Dhaka faces strange paradox; solution lies in vision, discipline, justice

When we speak about Dhaka's future, we must first confront an uncomfortable reality. Very recently, a United Nations report identified Dhaka as the world's second-largest city by population. At first glance, this sounds like something to celebrate—a symbol of scale, importance, even global relevance. But pride fades quickly when size is divorced from liveability.

A city's greatness is not measured by how many millions it contains, but by how well those millions live.

Dhaka today presents a bleak picture. In terms of air pollution, it routinely ranks among the worst cities in the world. Traffic congestion is relentless. Access to open spaces and greenery is alarmingly scarce. Housing, particularly for the urban poor is deeply inadequate. Estimates suggest that between three and four million people live in slums, often in conditions unfit for human dignity.

The situation has worsened in recent times. Since the mass uprising, Dhaka has reportedly absorbed an additional five to ten lakh auto-rickshaws. The exact number is unknown—an uncertainty that itself reflects poor urban governance. But let us consider the implication: five lakh new entrants alone exceed the population of many well-functioning cities worldwide. Have we created housing, services, or infrastructure for them? The answer is obvious.

This unchecked growth makes Dhaka's future extremely fragile. The air we breathe contains toxic elements, including lead, which enters our bodies silently, damaging lungs and stunting children's development. Few urban crises are as devastating—or as invisible.

Dhaka, then, is becoming a megacity in name alone: expanding in size while steadily losing its capacity to sustain life.

Urban research across the world shows that the optimal population of a large city is roughly five to seven million. Beyond this threshold, cities enter what economists call diseconomies of scale—where increased investment produces diminishing returns. Dhaka has long crossed that line.

Greater Dhaka today is estimated to house over 36 million people. While it accounts for around 44% of national employment, its contribution to GDP is only about 20%. This mismatch is telling. Much of this employment is informal, low-productivity work—people arriving not to prosper, but merely to survive.

Even more troubling is the condition of marginalised communities. Between 30 and 50% of Dhaka's residents live in inhuman conditions: homes without light or ventilation, distant schools, no access to parks or open spaces. They work long hours simply to remain afloat.

Migration to the city is often driven by hope—the promise of better income and opportunity. But for many, Dhaka becomes a trap. A garment worker earning Tk12,000 may appear better off on paper than a rural labourer, yet the quality of life they experience—measured by health, environment, and social wellbeing—is often worse.

As a Somali poet once wrote, "No one leaves home unless home is the mouth of a shark." People do not come to Dhaka because it offers dignity; they come because they see no alternative.

Cities are meant to be engines of national development. Dhaka, however, has become a magnet that drains the rest of the country. Why must someone from Satkhira travel all the way to Dhaka, bypassing Khulna entirely? Why do people from Rajshahi—an education-rich city—find so few employment opportunities at home?

This is a failure of state planning.

Balanced regional development does not happen by chance. It requires deliberate public investment—often with long-term returns. Governments must invest in regional cities, provide infrastructure, energy, land, and financial support so that jobs are created where people already live.

Dhaka grew disproportionately because it became the centre of all power—political, administrative, and economic. Around 80% of the garment industry is concentrated here, often in locations never meant for industry. Residential buildings were converted, wetlands filled, agricultural land destroyed. Logically, export-oriented industries should have been centred around port cities like Chattogram. Instead, Dhaka absorbed everything, while planning rules were ignored.

Globally, urbanisation is associated with growth. But should Bangladesh aspire to have 70 or 80% of its population living in cities? With nearly 200 million people and limited land, we cannot afford to abandon agriculture. Food security—especially in an uncertain geopolitical future—demands that we sustain rural livelihoods.

The real challenge, therefore, is not accelerating migration, but reducing forced migration. Rural areas must offer urban-level services: quality schools, healthcare, fair prices for agricultural produce. People should not be compelled to move to Dhaka just to pull a rickshaw or drive an auto.

The consequences of our failure are visible in global rankings. In the Economist Intelligence Unit's latest liveability index, Bangladesh ranks 171 out of 173—above only war-ravaged Damascus and Tripoli. Dhaka performs poorly across stability, healthcare, environment, education, and infrastructure.

Most residents cannot access decent public transport, nearby schools, community hospitals, or affordable healthcare. Pollution alone is estimated to reduce life expectancy in Dhaka by six to seven years. Yet we rarely issue health warnings or take emergency measures, unlike cities such as Delhi.

Children have nowhere to play. Only a tiny fraction can access open spaces; the rest grow up in cramped, dark rooms. What kind of future are we creating for them?

Despite this, planning decisions continue to favour higher density. Floor Area Ratios are increased under pressure from vested interests, pushing population densities to 50,000—even 100,000—per square kilometre in some areas. Dhaka is now governed by more than 50 authorities, with little coordination and no unified metropolitan government. Fragmentation breeds inefficiency—and corruption.

We now see a strange paradox: elevated expressways above chaos, metro lines above broken footpaths, modern infrastructure floating over a city that cannot provide buses, toilets, or walkable streets. Twenty years ago, Dhaka was more humane. Today, development has overwhelmed its carrying capacity.

Public money is poured into megaprojects while basic services are neglected. Benefits accrue to a minority, while inequality deepens. Dhaka is being treated like an ICU patient—kept alive through expensive interventions—while the rest of the country is starved of investment.

If Dhaka's population exceeds 50 million by 2050, it will simply not be able to provide water, energy, transport, or healthcare.

The solution is not technical alone. It lies in governance, rule of law, and strict adherence to planning standards. Until we end the contradiction between rhetorical decentralisation and actual concentration of power, cities like Rangpur, Rajshahi, or Barishal will not thrive—and Dhaka will continue its slow collapse.

A city cannot be saved by infrastructure alone. It can only be saved by vision, discipline, and justice.

The writer is a professor at the Department of Urban and Regional Planning, Jahangirnagar University 

Abridged from an interview on TBS Future by TBS' Executive Editor Shakhawat Liton.