The military’s venture into business may aim to secure financial stability, but it jeopardises something far more valuable — the integrity and effectiveness of the armed forces. It is a dangerous gamble, with the nation’s security as the ultimate stake, writes Abdul Monaiem Kudrot Ullah
I WAS reading an article by my senior, Commodore Abdur Razzak, about ‘Forces Goal 2030 and Beyond’ in ¶¶Òõ¾«Æ·, and it took me back, back to the 1990s, when the question was always the same. Could we win if, say, other, neighbouring countries invade us? Could we meaningfully contribute to national development? It was as if these doubts were baked into our very existence. We would brush them aside easily, with a casual ‘Don’t worry, we’ve got it covered.’ It was simpler then to dismiss scepticism with a shrug than to unravel the intricacies of military strategy for an audience that would never really understand. But the script has changed, and the atmosphere feels different now. There is a quiet erosion at play, seeping into the very essence of our armed forces, eating away at purpose like a slow rot.
After I retired, I settled into a rented flat in Mirpur DOHS — one of those quasi-military enclaves that dot the cityscape — and took up a job to make ends meet, as most of the retired military do. That was the norm, once upon a time. But now, whenever I meet with fellow officers, the conversation inevitably drifts to how many flats one owns or tales of former colleagues who have somehow become millionaires — or billionaires, even — embroiled in whispers of shady dealings with political heavyweights and the top brass. It’s the kind of talk that leaves a bad taste in the mouth, an affront to those of us (the majority in the military) who kept our hands clean, earning a dignified living.
The disquiet reached a fever pitch during the July-August protest, when militant political mobs — backed by the police, no less — stormed through the gates of DOHS, ransacking as they went. The Parishad did nothing; the Mirpur cantonment station command did nothing. They stood by as spectators, as if the gates that fell weren’t their concern. Not a single culprit has faced the music; no punitive action has even been hinted at. In hushed tones, the residents murmur that nothing can be done because the Army Welfare Trust has a stake in the Sarkarbari project — a project tied to a powerful local political family. A case was ongoing between the ministry of defence and the landowners, but in a move as unilateral as it was unexpected, the top military brass, through a former MP, cut a deal. The Sarkarbari plots were transferred to the Army Welfare Trust, effectively leaving Navy and Air Force officers out in the cold. Rumours of cash changing hands in murky transactions abound, with vested interests reaping the rewards. It’s a situation that reeks of structural inequity, raising unsettling questions about fairness and transparency in institutional decisions.
The armed forces have drifted from the hard certainty of battlefields into a gray zone of boardrooms and business deals. It didn’t happen all at once. It wasn’t a coup by commerce, but rather something quieter — a whisper that has grown louder over time. There was no sudden collapse, no dramatic fall. It has been a gradual unwinding, a slow unravelling of a once-tight thread. The allure of financial gain, the hum of corporate interests — these things have a way of slipping in unnoticed, of changing the air in the room. And now, the military, born to fight, finds itself entangled in profit and procurement, leaving us to wonder: who is left to guard the guardians?
Our country’s politics has become the playground of businessmen, while national security, once a sacred duty, is now tangled in the ambitions of economists, media barons, and other power brokers. To understand how we got here, one must peel back the layers and lay bare the ways in which military power has been repackaged, commodified, and sold. What happens when the art of war is marketed like a product, when national defence is auctioned to the highest bidder?
The appeal of corporate ventures lies in their promise of stability, a kind of diversification that seems so sensible, so modern. But beneath that veneer lies a different truth, like rust beneath a coat of paint. Generals and commanders, once architects of survival, now find themselves tangled in profit margins and revenue streams. With each step they take toward the boardroom, the soldier’s discipline is chipped away, piece by piece, leaving behind a hollow echo of what once was.
Look around. In most countries, soldiers don’t play at being businessmen. Even in Pakistan, the Military Foundation is kept under the management of retired officers and soldiers. In Turkey, military hotels and officer messes are handed over to civilian contractors. In the United States, weapons sales are strictly the domain of civilian manufacturers, while even something as mundane as canteen services remains under the ministry of defence’s control. The soldiers stay soldiers, and the businesspeople stay businesspeople. But here, it seems, the lines are no longer so clear. And in that blurring of boundaries, something fundamental is being lost.
