Rakhine as I saw it: From green paddy fields to a land of conflict

Rakhine State in Myanmar, once known as Arakan, is much more than a neighbouring border region for Bangladesh. History, people, trade, security, displacement and geopolitics have connected this land with Bangladesh in many ways. Over the past two decades, Rakhine has changed so dramatically that the place I saw in 2008 and the Rakhine of 2026 sometimes seem like two completely different worlds.

In 2008, I was serving in Teknaf, Cox’s Bazar, as the Commanding Officer of 42 Rifles Battalion of Bangladesh Rifles, now known as Border Guard Bangladesh or BGB. My responsibilities gave me the opportunity to visit Maungdaw and the Tumbru area in Myanmar four times.

What I remember most clearly from those days is the landscape. Across the Naf River, there were green hills, wide paddy fields, small villages and a quiet border town. That was the Maungdaw I first saw. From the outside, everything looked peaceful. Yet underneath that calm surface, there were signs of ethnic discrimination, political deprivation and uncertainty about the future. At the time, perhaps none of us fully understood how deeply those frustrations were growing or how serious the consequences would eventually become.

Then history began to move very quickly. Communal violence broke out in 2012. In 2017, a brutal military campaign forced a huge number of Rohingya to flee into Bangladesh. Myanmar experienced another military coup in 2021. From late 2023, fighting between the Arakan Army and Myanmar’s military intensified further.

By December 2024, the Arakan Army had captured Maungdaw. According to an International Crisis Group assessment published in July 2026, the group was controlling around 90 percent of Rakhine.

The Rakhine I knew in 2008, in other words, no longer exists.

While I was posted in Teknaf, our area of responsibility covered a large part of nearly 50 kilometres of border, stretching from Whykong to the southern end of Shah Porir Dwip. At that time, communication between the border forces of Bangladesh and Myanmar was regular. Flag meetings were an important part of managing the frontier.

On 2 June 2008, I crossed the Naf River and travelled to Maungdaw to attend my first formal flag meeting. Officials of Myanmar’s then border force, Nasaka, received us warmly. The atmosphere was friendly and professional. They also expressed their gratitude for relief materials sent by Bangladesh Rifles to people affected by Cyclone Nargis.

Looking back from today’s much more uncertain border environment, that visit taught me something important: the character of a border is never permanent. When internal politics change, when the balance of military power changes, and when trust between neighbouring authorities changes, the reality along the border can change very quickly as well.

My first feeling after entering Maungdaw was one of familiarity. The trees, weather, clothing, food and many social customs reminded me of southeastern Bangladesh. The distant Mayu hills, the green paddy fields in front of them and the wooden houses gave the place a quiet and pleasant appearance.

I saw Buddhist temples as well as mosques. One thing particularly caught my attention, the Rohingya language sounded remarkably similar to the regional dialect spoken in Chattogram. But I also noticed a contradiction.

The Rohingya were very active in business and trade, yet their position within administration and politics appeared weak. Life might have looked normal from outside, but beneath that surface there was a sense of pressure, deprivation and uncertainty.

Later events showed us that a society may look peaceful without actually being stable.

When questions of citizenship, identity, political representation and basic rights remain unresolved for many years, the foundations of conflict slowly build beneath the surface.

There is one memory from Maungdaw that still stays with me.
During my visit in 2008, I met several Rohingya businessmen in Maungdaw market. One of them was particularly successful. He had a good business, a home and an established life in the town. Nine years later, in 2017, I happened to meet the same man again.

This time, however, the place was not Maungdaw. It was Kutupalong Rohingya refugee camp in Bangladesh. At first, I did not recognise him. He came forward and introduced himself. His life had completely changed.
The man I had once seen as a successful businessman in his own town had been forced to flee with his family after the violence of 2017. He had lost his home, his business and almost everything else. When I saw him again, he was living in a small shelter made of polythene. For me, the life of this one man became one of the most powerful symbols of Rakhine’s transformation.

When we discuss refugees, displacement and conflict, we often use large numbers. But behind every number is a human story. There is a family. A home. A profession. An identity. Memories. And sometimes an entire life that has been left behind.

Tumbru also occupies a special place in my memories.

Much of the 271-kilometre Bangladesh–Myanmar border is made up of hills, forests or the Naf River. But the Ghumdhum-Tumbru area is relatively flat and accessible by road. This gives the area considerable strategic importance.

In 2008, I visited a Myanmar border-force camp there in a friendly environment.

Sixteen years later, the same area told a very different story. During fighting with the Arakan Army in 2024, several members of Myanmar's border and security forces crossed into Bangladesh seeking shelter.
This was more than just a military incident.

