What really happens inside the walls of Child Development Centres?

There’s a scar in the crease of his elbow; faded, but it speaks of a pain far deeper than skin. 

Rakibul is 11. A shy, thin boy with hesitant eyes and bleached hair falling over his forehead; fingers caked with dirt. On May 23rd 2025, he was quietly walking on the rail lines at Tejgaon Railway Station when other kids pointed him out as “the one who stayed at the ‘centre’.”

Rakibul remembers being picked up by police while scavenging for scraps in Tongi. He was ten at the time. There were no charges against him. No case, no paperwork, no court order, just a sudden removal from the streets and a year-long confinement inside the Tongi Children Development Centre, one of Bangladesh’s state-run juvenile facilities.

When asked if he faced abuse inside, he nodded. The first time, it was during class. A stick was used on him for nearly an hour for not following instructions. The second time was worse. 

“They burned my left arm with a khunti,” he said. A khunti is a cast-iron spatula with sharp edges. His offence: cutting the shower line, where the distribution of water, a scarce commodity, can be difficult. “Sometimes we had to fight just to get to the tap.”

Rakibul’s story is not extraordinary but a window into an unknown system where children, many without convictions or even formal charges, are detained under the guise of rehabilitation. Inside Bangladesh’s three state-run Children Development Centres (CDC), boys and girls deprived of basic essentials, endure routine violence and psychological trauma. 

Through interviews, case files and firsthand accounts, Netra News’ investigation reveals how, within these walls, rehabilitation exists only on paper. Although the Children Act 2013 mandates adequate nutrition, medical care, education, and protection for every child in state care, Netra News’ findings show stark discrepancies between the state’s legal obligations and the conditions at these juvenile institutions.

How CDCs fail in basic care

On June 15th 2025, two young boys, perhaps 13 or 14 years old, were brought to Tongi CDC with their wrists tightly bound in handcuffs under a sweltering sun. They were accompanied by two police officers. 

“Handcuffing a child is a form of physical and psychological restraint. It is abusive and can have severe consequences on a child’s mental development and physical health,” said Khondaker Farzana Rahman, Associate Professor and former Chair of the Department of Criminology at the University of Dhaka. 

Referring to Bangladesh’s Children Act 2013, Khondaker Farzana, who is currently pursuing her PhD at the University of Illinois Chicago, emphasised that the law explicitly forbids law enforcement agencies or care providers from using handcuffs, ropes, or any other physical restraints on children. “International law strictly prohibits any inhumane treatment or arbitrary restraint of children.” 

The handcuffed boys were led into Tongi CDC that day, a centre overcrowded with 527 children, while officially meant to house 300. Despite the overcapacity, only 25 staff members are assigned to care for them, far below the 64 positions officially allocated.

At a different centre, a similar congested picture lay bare. On June 23rd 2025, inside the superintendent’s office at the Children Development Centre (Boys) in Pulerhat, Jashore, a CCTV monitor displayed dimly lit corridors where a few juveniles quietly moved from one end to the other. Some carried buckets or pieces of clothes, presumably heading to the shower. They were estimated to be around 13 or 14 years old. There were no staff members visible on the screens. 

Although 49 staff positions are officially sanctioned to manage the centre, only 17 are currently employed. When asked about sanitation facilities, the superintendent Monjurul Hasan confirmed there were no washrooms inside the rooms. Instead, each floor has five to six shared toilets located outside the rooms. Each floor contains approximately 10 rooms, accommodating between five and seven children per room.

The numbers alone hint at the crisis at Jashore CDC: a facility built for 150 children now holds 258 in two separate 30-year-old buildings. The children housed there are from across 32 districts in Khulna, Barisal, and Rangpur, according to the Department of Social Services on July 11th 2025. 

Konabari CDC, located off the Dhaka-Tangail Highway in Konabari, Gazipur Sadar Upazila, and designated for girls, is the only CDC that does not operate at overcapacity. As of July 11th, it houses 88 girls with a capacity of 150 children. And the centre has 27 staff members, below the government-approved allocation of 31.

The scene outside, however, is different, underscoring an acute shortage. According to a Konabari CDC guard, the centre has three guards on duty against a requirement of 13.

The case of hierarchies and abuse

Interviews with at least 16 former detainees from all three CDCs in Bangladesh reveal a troubling pattern: in the absence of proper supervision, older or long-term detainees often exert dominance over younger or newer ones. This informal hierarchy, according to testimonies, fosters a cycle of coercion, violence and impunity.

Akibul spent one year at Tongi CDC. He was detained over a scuffle in which a boy was accidentally stabbed. Although several boys were involved, he was the only one arrested and held responsible. 

“[At the centre] They’d often beat up the new boys,” said 17-year-old Akibul, “We reported it, but the staff would never punish them. It was like an unspoken rule, the newcomers had to suffer.”

Parents of detainees echoed similar concerns. “The staff always nod and promise action,” said Eti Akter’s mother, whose daughter is currently held at Konabari CDC, “but nothing changes.”

