Garment workers’ protests: 47 cases of disinformation, including claims of killings and shootings, identified

In the heart of Bangladesh’s garment industry, where millions of workers stitch the clothes that clothe the world, a cry for justice has risen louder than the hum of sewing machines. Workers in the industrial belts of Mirpur, Savar-Ashulia, Gazipur, and Narayanganj have taken to the streets, demanding a minimum monthly wage of Tk 30,000. These are not just names on a map; they are communities built around factories, neighborhoods alive with the dreams of people who leave their villages to sew, cut, fold, and package garments for global brands. They work long hours in cramped conditions, often breathing in fabric dust, their fingers calloused from years of handling needle and thread. The demand for Tk 30,000 is not an act of greed; it is an attempt to keep pace with the rising cost of rent, food, transport, and children’s education. The workers who make our clothes are human beings with their own aspirations, their own tired feet, their own empty stomachs when wages fall short. Their protests are not simply political events; they are expressions of a deep, gnawing need for dignity, for the ability to look at their children and promise them a better tomorrow.

Yet the streets have not been peaceful. In several industrial areas, demonstrations have turned into scenes of chaos, with workers and police engaged in clashes and chases. Tear gas has hung in the air, stones have been thrown, and batons have swung. For the workers, the protest is a last resort—the culmination of months or years of waiting for a fair adjustment that never came. Many of them have families to feed, and their anger is born of desperation, not malice. When they run from police, they are often running toward something too: a hope that their voices will be heard, that the authorities will see beyond the chaos and understand the humanity behind the banners. Police, for their part, are tasked with maintaining order, but in the heat of the moment, such confrontations can turn tragic or lead to further resentment. The streets become a theatre of conflicting emotions—fear, courage, hopelessness, and grim determination. The workers know that returning home empty-handed means another month of choosing between medicine and milk. The authorities, perhaps, see only broken windows and blocked roads. But behind every broken window is a family’s story, and behind every blockaded road is a demand that should never have been ignored.

In the midst of this turmoil, a more insidious battle is being fought online. Social media, which has the power to unite protesters and amplify their demands, is also becoming a breeding ground for misinformation. Rumors have spread like wildfire, claiming that several workers have been killed by police gunfire. Other posts describe injured protestors as having been shot, often accompanied by graphic images that evoke immediate outrage. These claims, while sometimes rooted in real incidents, often distort the facts or come from unverified sources. In a moment of crisis, when emotions are already running high, such misinformation can be devastating. It can provoke further protests, ignite deeper anger, and erode whatever little trust remains between workers, authorities, and the public. Every forwarded message feels like a call to action, and the urge to share is powerful. But in the chaos of a demonstration, the truth is often the first casualty. The same people who are fighting for a better life are now being turned into instruments of a narrative they did not write, and their suffering is being used to score points in a digital war of perceptions.

The misinformation is not limited to text posts. Fact-checking organizations have found AI-generated images and videos designed to look like real footage from the protests. These synthetic visuals are often indistinguishable from genuine photos to the untrained eye, showing crowds, smoke, and blood that never actually existed. Edited news cards, bearing the logos of established media outlets, are also circulating with fabricated headlines that appear authentic at first glance. Fake statements, attributed to government officials, factory owners, or protest leaders, are being shared to stir controversy or weaken trust in the movement. Perhaps most insidiously, old photos and videos from unrelated incidents—previous strikes, accidents, or even protests in other countries—are being repackaged and presented as current events. The viewer is made to believe that what they are seeing is happening at this very moment, in these very streets, to these very workers. This is not just a matter of confusion; it is a deliberate attempt to manipulate public opinion. In a crisis, people look for information to guide their decisions, and when the information is poisoned, the consequences can be fatal. The human need to know, to help, to protest, and to mourn is being hijacked by those who would exploit the workers’ pain for their own ends.

Fortunately, there are those who have taken up the mantle of truth. Fact-checking organizations, working against the clock and the chaos, have been publishing reports on the misinformation surrounding the garment workers’ demonstrations. As of 12pm on Friday, three such organizations—Rumor Scanner, Dismislab, and BanglaFact—had together identified and reported 47 separate incidents of false or misleading content. Rumor Scanner, one of the most active in the country, reported 33 incidents, while Dismislab and BanglaFact found eight and six respectively. These numbers represent not just attempts to deceive, but the scale of the effort needed to combat them. Each fact-check begins with a suspicious post, a viral video, or a shocking claim. The fact-checkers then trace the origin, compare it with credible sources, speak to witnesses, and determine whether the content is real, mixed, or fabricated. Their reports are often the only calm voice in a storm of hysteria. They do not stand on barricades or shout slogans, but their work is equally courageous. In a world where seeing is no longer believing, they are the guardians of what is true. Every false claim they debunk is a step toward protecting the workers’ legitimate struggle from being undermined by lies, and every corrected post is a reminder that the fight for justice cannot be built on a foundation of fiction.

Where does this leave us? The story of the garment workers is not just a headline; it is an ongoing human tragedy that demands empathy and action. The workers who took to the streets deserve more than our sympathy or our outrage; they deserve a real dialogue about wages, working conditions, and the value we place on the clothes we wear. At the same time, as the digital fog of misinformation thickens, all of us must become more careful, more critical, and more kind in how we consume and share content. Before forwarding a shocking image or repeating a claim of police shooting, we must pause and ask ourselves: Is this true? Who is telling this story, and why? The fight for Tk 30,000 is rooted in a fundamental human need for survival, and it should not be twisted into a weapon of chaos. The police, the government, and the factory owners must also recognize that the protests are not merely acts of disorder, but cries for a fairer society. For too long, the people who make the clothes have been invisible, their hands hidden behind the glittering displays of fast fashion. The truth—unembellished, unedited, and unarmed—is the only way forward. Only when we see each other not as enemies or pawns, but as fellow human beings with shared dreams of dignity, can the roads be cleared and the sewing machines hum again in peace.