Dhaka wants them gone. What do they want?

Dhaka’s latest dispute over battery-powered auto-rickshaws is being driven by two competing concerns: residents want safer, less congested roads, while thousands of drivers fear losing their livelihoods.

The controversy intensified following growing public concern over accidents and road safety, including the death of a student from IUB and other recent battery-rickshaw-related incidents, including other deaths. These prompted protests and demands for restrictions. The issue later reached affluent areas like Gulshan, where residents of Gulshan, Banani, Baridhara and Niketan held a “Gonojagoron” gathering at Gulshan-2 on August 28. They placed five demands, including restricting battery rickshaws from major roads, allowing only licensed vehicles, enforcing traffic laws, ensuring safer alternatives for commuters and arranging alternative livelihoods for drivers.

The government’s proposed policy, however, is not an immediate blanket ban. It would restrict battery-powered rickshaws from Dhaka’s main roads while allowing smaller, registered e-rickshaws to operate on designated internal roads. Dhaka would be divided into eight zones, while six-passenger vehicles would not be eligible for registration.

As authorities move toward regulation, drivers have warned of further protests if restrictions are imposed without alternative employment.

What about the people behind the handlebars?

Much of the public debate has focused on what should happen to the vehicles. But far less attention has gone to the people who drive them.

That is why Nutshell went to Gulshan, where residents have been demanding restrictions and asked the rickshaw pullers themselves: What do they want, and what happens to them if the auto-rickshaws disappear?

Their answers were not uniform. Some strongly opposed removing the vehicles. Others said they would accept pedal rickshaws if that became the government’s decision. Some acknowledged that reckless and inexperienced drivers create genuine problems. But almost all spoke about one issue: how they would earn a living.

For Thandu Mia, the question was immediate.

“We’re poor people. How are we supposed to eat?” he asked. “If the auto-rickshaws get banned, how will we survive?”

He said he heard that the government might take Tk 20,000 and arrange licences, with the process taking seven days. But he asked: “Will the government pay for our food for seven days? How are we supposed to eat?” A proponent for auto-rickshaws, he says pedal rickshaws are not an easy replacement for people with disabilities or chronic health conditions. 

Moti Mia, 55, from Netrokona, was more measured. He acknowledged that drivers and vehicles contribute to the problem. “Not all drivers are the same,” he said. “There are inexperienced drivers, reckless drivers, new drivers driving them; they don’t understand the rules.” But an acceptable solution, in his view, was one that favored regulation over removal. “Make proper roads for the autos, give them a proper way to operate,” he said.

Abdul Karim made a similar point. He said many people who lost jobs turned to auto-rickshaws because they could buy a vehicle for around Tk 50,000–62,000 and start earning. “What else can they do? They have to eat, they have to survive,” he said. Yet Karim agrees that the current situation cannot continue unchecked. “Before, when we used to drive those society cars, there was some control over them. Now that control isn’t there,” he said. “If the government brings back that control, it will be good for everyone.”

Sushil Chandra Barman described the livelihood concern more bluntly. “This is basically kicking us poor people,” he said. “We depend on this. We depend on this completely to make a living.”

But when asked about pedal rickshaws, he was resigned to that as a possible alternative. “If they keep pedal rickshaws, then we’ll have to drive pedal rickshaws,” he said. “What can we do? We don’t have much choice.”

For some drivers, however, pedal rickshaws are not a realistic alternative. Anwar Islam said passengers constantly demand that pedal-rickshaw drivers go faster. “Our legs can’t keep up,” he said. “We’re human beings. We make our living by pulling rickshaws.”

Wahidul Islam pointed to another reason: passenger demand. “People don’t want to get on the Bangla [pedal] rickshaw. That’s why we drive autos,” he said. “When they bring back the system for Bangla rickshaws, we’ll drive Bangla rickshaws.”

Mohammad Suman questioned why ordinary drivers are bearing the brunt of the criticism when the vehicles themselves continue to be manufactured and sold legally after getting approval from the govt. “If they shut down the manufacturing places, then people won’t be able to buy them or drive them,” he said.

He also mentioned that auto-rickshaws have given many people a way to earn an honest living and support their families. “People are using these autos to earn a few taka and run their family,” he said. “Some of these people used to sell alcohol, weed and heroin, but have now found a legal, socially acceptable way to earn a livelihood.”

Ultimately, should the auto-rickshaws be disallowed, there has to be a viable alternative for those that earn their livelihoods from this trade. Nurul Islam said he would have to do “whatever work” he could find, but added that he supports a family of five or six people, including sick and elderly relatives. “If they take this away now, [without a backup plan]” he said, “they’re just kicking us poor people in the stomach.”

Saifur summed up the uncertainty simply: “What can I do if they shut them down? What can a poor person do? There’s nothing we can do. The government has to understand that.”

The rickshaw puller is not the whole problem

The drivers’ concerns do not invalidate residents’ complaints. Battery-powered rickshaws have proliferated across Dhaka, often without effective registration, route management, technical standards or consistent enforcement. Several drivers themselves admitted that reckless driving and inexperienced operators contribute to accidents and disorder. The problem, however, did not begin with the people behind the handlebars.

These vehicles were manufactured, imported, sold and operated within a system that allowed the sector to expand without adequate regulation. People bought them because there was demand; passengers used them because they offered cheap and convenient transport; and drivers turned to them because they provided an accessible source of income.

That leaves the government with responsibilities beyond simply removing vehicles from roads. If registration, technical standards and designated routes are necessary now, the question is why effective regulation was not established as the sector expanded. Everyone has responsibilities, including the government, manufacturers, drivers and the commuters themselves.

Dhaka needs safer roads and better traffic management, but the solution cannot simply shift the cost of an unregulated system onto those who depend on it for survival. Any lasting solution must listen to the people whose livelihoods are at stake and hold every stakeholder accountable. Regulation should fix the system, not simply "cutting off the head to cure a headache."