Sazib, a recently released detainee from Jashore CDC, shared his own experience. He was first found on a boat in Mongla, suspected of a theft case, but was spared detention due to his age. Two years later, in 2025, the same case caught up with him, and this time, he was considered “old enough” to be held.

He described how older boys at the centre would frequently misbehave with juniors, and when conflicts arose, punishments were often archaic, such as making boys do squats or forcing them to walk around the entire building holding their ears.

This is the same centre where a violent clash broke out between two groups of juvenile inmates at the Jashore Child Development Centre, reportedly, leaving three teenagers dead and 12 others injured on August 13th 2020. 

Wahida Banu, Executive Director of Aparajeyo Bangladesh, advocated for training staff in positive disciplinary methods. “For children labelled as ‘unruly,’ giving them purposeful responsibilities, like helping others study, assisting in hygiene routines, or leading small group activities, can yield far better results.”

She also stressed the lack of enforcement of existing protections. “Corporal punishment is legally banned in Bangladesh, but very few people are aware of the law, and government oversight remains minimal.”

State of healthcare affairs

Over the phone, Akibul’s voice was steady but imbued with a quiet frustration. “There was always a water crisis. We had only one tap, and they gave us just 15 minutes to bathe, ten boys at a time. Most of us had rashes. It was always itchy.” 

Overcrowded spaces and showers resulted in recurring skin rashes and infections, according to a dozen children who stayed at the CDCs. 

Not only this, but the centres’ budget allocation is another cause for concern. According to the superintendent (Jashore CDC), Monjurul Hasan, the monthly medical allocation for each child is only 100 BDT. “Sometimes the children get into fights, someone’s head gets hurt, but the government doesn’t provide any emergency fund. We have to manage it ourselves. Honestly, a hundred taka isn’t even enough to buy a strip of paracetamol these days.” 

Md. Saidur Rahman Khan, Director General of the Department of Social Services, stressed, “In emergency cases, the authorities step in and arrange treatment using existing institutional funds such as the miscellaneous budget. ‘Somehow’ we manage to provide necessary care when needed.”

The Department of Social Services (DSS), which falls under the government's Ministry of Social Welfare, is responsible for overseeing CDC operations and activities. Netra News shared all of its findings with Khan for the department's response, which had been included in the report. 

When asked about mental health services, the superintendent Monjurul Hasan of Jashore CDC claimed that “psychosocial counselling” is available. However, multiple former detainees said they had never received or had even been offered any form of formal mental health support during their stay. 

Moreover, according to Hasan, each child is allocated 4,000 BDT per month for food and related needs. When broken down, this amount must cover four meals per day for an entire month, adding up to 124 meals. That leaves just 33.33 BDT per meal, and only 25 BDT per meal if non-food expenses like cooking fuel and seasonings are excluded.

“In the morning, we usually ate mashed potatoes and rice. Lunch was typically fish, and dinner was mostly vegetables,” recalled Akibul.

“The food budget is allocated by the government, and we do not have the authority to make changes independently. However, we are actively working to increase this allocation,” said Md. Saidur Rahman Khan. 

At the same time, despite most residents aged between nine and 18 years old, the CDCs provide only primary-level education and basic vocational training to juveniles in their care.

“My daughter used to study in a madrasa, in class seven,” said Eti Akter’s mother, whose child has been detained at Konabari CDC for over eight months, “But since she came to Konabari, her schooling has completely stopped.”

Khan explained that juveniles are placed in the centres for short periods following court orders, which makes implementing long-term educational programs challenging. “We recognise the need and are gradually addressing it,” he said. 

According to Khan, there are plans for extension in the offing for two new CDCs: one in Joypurhat to serve the Rajshahi-Bogura-Rangpur region, and another in Roufabad, Chittagong.

However, experts question the purpose of expanding infrastructure if the centers continue to fall short in providing adequate care and rehabilitation for the children they already house.

Family’s access

On the second morning of Eid-ul-Adha this year, the streets outside the Tongi CDC were eerily quiet. There is hardly any space to sit and rest outside the CDC gate. 

At the gate, a distressed couple waited. They had travelled from Jamalpur to see their son, Ainal. The father, likely in his 40s, clenched his fists in frustration. When he spoke, his voice carried restrained anger. “They’re not letting us meet him.” 

His wife, eyes brimming with tears through her niqab, stared at a small tiffin carrier. “I prepared food for him at sunrise. We left home at 3 a.m. to arrive early. And now they say visits are not allowed because of the Eid holidays.” 

She could barely get her words out. 

Like Ainal’s, many parents reported making long journeys only to be turned away at the gate. A boy in his 20s, wiping sweat from his brow, exited the gate. He had just visited his younger brother. “I’ve come here many times. They don’t let us talk freely during visits. A guard is always standing nearby. You can’t say anything real. I believe there are over 700 kids there.”