So, why have we let the lines blur? Why are we so willing to let the military stray from its founding principles? Once an institution starts to drift, to lose sight of the purpose it was built for, the consequences come, not with a crash but with a quiet, steady unraveling. It’s there in the little things — the shift in priorities, the distracted gaze of a commander more focused on revenue streams than on readiness. It’s there in the larger things too — the steady transformation of a military into a merchant class and the questions that come with it: Who stands guard when the guards themselves are busy trading? And who serves when the servers have found themselves better things to do?
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The military as a corporate powerhouse: a dangerous diversion
IN BANGLADESH, the military has quietly expanded its influence far beyond traditional defence roles, venturing into construction, banking, education, and infrastructure development. The Bangladesh Army Welfare Trust manages a broad portfolio of businesses, claiming to secure financial stability for service members and their families. Bangladesh Navy and Bangladesh Air Force have their own welfare trusts too.Ìý Yet, this corporate expansion risks straying from the military’s true mission: defending the nation. In Pakistan, the military’s transformation into a corporate behemoth is even more pronounced. Entities like the Fauji Foundation, Army Welfare Trust, and Frontier Works Organisation dominate sectors such as cement, real estate, food production, and fertilizers. While these ventures contribute to the economy, they blur the lines between defence and business, threatening the political and economic balance. The institutions meant to protect the nation now wield significant power in both business and governance, posing a profound risk.
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The pitfalls of corporate militarisation
THE military’s foray into business, while seemingly practical, poses grave risks to its core function. The allure of diversified income streams and reduced reliance on government funding has led to a dangerous entanglement. The pursuit of profits demands attention and resources that inevitably distract military leaders from strategic defence duties. When managing corporate interests takes priority, the focus on combat readiness, troop training, and operational planning diminishes. This shift undermines the military’s capacity to effectively protect the nation.
In a professional military, promotions are earned through leadership, merit, and field experience. The rise of military-run businesses may alter promotion criteria, with corporate success overshadowing military competence. This erosion of meritocracy undermines the discipline and effectiveness essential for maintaining a strong command structure. Combat readiness goes beyond advanced equipment — it requires ongoing preparation and strategic foresight. The pursuit of profits distracts military leadership from crucial tasks like training and planning for future conflicts. As attention shifts to business ventures, the nation’s defence is compromised.
In Bangladesh, military-owned businesses often secure government contracts, crowding out civilian competitors and fostering monopolistic behaviour. This reduces transparency, hinders private sector growth, and creates an uneven playing field, ultimately harming the economy.
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The perils of corporate militarisation
THE military’s foray into business is a tragic farce, a spectacle of generals-admirals-air marshals trading their swords for spreadsheets and soldiers-airmen-sailors swapping combat drills for boardroom meetings. It’s like watching a lion play the piano — out of place, its instincts ill-suited for the world of commerce. The military, forged in the crucible of sacrifice, finds itself in unfamiliar waters, navigating corporate intrigue instead of preparing for war. The generals’ belief that diversification will lead to financial stability is misguided. The military’s purpose is not to generate profits but to defend the nation. As soldiers become businessmen and generals turn into CEOs, a dangerous transformation occurs, risking the military’s honour and effectiveness.
A troubling shift is underway in many modern militaries, where the focus on financial management, acquisitions, and procurement has begun to eclipse strategic planning. The allure of high-tech equipment has led to a frenzy of spending on advanced fighter jets, drones, and artillery. However, this emphasis on acquisitions overlooks the critical need for training, sound doctrine, and strategic foresight. An expensive arsenal alone does not make a formidable fighting force; it must be integrated with robust training and capable leadership.
Investing in defence is vital, especially in an era of cyber threats and hybrid conflicts, but equating high expenditures with military strength is a dangerous fallacy. Without a coherent defence strategy, a fleet of cutting-edge aircraft remains grounded, and an advanced tank becomes just an overpriced piece of metal. Force planning should not merely be a shopping list of equipment but must align with the nation’s strategic needs and potential threats. When corporate interests dominate, strategic goals are sacrificed for lucrative procurement deals, leaving the military unprepared for genuine challenges.
This corporate shift also corrodes the core values of the military — discipline, meritocracy, and camaraderie. Officers once focused on battlefield strategy are now entrenched in contract negotiations and financial management, diluting their responsibilities and the essence of soldiering. When the military serves as an extension of a business empire, the soldier’s identity is at risk.
