DANNY DE HEK

The Rust-Coloured Truth We Can’t Keep Ignoring

I’ve spent the better part of the last few years exposing scams and Ponzi schemes, lifting the curtain on the greedy few who build empires on the backs of everyday people. But what I’ve come to realise is this: not all exploitation wears a slick suit or promises crypto returns. Sometimes, it looks like a rusted hull, beached in a developing nation, surrounded by barefoot workers earning four dollars a day.

There’s a global industry hiding in plain sight — an industry where Western corporations dump their dying cruise liners and tankers, and where some of the world’s poorest labourers are handed sledgehammers and told to tear them apart — often without safety gear, proper pay, or any recognition of their humanity.

I’m talking about the business of shipbreaking.

A Hidden Empire of Steel and Silence

Each year, around 1,000 ships reach the end of their operational life. The vast majority — nearly 70% — are beached and dismantled in just three countries: Bangladesh, India, and Pakistan. These dismantling operations occur at massive shipbreaking yards like the Chittagong Ship Breaking Yard in Fauzdarhat, near Sitakunda in Bangladesh; the Alang Ship Breaking Yard in Gujarat, India — the largest in the world; and the Gadani Ship Breaking Yard in Balochistan, Pakistan.

These locations span kilometres of coastline and are dotted with dismantling plots, often stretching over 10–15 kilometres, turning entire coastal regions into zones of metal, smoke, and sweat. Alang alone hosts over 150 active plots, handling half of the world’s shipbreaking volume. Gadani, once the largest yard globally, still operates more than 130 individual plots. Chittagong, meanwhile, has carved a reputation for being one of the most dangerous and inaccessible yards for outside scrutiny.

I tried to visit the Chittagong Ship Breaking Yard myself. I wanted to walk the beaches where ships go to die, to speak with the workers, and to understand the reality behind the sweeping drone shots and viral YouTube exposés. But access was nearly impossible. The gates were locked, cameras unwelcome, and inquiries redirected or ignored. This wasn’t due to bureaucratic oversight — this was intentional secrecy. The industry’s opacity isn’t an accident — it’s a protective shell built to hide abuse, environmental damage, and labour exploitation.

Across these yards, tens of thousands of workers toil daily. Many are migrant labourers, some are children, most are unprotected. They arrive lured by the promise of steady work and a few dollars a day, only to find themselves knee-deep in toxic sludge, tearing apart thousand-tonne vessels by hand. With minimal safety standards, no proper protective equipment, and crude tools, the risk of fatal accidents is ever-present.

This isn’t merely about low wages — it’s about systemic exploitation. The global economy has created an industrial complex where entire communities are sacrificed at the altar of cheap steel and invisible labour. When a cruise ship retires, or an oil tanker is decommissioned, it doesn’t quietly fade away — it’s dumped in a poor country, where its final disassembly becomes the burden of those with the least power, least protection, and least voice.

Shipbreaking isn’t just dangerous — it’s deadly. And the silence surrounding it is perhaps the loudest alarm we should all be hearing.

Case Studies and Tragedies

Over the years, numerous accidents have occurred at shipbreaking yards, many of which never make international headlines. The 2016 Gadani explosion, which killed at least 28 workers, is one of the rare cases that drew temporary global attention. But that tragedy is far from isolated. Fires, structural collapses, and chemical exposure — these are everyday risks in an unregulated environment.

In terms of legal action, successful lawsuits are nearly nonexistent. Workers and their families rarely have access to legal recourse, and the international corporations responsible for sending ships to these yards face virtually no consequences. It’s a legal grey zone — and it’s exploited with impunity.

Cruise Liners: Luxury Above, Exploitation Below

Cruise ships represent the peak of commercial leisure — gleaming towers of indulgence packed with swimming pools, buffets, shopping malls, and thousands of passengers eager to escape the world for a few days. But beneath the polished brass and frozen daiquiris lies a darker truth: these floating cities are among the most resource-intensive, polluting, and exploitative machines in modern transport.