Meanwhile, the entryway of Konabari CDC begins with a downward slope, adjacent to a small room where a single staff member manages visitor logs, opens the gate, and monitors unauthorised entries. The long entrance path leads to two main buildings: a four-storied one for the girls with broken windows, and another for staff. There, family visits are restricted to just two days a month, on the 7th and 22nd, according to centre guards. 

In stark contrast, children are allowed to meet their parents every day at the Jashore CDC. On a sweltering June afternoon, the centre’s neglect was visible long before the main gate. Two Ansar members sat under a shrinking patch of shade at the first entrance, one slowly recording names in a worn logbook. A narrow path led to the inner gate, where visitors squinted and waited on a makeshift bench of bricks under the open sky. A lone water basin stood nearby for the guardians.

Md. Saidur Rahman Khan, Director General of the Department of Social Services, acknowledged the disparity, citing severe manpower shortages. “Frequent visits from guardians can disrupt daily operations and routines.”

Konabari: Mostly for “girls in love”

On June 15th 2025, under the glaring Gazipur sun, a 15-year-old Fatema stepped out of the state-run Konabari CDC with her father. Her release, after three months and 22 days of confinement, came with a condition.

“I won’t talk to him again,” she promised, not only to her parents but also to the officials at the centre, referring to the boy she had once dared to love.

Fatema’s case is not unique. Konabari CDC has become a holding space for girls who cross invisible lines, drawn by age, class, family, and custom in pursuit of love. For many, it was not a crime that landed them behind locked gates, but a romantic relationship, often with someone their family disapproved of. In Fatema’s case, it was eloping with a boy while underage.

When families, often with the help of police, track down these girls, they are brought back and placed at Konabari CDC under the guise of “rehabilitation” and “protection.”

Fatema confirmed that nearly all the girls on her floor were there for the same reason: romantic involvement, often referred to colloquially within the facility as a “love case.”

Another detainee, Eti, has been confined at Konabari for the past eight months, not for a criminal offence, but for being in a relationship considered unacceptable. Her mother, speaking in a firm but weary tone, explained: “We’ll take her back only if she promises never to return to him.”

A third girl, whose name is withheld for privacy, has been in Konabari for four months following what her family calls a “marriage case.” According to her mother, the 17-year-old claims she is married and wants to live with her husband. But as she is legally underage, her family fears that upon turning 18, she will leave them of her own accord. “So instead, they chose confinement,” the mother said.

Md. Saidur Rahman Khan, Director General of the Department of Social Services, emphasised that no child is placed in a state-run shelter arbitrarily. “Children are only housed in these facilities under judicial directives. Often in such cases, the court asks where the child wishes to stay. If she refuses to return to her parents and chooses her partner instead, the court cannot legally permit it due to her age and the ongoing case. In such scenarios, the child is sent to a state facility for her protection.”

However, experts have raised serious concerns over the ethical and legal implications of this practice. Khandaker Farzana Rahman noted that both international standards and national protocols prohibit housing children in conflict with the law alongside those who have committed no offence. “It’s a clear violation of correctional principles,” she said.

She cited differential association theory, which suggests that criminal behaviour is often learned through social interaction. “When non-offending children are kept with those accused of crimes, there’s a risk they’ll internalise deviant behaviour. It defeats the purpose of rehabilitation.”

Rahman also referenced Article 37(c) of the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child (CRC), ratified by Bangladesh in 1991, which mandates the segregation of children in custody based on age, gender, and nature of the offence. “Konabari’s current practice is in direct violation of that obligation,” she added.

Pending cases and legal delays

Although the law mandates that juvenile cases must be resolved within 360 days, many children confined in CDCs remain in legal limbo for months, sometimes even years, due to prolonged legal procedures and systemic delays.

Md Mainuddin Molla, now 17, was charged in a rape case that began on February 27th 2022. According to case documents, he was in a relationship with a 14-year-old girl. He spent two years at the Tongi CDC before being released on bail.

Rubel Hasan, 16, faced a similar charge. His case, registered on September 29th 2022, involved a romantic relationship with a 14-year-old girl, to whom he had reportedly promised marriage. He, too, spent months at the Tongi CDC before being granted bail.

According to officials, Tongi currently houses 63 children whose cases have remained unresolved for over a year. Jashore CDC holds 26 such cases, and Konabari holds five.

Commenting on the delay, Md. Saidur Rahman Khan, Director General of the Department of Social Services, said, “Delays in legal proceedings are primarily under the jurisdiction of the court. Each case has its own legal timeframe as determined by the judiciary. However, we also face limitations, especially in terms of manpower. To address this, the government is now working on implementing virtual hearings, which would reduce the need for physical appearances and help accelerate the legal process.”

Netra News’ findings point toward systemic failures within CDCs; it also demands attention to cases of children like Rakibul. Raised on the streets and later confined in a CDC without any formal charges, Rakibul endured beatings. 

When asked which part of his life he preferred, the streets or the centre, he replied, “Even after all the torture, the centre was better. At least I had a roof over my head and food on my plate.”●