Cost of living: Middle class is crumbling; is the state doing well?

Last August, the Bangla edition of The Daily Star published the story of a homemaker in Mohammadpur, Dhaka, who used to save Tk 500 a month. In just six months, rising prices of essentials had eroded even that modest capacity to save.

According to Bangladesh Bank, inflation stood at 9.21 per cent in the April-June quarter of this year. In June, incomes rose by 8.2 per cent, while prices increased by 9.2 per cent.

In other words, purchasing power declined despite wage increases. Since the Iran war began in February, the impact of higher oil, gas and electricity prices has been felt in every household. The prime minister has expressed regret over the crisis.

These are signs not so much of poverty as of the fear of slipping further down the economic ladder. American sociologist Barbara Ehrenreich gave this middle-class psychology a name: “fear of falling”. The middle class is less afraid of hunger. Even if someone in this class skips a meal, they will not tell anyone. But the fear of falling one step down the social ladder can keep them awake at night. Today, that ladder is wet and slippery. Many are slipping and falling.

According to a PPRC survey conducted in May 2025, the poverty rate in Bangladesh is around 28 per cent. Another 18 per cent of the population could fall below the poverty line at any time.

According to the World Bank’s updated report of October 2026, around eight million people have fallen into poverty over the past four years, while another 62 million are precariously positioned just above the poverty line.

Many of them belong to the lower-middle class: schoolteachers, small shopkeepers, accountants at private offices and families living in Bangladesh who depend on the earnings of relatives working abroad.

National savings certificates had been the middle class’s last resort. According to Prothom Alo’s calculations, net sales of savings certificates have remained negative for four consecutive years. In February 2026 alone, savings certificates worth more than Tk 11.65 billion were encashed.

Encashing savings certificates means sacrificing the future to meet present needs. Money painstakingly saved for a daughter’s wedding, a father’s medical treatment and one’s own old age is now being consumed to pay for monthly groceries.

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At least on paper, the poor have social protection. The wealthy have influence. But the middle class has only the obligation to grit its teeth and endure. They feel embarrassed about standing in line at TCB outlets. At the same time, they are afraid to reach for products on supermarket shelves.

Ronald Reagan once joked that the most terrifying sentence in the English language was, “I’m from the government and I’m here to help you.” Much later, documentary filmmaker Michael Moore said in a conversation on the subject, “The government furrows its brows and says, ‘You’re middle class. Why would you need help?’”

There is a deeply entrenched belief among state policymakers that the poor need help to keep themselves fed, while the rich need help to keep the government in power. The middle class, they assume, will somehow find its own way. If they engage in corruption or something of the sort, we will simply turn a blind eye. But corruption is not everyone’s cup of tea. Nor does everyone work in government service.

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Antonio Gramsci wrote from prison that the old was dying, but the new could not yet be born. This in-between period was dangerous. Bangladesh, too, is stuck in such an interim period. And it is not just the country that is caught between the old and the new; the declining middle class is trapped there as well.

In 2024, this segment of society was among the most optimistic. Now, the gap between expectations and achievements has left it deeply disappointed. It is no longer possible to describe this middle class as a single class; it is better understood as a category. And this category is fragmenting into various subgroups. One such subgroup is the Gen Z middle class.

According to 2022 data from the Bangladesh Bureau of Statistics, around 41 per cent of young people aged 15 to 24 were not engaged in education, employment or training. Among young women, the rate was 62 per cent. More than 28 per cent of graduates from National University-affiliated colleges were completely unemployed.

These statistics also fuelled the anger of Gen Z during the mass uprising of 2024. They managed to change the government, but not their livelihoods or living conditions.

A frustrated section of them has become consumed by the idea that they will either leave the country or burn everything down. Both are dangerous thoughts: the first for the country, the second for themselves.

Another section is being forced into the “precariat”. They are taking jobs in Foodpanda, Daraz, Pathao, courier delivery services, online marketplaces, telemarketing, shopping malls, Chinese restaurants and as attendants on long-distance transport.

They may be earning enough to get by from day to day and perhaps just manage to pay their rent. But what about protection? What about the future? They have not even the slightest security.