It showed how deeply the structure of state authority in Rakhine had changed. The strategic importance of Rakhine itself is not new. Shah Suja''s journey towards Arakan, the historical connections linking Chittagong, Ramu and Arakan, and the Northern Arakan Campaign during the Second World War all remind us that this region has long connected Bengal, India, the Bay of Bengal and Southeast Asia.

The geography has remained the same. The balance of power has not.

At the centre of present-day change in Rakhine is the Arakan Army. Founded in 2009, the organisation gradually developed into a powerful military force. After Myanmar's 2021 military coup weakened central authority further, the Arakan Army rapidly expanded its territorial control.
Today, simply describing it as a “rebel force” does not explain the full reality.

Its political wing, the United League of Arakan, or ULA, is trying to develop structures for administration, justice, security and local governance. In practical terms, the ULA/AA has become a major de facto political and military authority in Rakhine.

But this raises an important question: Where do the Rohingya stand within this emerging order? Reports by organisations including Human Rights Watch and the Office of the United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights have raised allegations of killings, detention, restrictions on movement, forced labour and destruction of property affecting Rohingya in areas controlled by the Arakan Army. The ULA/AA has rejected some of these allegations.

Serious allegations, including genocide, have also been made against Myanmar's military. At the same time, some Rohingya armed organisations have themselves faced accusations of abuses. Amid these allegations and counter-allegations, one reality remains clear, the security of ordinary Rohingya in Rakhine is still uncertain.

According to figures from the Government of Bangladesh and UNHCR as of 31 July 2026, Bangladesh was hosting 1,202,034 registered Rohingya refugees. The long-term presence of such a large population is no longer only a humanitarian issue.

It is connected with education, employment, human trafficking, drugs, crime, the influence of armed groups, pressure on local communities and growing frustration among a new generation of Rohingya. The long-term solution to the crisis must, of course, be voluntary, safe, dignified and sustainable repatriation.

But the situation on the ground has changed. Most Rohingya are expected to return to Maungdaw and northern Rakhine. Yet much of this territory is no longer under the effective control of Myanmar's central government. The ULA/AA now exercises practical authority over much of the area.
Bangladesh therefore faces a difficult dual reality.

On one side is Myanmar's central government, which remains the internationally recognised state authority and the formal counterpart for repatriation. On the other side is the force that actually controls much of the territory to which the Rohingya would return. Ignoring this reality is unlikely to produce sustainable repatriation.

Bangladesh's policy must reflect these changing realities.

First, Bangladesh should continue its formal state and diplomatic engagement with Myanmar's central authorities. At the same time, it needs a practical channel of communication with the authority that controls the territory directly across the border.

Such communication should not automatically be interpreted as formal political recognition. It may simply be necessary for border security, humanitarian access and any future repatriation process.

Second, Bangladesh must strengthen border control. Bangladesh's territory and the Rohingya camps must never be allowed to become bases for recruitment, training or cross-border operations by any armed group.

Third, repatriation should not become a matter of numbers alone. Sending people back will not produce a sustainable solution unless their security, citizenship rights, freedom of movement, livelihoods, education and land rights are protected.

Fourth, China, India, ASEAN and the United Nations should be engaged more effectively. The Rohingya crisis should not be treated only as a humanitarian emergency. It should also be recognised as an issue affecting regional peace and stability.

Most importantly, Bangladesh needs a long-term Rakhine–Rohingya–Border Strategy. Foreign policy, border security, intelligence assessment, humanitarian policy and regional diplomacy should be brought together within one coordinated framework.

At the same time, Bangladesh must maintain credible deterrence to protect its national security and territorial interests.

I still remember standing outside Maungdaw in 2008. The green paddy fields stretched before me. The Mayu hills stood in the distance. Small villages lay quietly across the landscape. Today, that same land carries the wounds of a long conflict. The border force with whom we once sat across the table for flag meetings has largely lost its authority there.

The Rohingya businessman whom I once saw living a prosperous life in his own town later became a penniless refugee in a camp. And the Arakan Army, which was hardly visible as a force in 2008, is today the dominant military and political power across much of Rakhine.

Yet the story of Rakhine should not be reduced simply to the question of who won and who lost. The greatest price has been paid by ordinary people; Rohingya, Rakhine and other communities. If the security of one community depends on making another community insecure, lasting peace will never be possible. For Bangladesh, the lesson is equally clear.
Rakhine is no longer simply the place from which Rohingya refugees have fled. It is now a strategically important region connected to Bangladesh's border security, Bay of Bengal geopolitics, regional connectivity, human security and future economic opportunities.

Perhaps one day the green paddy fields I saw in 2008 will become peaceful again. But peace will not come simply because the guns fall silent. It will require political inclusion, security for every community, justice, mutual trust and realistic regional diplomacy.

Bangladesh should begin preparing for that future now.

* Md. Bayezid Sarwar, retired Brigadier General, researcher and analyst