The cracks on the walls started to appear two days earlier. But despite the warning signs, Moushumi Begum still came to work on 24 April 2013. Moments later, she was buried under heavy rubble. “It all happened so quickly. I vividly remember every detail about that day, even though it was 10 years ago,” says Begum, who spent three hours trapped under Rana Plaza, the eight-storey building on the outskirts of Dhaka, Bangladesh, that came crashing down.
That morning, garment workers and some factory managers had argued in the dusty courtyard outside the building, many reluctant to enter as they feared it was unsafe. Workers had been evacuated the day before because of those fears. Some say they were told they would not be paid that month’s wages if they did not go to work; others say that an internal gate was closed behind them.
In the 90 seconds it took to collapse, Rana Plaza became a symbol of global inequality. The final death toll was 1,134 people, with 2,500 injured. There were harrowing stories of survival, of people having their limbs amputated without anaesthetic to prise them from the rubble.
A new report by ActionAid Bangladesh has shed light on the devastating toll the disaster has taken on survivors a decade on, revealing that more than half (54.5%) of the survivors are still unemployed. The key reason is health conditions such as breathing difficulties, vision impairment and physical challenges, including not being able to stand or walk properly.
The report also assessed the safety of 200 current garment workers, with more than half feeling that initiatives taken by factory management were inadequate. Almost 20% of those interviewed reported that their factories lacked firefighting equipment, while 23% said emergency fire exits were not available.
Begum was just 14 years old. Now married with two small children, she has tried to move on, but her health continues to affect her daily activities. She suffers from acute respiratory distress syndrome, a life-threatening lung injury that makes it difficult for her to breathe. She takes regular pauses as she speaks.
Since the disaster, Begum has been too scared to step foot in another factory. “The memories of that day continue to haunt me,” she says. “I feel immense anxiety just standing near a tall building.”
“It has not been easy for anyone affected by Rana Plaza to return to a normal life,” says Begum, who receives counselling and financial support from ActionAid Bangladesh. The charity operates a workers’ cafe for garment workers through which Begum has acquired a free sewing machine to motivate her in returning to work. She remains reluctant: “I don’t think I’ll ever find the courage to work in one of those buildings again.”
Husnara Akhtar, 30, remembers having breakfast with her husband, Abu Sufyan, before they went to work that day. Both worked in the Rana Plaza building, but in different factories.
As Akhtar went to her floor, she could tell something was wrong. “People were anxious; some of the workers were standing around, refusing to sit down. Someone said it wasn’t safe, but I saw the look on my manager’s face and quickly took my place on the denim line. The lights began to flicker and the floor beneath my feet shook. Within seconds, we were plunged into darkness.”
When Akhtar regained consciousness, she found herself wedged between two dead bodies. “I lay there for five whole hours unable to move,” she recalls. “It felt like a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from. There was so much dust and so many dead bodies.”
Akhtar was eventually found by rescue workers and taken to a nearby hospital, where she discovered the extent of her injuries: concussion, cracked ribs and fractured arms that would make it impossible for her to work again.
Sufyan’s body was found a week later, crushed under a concrete pillar. “My husband was just one of the hundreds of workers that died that day,” says Akhtar tearfully. “I remember looking at his crumpled body and thinking how disposable we garment workers are.”
Safiya Khatun cries whenever she thinks about what happened that day. She was in the Savar district of Dhaka when she heard a deafening sound. “It felt like the world was ending,” recalls the 66-year-old, who watched as people began to panic. “Someone said a bomb had exploded. Another said a building had collapsed. Then I heard the words Rana Plaza and my heart sank.”
Khatun rushed to the scene, where her 18-year-old son, Lal Miah, worked as a seamster on the third floor. She spent the next 15 days desperately searching for him. She carried a passport-sized photo of him and asked rescue workers at the site if they had seen him. On the 16th day, one recognised him.
When Khatun saw her son’s body, she could barely breathe. “How could something like this happen to my precious son? The collapse of Rana Plaza left thousands of mothers like me empty-handed. It was a tragedy that could have been avoided if only the owners had listened to the workers’ concerns.”
The family now live in poverty because her son was the earner. Khatun lives in a small hut made from bamboo and metal scraps. “I was given land as compensation for the loss of my dear boy but nothing can compensate us for what we have gone through.” Many of the victims’ families were given land, but most cannot afford to build homes on it.
In Savar today, garment workers walk past an enormous pair of granite fists grasping a hammer and sickle – a monument erected in memory of Rana Plaza victims. Around the monument, on the land where Rana Plaza once stood, only weeds and litter mark the spot.