As of 2024, there are roughly 300 active cruise ships operating globally, with more under construction. These vessels run on heavy fuel oil (HFO) — one of the dirtiest fuels in existence, emitting massive amounts of sulphur oxides, nitrogen oxides, and carbon dioxide. In a single day at sea, a cruise ship can emit as much pollution as one million cars.

And that’s just the air. Cruise ships also dump untreated sewage, greywater, oily bilge, and hazardous waste into the oceans. According to a report by Friends of the Earth, one mid-sized cruise ship produces over 200,000 gallons of sewage and 1 million gallons of greywater every week. Much of this is released into the sea — legally — often near vulnerable coastlines and marine ecosystems.

When cruise lines are finished with these vessels — often after just 20–30 years — they quietly disappear. Many are flagged under convenience states like Panama, Bahamas, or Liberia, making ownership and accountability murky. They’re then sold through shell companies, stripped of their names, and run aground on beaches in Bangladesh or India to be dismantled under brutal conditions.

The cruise industry enjoys billions in tax breaks, subsidies, and public relations insulation. While passengers sip cocktails, workers back in the shipbreaking yards risk their lives to break down luxury liners made of toxic paint, asbestos-lined panels, and oil-stained engines — all for $4 per day. It’s a brutal full circle: first-world pleasure built on third-world suffering.

And yet, cruise brands continue to sell an image of family fun and ecological responsibility. They flaunt their “green certifications” and “sustainability pledges,” even as they dump their retired ships in countries with virtually no environmental enforcement.

The public is rarely told the truth. Shareholders see quarterly profits. Consumers see Instagrammable vacations. Meanwhile, the real environmental cost — and human suffering — is hidden behind PR campaigns and offshore legal tricks.

Cruise ships aren’t just part of the problem. They’re monuments to global inequality — floating testaments to how far corporations will go to preserve an illusion, no matter the cost to people or planet.

The Elephant in the Room

Why is this industry so hard to document? Why is it so heavily policed?

The answer lies in who stands to lose. Governments in these regions benefit from bribes, backdoor deals, and the economic stimulation of shipbreaking — even if it comes at a human cost. Content creators and journalists are routinely blocked, threatened, or detained.

Shipbreaking is one of the few industries where transparency is seen as a threat, not a virtue.

Is This the Most Dangerous Job on Earth?

By many metrics, yes. Workers are exposed to:

  • Asbestos, lead paint, and heavy metals
  • Diesel residue, hydrocarbons, and corrosive materials
  • Extreme temperatures, lack of training, and explosive conditions

Respiratory illness, amputations, and early death are common. With little to no healthcare access, many workers die anonymously. There are no memorials. No reports. Just silence.

What Can We Do?

This isn’t just about outrage — it’s about action. Here’s how we make noise:

  • Expose the profiteers — track the shipping companies, cruise liners, and government actors involved
  • Demand supply chain transparency — especially for shipowners and cruise corporations
  • Support investigative journalism — help those who are trying to reveal the truth
  • Pressure governments and port authorities — to implement stronger laws and enforcement
  • Speak up online — social pressure does work. Share, tag, and hold influencers and brands accountable

This Isn’t Activism. This Is Humanity.

I’m not just The Crypto Ponzi Scheme Avenger. I’m a human being, and I believe that no one should die in silence for someone else’s convenience. These workers are not disposable. They are sons, daughters, and fathers — building our modern world at unimaginable cost.

Let’s not let them die for our silence.

Stay curious. Stay critical. Stay unfiltered.

About the Author Danny de Hek, also known as The Crypto Ponzi Scheme Avenger, is a New Zealand-based investigative journalist specializing in exposing crypto fraud, Ponzi schemes, and MLM scams. His work has been featured by Bloomberg, The New York Times, The Guardian Australia, ABC News Australia, and other international outlets.

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