbing is that Preeti was not the first child to flee that apartment. In 2023, Ferdousi, another minor domestic worker, jumped from the same eighth-floor balcony of the same home while allegedly trying to escape abuse, and although she survived, her injuries were severe and life-altering. That earlier case quietly disappeared after a reported payout to her family. Two girls, two jumps, the same balcony, and the same employer—any responsible institution would have treated the first incident as a clear red flag, launched an internal inquiry, and ensured that children were no longer working in that household. But The Daily Star, with all its resources, editorial authority, investigative capacity, and constant concern for “public interest,” took no visible action, allowed its editor to remain in place, and never transparently acknowledged what happened under the roof of one of their own.
The Daily Star’s behavior after Preeti’s death was even more revealing because, instead of responding with accountability, the paper hesitated, stalled, and chose strategic silence. They allowed Syed to continue working for two months after the incident, issued ambiguous statements that avoided responsibility, and never addressed why the Ferdousi case had been ignored in the first place. They did not assign an investigative team to examine their own editor’s history with domestic workers, something they would have done immediately if the accused had belonged to another newspaper, a government office, or a civil society organization. A paper that relentlessly demands accountability from politicians, activists, bureaucrats, and institutions refused to look inward, and this silence was not neutral; it was protective, calculated, and aligned with the interests of the powerful rather than those of a dead child.
Civil society mirrored this silence in ways that exposed uncomfortable truths about class, privilege, and selective activism. The same familiar voices who speak passionately about gender-based violence, Indigenous dispossession, and the exploitation of domestic workers seemed suddenly cautious, and their hesitation became even more visible once it was clear that the accused belonged to the networks of Dhaka’s “respectable” circles. Preeti’s life did not generate the same urgency or moral energy because she did not belong to the class Bangladesh habitually treats as important, and because speaking loudly for her would have required calling out one of their own.
Nineteen months later, the failures surrounding this case are difficult to comprehend. There is still no forensic report, the investigation remains incomplete, no trial date has been set, Tania’s bail status has never been publicly clarified, and the Ferdousi case has evaporated entirely from public discussion. These are not random bureaucratic lapses; they reflect the way the justice system moves slowly when the accused are powerful and moves even slower when the victim is poor, Indigenous, and without institutional backing. A newspaper with the influence of The Daily Star could have demanded answers, pushed for clarity, highlighted the status of the investigation, or at the very least acknowledged the gravity of the situation, but instead it chose institutional self-protection.
On September 10, Syed posted a long Facebook status centered entirely on his own hardship—his job loss, his humiliation, and his suffering, and although he questioned the investigation delays, he avoided acknowledging why two minors fled his home in two separate years or why one of them died. He did not address why Preeti died in his apartment or why the earlier case involving another minor disappeared without accountability. His post nevertheless circulated easily through elite networks, and many in civil society expressed sympathy for his narrative, even as the death of an Indigenous child domestic worker continued to receive a fraction of the attention. The contrast illustrates how quickly powerful men find defenders, while girls like Preeti are left without the same amplification or protection.
Preeti’s death is not a “difficult moment” for The Daily Star to strategically distance itself from; it is a reflection of how institutions with authority protect themselves first and how domestic workers, especially Indigenous girls, continue to die without meaningful accountability. If The Daily Star truly believes in justice, it should confront its own failures publicly, examine why action was not taken earlier, and demand that the investigation and trial move forward. Remaining silent only reinforces the reality that the paper’s ethical commitments stop where its own discomfort begins.
Preeti deserved better. The country deserved better. And The Daily Star owed its readers, and Preeti’s memory, far more honesty than it has offered.
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