Of skyrises and visceral discomfort: Notes from an American on his return to Bangladesh after a decade

Dhaka city, already burdened with overcrowding, is one of the most unlivable cities in the world. Photo: Noor A Alam

In a panel talk honouring the late Sir Fazle Abed, Dr Naomi Hossain of SOAS University of London spoke on Abed's achievements and his unique approach to humanitarianism, which focused on learning from failures instead of solely concentrating on negatives. 

She remarked on Abed's commitment to actual change, which contrasted with Westerners, who "talk very performatively" when discussing international development. Dr Hossain's speech resonated with me as an American familiar with the defeatist and assumptive attitudes displayed in discussions of the Third World, without consideration of the lives and realities of those living there.

During my undergraduate years, I extensively studied and wrote about Bangladesh's politics, economy, history and society, to the point where the country became an abstraction. Bangladesh existed only in academic journals, theories and scholars and in my extrapolations of the country's political or economic struggles, of which I was so flagrantly sure. 

My arrogance led me to become the very performative activist lambasted by Dr Hossain. After all, who was I, sitting here in New York, to presume I knew better than actual Bangladeshis?

I felt disconnected by speaking and acting on behalf of a place I had not set foot in for a very long time (almost a decade, in fact). After my long absence, I decided I needed to go back into the field, directly witness the progress and shortcomings, and hear from the people themselves. 

Returning to the country was illuminating, as it allowed me to take a step back, gain a nuanced view of the realities on the ground in Bangladesh, and share informed insights on the state of the country's development as a Westerner.

Upon arrival at Hazrat Shahjalal Airport, there was a familiar feeling harkening back to my childhood memories, signalling a visit that should be no different from my previous ones. However, the Uber ride on the city's new extensive freeway shook me. It was an obvious realisation; things had changed. 

Bangladesh had launched itself into the 21st century with high rises everywhere, the arrival of the long-awaited metro rail, new lavish restaurants and a smartphone in almost everyone's hand. While these changes were welcome, I couldn't help but feel some visceral discomfort.

It was disheartening to see many of the institutions I once patronised deteriorate. For example, the British Council had decimated its library and cultural event spaces, replacing them with a hollow block for IELTS classes. Additionally, Ramna Park looked even more dilapidated than usual, Dhaka University's TSC was rendered claustrophobic, and other new megastructures eerily looked out of place. 

I understand that countries need to grow, change and build; it's the practical reality of the world. However, the importance of "third spaces" outside of work and the household, which is just as practical for a flourishing society, was clearly being ignored.

Conversations with my friends and peers of my age highlighted the underlying crisis of disappearing third spaces and the resulting alienation, particularly affecting youth. 

A friend of mine, a student at ULAB, merrily listed all the fun new activities to do in Dhaka while also lamenting the loss of his hometown's unique atmosphere and natural beauty, which it had once had many years ago. 

He also complained about his stale social life, and like most people his age, he aimed to move abroad after graduation. A stranger in his own home, the country's "progress" prompted indifference due to the absence of his deepest needs.

To prevent the gloom of Dhaka from clouding my judgement, I briefly ventured to Jessore to see development and the market work on a hyper-local level. In talks with locals, I heard optimism as well as sorrow over what was once their quaint city. 

Some voices cheered the flow of private investment and foreign capital, which helped create new roads, infrastructure, jobs, social mobility and the rise of new successful industries. Others resented aggressive urban development, NGOs, the commodification of their lives, frivolous government projects and the continued lack of access to services such as healthcare.

My observations are, of course, anecdotal, and these perspectives do not represent the entirety of Bangladesh. Nevertheless, they still point to genuine concerns that should be given merit. 

In the United States, we have witnessed how the guise of "economic development" has also destroyed communal spaces, worsened inequality and bred a generation of atomised and disaffected individuals like my aforementioned friends. 

When I saw these parallels in Bangladesh, I learned that disparities are not the result of incompetence, they are an intentional effort to benefit the wealthy and powerful. True change comes from a collective effort to recognise and address such issues.

While I echo Dr Hossain's sentiment on anti-developmentist pessimism, I invite her to consider this thought-provoking quote from economic anthropologist Hanna Appel: "Capitalism is not a context; it is a project." Bangladesh is on the right track and has much to be proud of, but it must heed the warning on the true intentions of the policies implemented on them. 

The social and economic crises that post-industrial nations are facing right now may befall Bangladesh soon. As an American, what I can offer is the advice of critically analysing the costs of modernisation without proper planning, sustainability and investments in communities.

Aamer Tahseen. Sketch: TBS

Aamer Tahseen is a New York-based writer and columnist who has previously published for The Business Standard, The Fordham Undergraduate Research Journal and Amendo.com.

Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the opinions and views of The Business Standard.