CULTURE
Left Behind
An Exploration of Dhaka’s Wetland Communities and Reclaiming the Word “Slum” as a Non-Offensive Word
Located just north of the Buriganga River and home to a metropolis of diplomacy and religious diversity, Dhaka, Bangladesh is home to a profound divide. As a burgeoning epicenter and megacity, Dhaka houses some of the richest and poorest communities, those of which most strikingly neighbor each other. Dhaka is home to over 5,000 slums, those of which are inhabited by approximately four million people; among these individuals, most live with their families in one bedroom homes. Korail, one of the largest of Dhaka’s slums, is under intense developmental target from all sides: political, ecological, and recreational. For the purpose of this exploration, I intend to use the word slum as a word addressing the shortcomings of the political and social systems of our world today and how so many communities are left behind, ostensibly forgotten, in favor of the select few.
For most of recent history, the word slum has been negatively charged, effectively stripping away the power of the land itself and its capability of existing as something “worthy;” here, I argue that slums are in no need of urban restructure for the selfish aesthetics and motivations disguised under the name of “environmental justice.” If we are going to address environmental issues, we must also address the marginalized and refugee communities living in these areas and the need to create spaces which build a better, safer, and more just future. I propose that this might begin with reframing the way we think of the word slum and the offense often inherent within it.
When we think about urban development, we might as well be thinking to ourselves: who gets access to a “pleasurable” city? Is what is being done really being done in the name of the “common good?” In cities like Dhaka, slums are targeted for development based on what they offer. Are they by a source of water? Do they have the potential to be useful for developers or pleasurable for the wealthy few? Korail, itself, is threatened by lake development, or rather, the implementation of a lake into land that houses approximately 3,600 families.
To this end I ask, what then is the purpose of this infrastructure if it displaces thousands of incredibly low-income families without proper compensation, resettlement, or advocacy? On a larger scale, how can we make clear the dangers of environmental gentrification/eco-gentrification while also advocating for the needs of a landscape and rectifying the wrongs we have committed on both land and human populations? To this end I also ask, who has the right to make decisions surrounding urban reshaping and how are these community-wide displacements legal? As socioecologist Efadul Huq puts it: who will bear the consequences (socially and ecologically) for these decisions about infrastructural resilience?
If we use Korail as a case study for eco-gentrification, it becomes clear that political abuse most often manifests in politically-charged motives for rendering “informal settlements” invisible. Surrounded by some of the richest neighborhoods in Dhaka, Korail is home to 100,000 residents living within approximately 100 acres. In an effort to create dignity where dignity is stripped from them, Korail members center their social, nutritional, and economic livelihoods around community gardens. These gardens exist as vessels of community sustenance, promoting connection-oriented space within otherwise tightly-packed environments, and avenues for generating extra money aside from regular income. Huq beautifully characterizes the act of gardening for Korail residents as both a coping mechanism and a mode of “place-making,” one specifically spear-headed by women with a goal to mobilize their collective power and put it to use against political threat. In the absence of established, formal community centers, gardens are a source of community for Korail residents, in which they are making space for themselves where they are not wanted. This is an act of radical defiance as if to say: we are here.
Korail residents, along with many other slum residents, are mistreated on the outside. There is a certain stigma that comes alongside slum-living, even with the word generating impressions of pejorative, derogatory shame for being uttered out loud. It is my argument that there should be nothing shameful about the word slum, now in the modern day, aside from the fact that they are deliberately forgotten. Although the etymological origin of the word emanated from London Cockney slang, the word today is increasingly clouded under the guise of labeling certain areas as unusable and the subsequent problems this poses for developers. I wonder, in view of this capitalistic and politically-charged motive for the retirement of the word slum, if we can aim to reclaim it in the name of combatting eco-gentrification and acknowledging profound disparity in communities far and wide.
In reclaiming the word slum, we can aim collectively to move forward and tackle the underlying issue: how can we address ecological needs and/or promote ecological advancement for a more sustainable future while also addressing the needs of our most marginalized communities? How can we show up for the most oppressed and/or poorest communities worldwide and aim to transform the landscape for comfortable, environmentally and socially just living?
There must be a way to work toward collective liberation and justice, giving Dhaka the ecological advancement it needs while also (more specifically: first and foremost) rectifying the innate inequity related to the wealth divide. If we do not take action and recognize this immense disparity, we are leaving behind over a billion individuals worldwide who are stifled under gatekeep-oriented political systems in place. And to this end, I pose — why wouldn’t we want to build a better world together?