The strategic implications of corporate militarisation extend beyond the operational sphere, affecting the very fabric of national defence. A military that adopts a business mindset risks losing sight of evolving threats and long-term strategic objectives. A combat-ready military requires more than equipment; it needs leadership, training and adaptability. A disproportionate focus on high-cost acquisitions can neglect other critical areas like personnel development and logistics, weakening overall military readiness.
The military’s venture into business may aim to secure financial stability, but it jeopardises something far more valuable — the integrity and effectiveness of the armed forces. It’s a dangerous gamble, with the nation’s security as the ultimate stake.
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Bangladesh’s misguided military modernisation
THE prevailing discourse on national sovereignty often fixates on secure borders, overlooking the more insidious threat of eroded internal sovereignty. For over a decade, Bangladesh has maintained a facade of external security, yet internally, its sovereignty has been undermined through economic manipulation, cultural subversion, and informational warfare. The military’s increasing entanglement in commercial ventures has only deepened this vulnerability, shifting the focus away from genuine defence priorities. Bangladesh’s recent trajectory of military modernisation has centred around high-profile acquisitions — advanced fighter jets, submarines, and missile systems. While this parade of new hardware offers an image of strength, it masks a troubling reality: these procurements have not significantly enhanced the nation’s strategic position. Instead, they have burdened the country with mounting debt and fuelled a regional arms race that benefits defence contractors more than the states involved.
This cycle mirrors the dynamics of the ‘Thucydides Trap,’ where rivalries are perpetuated through spiralling military expenditures driven by commercial interests rather than national security needs. A prime example is the purchase of submarines from China, followed by China’s subsequent sale of anti-submarine technology to Myanmar. The outcome was a costly arms race between neighbouring countries, with no clear strategic gain for either side. What seemed like strategic acquisitions were, in reality, economic entanglements orchestrated by defence contractors. This pattern extended beyond naval purchases, encompassing fighter jets like the MiG-29s, which were procured without sufficient compatible munitions, and long-range missiles whose capabilities were intentionally limited to avoid escalating regional tensions.
The military’s policy appeared increasingly dictated by commercial imperatives rather than strategic necessities. The deeper issue lies in the fixation on accumulating high-tech weaponry while neglecting the nature of contemporary conflict, which now unfolds in cyberspace and through economic pressures. A more effective approach would be to cultivate a corps of ‘digital warriors’ — highly skilled professionals capable of countering sophisticated threats through cyber operations. Yet, for 16 years, Bangladesh remained fixated on physical arsenals, while the subtler and equally consequential forms of warfare went largely ignored. The Forces Goal 2030 initiative encapsulates the country’s aspirations for a modernised military, but it is plagued by systemic shortcomings that expose the dangers of a corporate-driven agenda. The relentless pursuit of high-tech assets has overshadowed the critical need for robust logistical and support infrastructure. This oversight is particularly glaring when considering the military’s growing involvement in commercial activities, which diverts attention and resources away from strengthening military readiness.
The military’s foray into business — running everything from banks and insurance companies to construction firms—has fostered a corporate culture that prioritizes profit margins over combat readiness. While military-run enterprises like the Sena Kalyan Sangstha contribute to revenue generation, they also distract from the armed forces’ core mission. Instead of focusing solely on defending the nation, military leaders now find themselves managing business portfolios, while the logistical backbone required for sustaining military operations remains underdeveloped.
The consequences of the corporate shift are evident across all branches. Modernisation efforts have been disjointed, with each service pursuing independent procurement strategies. The army continues to depend heavily on imports, while the navy and air force show uneven progress towards indigenization. This lack of cohesion is further complicated by geopolitical supply chain vulnerabilities, with sanctions and international tensions threatening to disrupt the availability of spare parts and maintenance for foreign-sourced assets. Even though some local initiatives in aircraft manufacturing have begun, they fall far short of a comprehensive strategy for achieving self-reliance.
The navy’s reliance on outdated vessels exemplifies a broader issue within the Forces Goal 2030 framework. Maintaining combat readiness with decades-old ships is impractical without significant upgrades to logistical systems capable of sustaining both new and ageing assets. Yet, the modernisation agenda appears to overlook the inevitable decline in asset readiness, raising concerns about long-term sustainability and the ability to withstand future conflicts.
