Kafkaesque realities of traffic rule enforcement
One of the Facebook groups that provides real-time traffic information is currently debating the functionality of speed cameras installed on the Dhaka Elevated Expressway. A faction within the group suggests that the project has become a significant loss for private investors, thus dissuading further investment in enforcing speeding fines. These "camera deniers" tend to speed past cameras at over 100 kilometres per hour. Conversely, there are cautious drivers who strictly adhere to speed limits, often staying in the slow lane. Then there are those who attempt to outsmart the system by slowing down near the cameras and accelerating afterwards.
However, the problem lies in the lack of clarity regarding the type of speed cameras installed and their operational status. Despite the use of handheld loudspeakers by announcers to warn of camera operations and the digital scrolls, the public still lacks knowledge about the exact date these cameras became operational, the extent of fines, and the possibility of multiple fines in a single journey. The absence of transparent information creates an atmosphere of hearsay and uncertainty.
For all latest news, follow The Daily Star's Google News channel. A source at a kiosk confirms that the Bangladesh Road Transport Authority (BRTA) is indeed fining vehicles for speeding, collecting the fines upon the renewal of the fitness tax token. Consequently, individuals may be penalised for alleged offences nearly a year later, depending on their current token's expiration date. One member of the social media traffic information hub mentioned that someone had to pay Tk 21,000 for seven acts of violation over the course of two months. If this is true, then the authorities have adopted clandestine means to generate revenue. Such delayed repercussions leave little room for protest or redemption, trapping individuals in a Kafkaesque scenario where justice feels unattainable and arbitrary.
Recently, while taking a U-turn on Tejgaon Link Road, I encountered an unsettling situation. The road was practically empty on a Friday afternoon. There was a uniformed officer who did not mention that the turn was illegal, and I did not see any sign that said it was a wrong turn. But lo, as soon as I turned, a traffic constable appeared from the shade of a tree and waylaid me, asking for my papers. The rearview mirror told me that he took the papers to his superior, a traffic sergeant, who was waiting in an adjacent alley. The sergeant came back with the papers, which were in order, and said, "Sir wants to talk to you." "What for?" I asked. "You took a wrong turn." Refusing to exit my vehicle, I challenged the accusation. The officers' faces were clearly confused—they weren't prepared for resistance from someone who had fallen into their trap. They let me go, fearing the sting from their unlikely victim.
If the objective of a traffic system is to encourage rule-following, why resort to predatory tactics that treat commuters as prey? What does it say about institutions that endorse such dubious practices? While my encounter was personal, the issues surrounding the elevated expressway are institutional. Reports indicate exorbitant fines for multiple violations, suggesting a covert revenue-generating scheme. Similar accusations are heard about the metro rail. Apparently, the wait time at the metro station is too short to squeeze into a packed carriage. Numerous commuters have expressed their dissatisfaction over the erroneous imposition of waiting fines for delayed or missed trains.
At its core, the proliferation of hidden pitfalls within public service reflects a systemic failure: an emphasis on revenue over welfare, a reliance on fear for control, and a lack of transparency and accountability. Instead of prioritising crime, prevention and community welfare, the authorities resort to entrapment tactics, fostering resentment and alienation among citizens. As the government asserts its authority, individuals feel increasingly powerless and disenfranchised.
The use of deception and confusion as governance tools speaks volumes about the government's attitude towards its citizens. The authorities can always claim to be clean, saying that the devil is in the details. We should have heard the loudspeakers or read the digital signs. However, the signs do not provide any clear indication of the fines we will have to pay down the road. By the same token, we are now told that AI is being used in Dhaka's Gulshan area to identify traffic rule violators. If deception is the rule of the game, how do I know that a traffic constable who beckons me to come forward in alignment with the thoroughfare at a traffic crossing is not setting me up for an artificially orchestrated intelligent fine? The system is fast becoming unfriendly, untrustworthy, and unsupportive.
The lack of transparency extends beyond traffic fines. Recently, there was an instance when emergency vehicles had to pay toll charges on the expressway on their way to report a fire that eventually charred an SUV. According to reports, emergency vehicles do not receive fee waivers from investors who have partnered with the government to build the roads. One can only assume why such a system is in place: the abuse of exemption clauses by public service officials. The news of the toll for the fire truck caused resentment among the citizens, who are tired of seeing special provisions made for the super-privileged group, but not for an emergency intervention. Fortunately, the Karnaphuli tunnel authorities have just announced no charge for emergency vehicles. This is a welcome move.
A democratic government pays close attention to the murmurs made by its citizens. The best way to judge the pulse of the populace is not the mainstream news, but the flurry of comments of ordinary citizens. Indeed, there is a lot of nonsense. But some of the nonsense is due to the absence of clear communication. Deception and confusion undermine the principles of true democracy, which demands transparency, accountability, and justice. If we continue to ignore these issues, we risk perpetuating an unfriendly and unsupportive system that prioritises profit over people's well-being.
Dr Shamsad Mortuza is a professor of English at Dhaka University.
Views expressed in this article are the author's own.
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