British economist Guy Standing called such declining sections of the middle class “the new dangerous class”. Their jobs are temporary, their incomes uncertain and their futures unclear.

They are educated but insecure; angry, anxious and alienated. Out of necessity, they are turning towards populist and extremist politics. Beneath the surface, they are seething, ready to create danger.

Another subgroup consists of members of the middle class who have regained a taste of power. Their thinking revolves entirely around demands for “compensation”. Having been deprived of opportunities and privileges for a long time, they now consider it their rightful entitlement to grab every available benefit while the going is good. Statements by ruling party leaders such as “extortion is the responsibility of individuals, not the party” offer this group tacit encouragement.

Another subgroup is the “middle class lying low”. A large number of middle-class people work in offices, banks, universities and government departments who were staunch supporters of the ousted government and remain so. They are now silent in public, speaking only in closed-door gatherings and encrypted groups.

Members of this subgroup first see themselves as “political minorities by circumstance” and then as “social minorities”. This line of thinking is as dangerous as a whirlwind. Concealing such thoughts and allowing resentment to fester is a recipe for disaster.

The “rogue middle class” is the most stable subgroup. Some of its members are officials, contractors, teachers, journalists, editors, physicians, engineers and professional association leaders. They lose no time changing colours. Their objective is to join the ranks of the upper class as quickly as possible. I have given a very small section of this group the name “scarecrow intellectuals”.

They can be seen on television talk shows engaging in verbal battles in defence of the ruling party. It is disappointing when even a university vice-chancellor appears on television as a scarecrow. Some used to call these people the “Justification League”; perhaps now they will be called the “Justification Party”.

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The cultural decline of the middle-class youth is alarming. The culture of “tagging” and Facebook courts are symptoms of this decline. Trials and verdicts are delivered online. The punishment is “tagging”. It is easy to label someone a Shahbagh supporter, an accomplice of fascists, an Indian agent, pro-Pakistan, an atheist or a fundamentalist.

That is because none of these labels requires any reasoning. Governments change, and the labels change with them. These labels are meaningless, detached from reality and devoid of substance. But their consequences are destructive. Hatred, division, hostility, murderous intent and revenge undermine the cohesion and unity of the state.

Communication through social media can be healthy, but the disorder it can generate is frightening. The ability to communicate through these platforms was one of the main tools behind the fall of the government in 2024. But the resulting disorder is frightening because it deepens divisions among citizens and prolongs misrule.

Moreover, virtual hatred does not remain confined to the virtual world. According to Ain o Salish Kendra, at least 197 people were killed in mob violence in 2025. Before attacks on shrines and sculptures, assaults on homes and similar incidents, incitement is spread on Facebook.

Young people and those in their early twenties are largely responsible. They also take up sticks during mob attacks, write posts and share them. They comment that the victims “got what they deserved”. There is not the slightest sense of guilt.

Recently, a young man named Shamim, who was suffering from a mental health crisis, was murdered after the killing had been announced on Facebook. The person who led the murder showed no remorse. On the contrary, a post in which he boasted about his role gave the impression that there was effectively no government in the country. The law may exist on paper, but it is ineffective.

In psychology, there is an old concept known as the “frustration-aggression theory”. When frustrated people cannot strike at the actual source of their anger, they look for someone weaker to target. You cannot slap market prices or take an electricity bill to court, but you can violently attack someone for their opinions. You can take out your anger on your household cat by kicking it hard because you are angry with your wife.

This cultural decline among the middle class, manifested in the practice of holding online trials on Facebook, began after 2009.

Under Sheikh Hasina’s misrule and authoritarian rule, anyone who took to the streets through legitimate means to protest faced an inevitable fate of enforced disappearance, murder, attacks and lawsuits.

The helpless middle class found an outlet for its anger on social media. The government camp, too, unleashed countless extremist cyber warriors to punish dissenting voices. Obscenity and cyberterrorism were their main weapons.

The question is: how much has our state changed by 2026? Around the world, the condition of the middle class is one of the most important indicators of whether a state is doing well or poorly. If the middle class is doing well, the state is doing well. The middle class is not doing well, and neither is the state.

* Helal Mohiuddin is a Faculty Member, Department of Liberal Arts,

* Mayville State University, North Dakota, USA.