Moreover, the military’s deepening involvement in commercial activities parallels a broader economic strategy that erodes internal sovereignty. As the nation celebrates its new military capabilities, a more insidious economic conflict unfolds. Rising prices, liquidity crises, and scarcity signal an economic war that destabilises the country from within, challenging the assumption that military strength alone can ensure national security.
India’s approach to Bangladesh illustrates this subtle form of conflict. Instead of direct military confrontation, commercial influence has permeated Bangladesh’s political and media landscapes. The military’s increasing focus on business has created opportunities for foreign economic interests to shape the narrative, equating patriotism with compliance to external agendas. In this environment, dissent is portrayed as unpatriotic, and the boundaries between defence, politics, and business become dangerously blurred.
The impact of propaganda wars — aimed at reshaping public perception and cultivating intellectual dependency — is far more corrosive to sovereignty than any physical military engagement. These influences create an illusion of diplomacy while fostering a quiet erosion of national resolve, leading the military further away from its founding principles. As Bangladesh navigates the challenges of modernisation, it must critically reassess the implications of military involvement in commercial ventures and refocus on strengthening internal sovereignty through a defence posture that prioritises sustainability, resilience, and strategic depth over superficial displays of strength.
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A return to fundamentals
THE military’s growing entanglement in business ventures signals a troubling shift in priorities, one that compromises its role as a defence institution. While commercial activities might seem beneficial for generating revenue or boosting the economy, they pull the military away from its primary mission. The true power of an armed force lies in its commitment to defence and its capacity for warfighting, not in running profit-driven enterprises. When commercial interests overshadow traditional duties, the essential values of service and readiness begin to erode.
The pursuit of profits introduces competing incentives that jeopardise operational focus. When short-term financial gains start to influence decision-making, strategic planning suffers. Senior officers preoccupied with commercial management inevitably sideline military professionalism, and the core skills required for warfare risk being neglected. Soldiers distracted by profit-making lose the sharpness needed for their most vital duty: defending the nation.
Involving the military in business also introduces conflicts of interest that can skew strategic decision-making. The pressure to maintain profitable ventures may distort defence policies, procurement choices, and allocation of resources, shifting the focus away from national security. A profit-driven military risks blurring its societal role, complicating its relationship with civilian authorities and undermining the democratic oversight necessary for effective governance.
For the military to remain a reliable instrument of national power, it must reject the lure of commercial ventures and re-establish its commitment to military professionalism. The focus needs to be on strengthening combat readiness, enhancing logistics, and building a force structure capable of addressing modern threats. A military distracted by commerce cannot be expected to fulfil its strategic obligations effectively. This shift towards a corporate mindset represents not just a departure from traditional roles but a serious strategic weakness.
Real strength does not come from generating profits but from maintaining discipline, adaptability, and a steadfast dedication to defence. Reorienting the military’s priorities will ensure it stays true to its core mission of safeguarding the nation. A decisive move away from commercial interests is needed, with military-run businesses transferred to civilian-veteran management under the ministry of defence, overseen by qualified professionals.
The Forces Goal 2030 initiative risks becoming mere rhetoric without a radical overhaul of military priorities. True security will depend on logistical efficiency, economic resilience, and smart investments in technology — not merely foreign acquisitions or high-tech hardware. Addressing these needs requires confronting deep-rooted issues such as economic manipulation and logistical inefficiencies.
The interim government’s establishment of six reform commissions has conspicuously excluded the military. Token efforts to reform the defence sector have failed to tackle the core issues. A dedicated commission led by experienced retired officers is necessary to conduct a comprehensive review and restore the military’s credibility.
Procurement practices remain mired in inefficiency and corruption, demanding urgent reform — starting with placing the Directorate General of Defence Purchase under the ministry of defence to ensure transparency. Military intelligence must be disentangled from political interference, returning its focus to securing national interests.
The military’s drift into business is akin to trading rifles for cash registers — an abandonment of the fundamental duty to defend the homeland. The integrity of the armed forces lies not in profit margins but in readiness, discipline, and service. To protect the nation, the military must recommit to its true purpose and leave commercial pursuits behind, ensuring security and sovereignty above all else.
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Abdul Monaiem Kudrot Ullah, a retired Captain of Bangladesh Navy, is a supply chain and geo-strategic expert.