Neglected peacebuilders: Dhaka’s informal women workers

Deep in Dhaka, under chaos and heat, informal economy women quietly interweave the threads of urban resilience—without presence in peace and security debates.

At 5:30 AM, Aklima Begum (pseudonym), a 39-year-old street food seller in Karwan Bazar, unfurls her cart laden with boiled eggs and puffed rice. Beneath the cloth that will shield her from the morning sun, she begins another day of struggle against heat, harassment, and uncertainty. "If I miss one day, we don't eat," she states. Her voice is firm, but her eyes reveal a life teetering on the brink of survival and resilience.

Across Dhaka, tens of thousands of women like Aklima, work in the informal economy—in vending, in waste-picking, in garment subcontracting, and as domestic workers. It accounts for around 87% of all Bangladesh employment, and increasingly it is women at its foundation. They don't wear uniforms or carry weapons, but their economic participation under precarious conditions is critical to producing everyday peace in a more unequal city.

Peace, oftentimes considered in the backdrop of war and unrest, must be admired from the unsaid struggles that women face on a daily basis in the urban areas—against poverty, climate threats, and institutional neglect. The Women, Peace and Security (WPS) agenda, grounded in UN Security Council Resolution 1325, focuses on women's participation in peace processes. But do we ever consider peace built in traffic intersections, in slums, or under plastic awning tarpaulin?

Take the case of Korail slum. During the heatwave in 2023, tin roofs were hotter than 42°C within households. Women informal sector workers, already underpaid and without insurance, were hit hardest. They fainted at work or were dehydrated, but little received medical attention or rest. And yet, they came—carrying children, caring for neighbours, resolving tensions in the time of drought. They held their communities together.

Urban insecurity for these women is not merely crime but also the threat of eviction, unpredictability of earnings, and the everyday violence of neglect. ActionAid discovered in its research that over 80% of Dhaka Street vendors had been victimised by some form of harassment—by police, local extortionists, or even buyers. "Peace is when nobody drives me away," says Shefali (pseudonym), a vendor at New Market.

It is not, nevertheless, naive resilience.  They act, arrange child care, or initiate spontaneous savings clubs when calamity hits at the local level.  Women who were employed in the informal sector moved into the spotlight during the Covid-19 lockdown when a majority of male breadwinners lost their employment. Some began home-based food enterprises; others distributed masks. These were not just survival measures—these were acts of social solidarity and community-building.

However, despite their efforts, these women are almost invisible in policy debates. The Bangladesh National Action Plan on Women, Peace, and Security (2019–2022) barely mentions urban informal workers. It speaks of formal institutions, rural development, and gender-based violence in traditional conflict zones—but not the daily lives of urban poor women who make peace every day with their work and care labour.

There are consequences to this invisibility. Without recognition or support, these women continue to be excluded from access to healthcare, social protection, or climate-resilient infrastructure. Aklima (pseudonym), who developed heatstroke last summer, received no governmental aid. "I rested for a day and returned," she says. "Who will take care of my household if I don't?" In a city getting warmer, their vulnerability is also a matter of public health and urban stability.

According to the Bangladesh Bureau of Statistics (2023), 60% of urban women workers are engaged in informal employment. They are also the first to be fired during economic shocks and the last to receive compensation. Climate change, increases in food prices, and political unrest merely add to their insecurity. And their strategies of coping with it tend to dissipate tensions at the neighbourhood level—whether through mediation, mutual support, or collective mobilisation of resistance.

There is both a policy and moral obligation to act. Recognising these women as peacebuilders is about integrating their voices into economic policymaking, disaster risk planning, and urban planning. There is a start that local governments can make in granting vending licences, offering vending shaded spaces, and ensuring access to basic services like water and sanitation in markets and slums.

Even more essential, urban adaptation strategies must extend beyond the built environment and tackle social resilience. Informal female workers need heat relief centres during hot weather, walk-in clinics, legal aid, and access to savings and credit. These are not handouts—these are peace and productivity facilitators. If the city fails to take care of its most resilient builders, its stability is lost.

Bangladesh has made progress in terms of gender equity, but the urban gender gap persists. Development needs to be gender-sensitive, and peace cannot be divorced from economics. Aklima's (pseudonym) is not a tale of hardship—she is a tale of leadership. She will not occupy boardrooms or peace tables, but she shapes order, dignity, and hope in one of the world's most volatile cities on a daily basis.

As Dhaka grows and heats up, it must choose whose peace it wants to maintain. For authentic security, we must look not only to the state, but to the streets—where the city is sustained by women, one meal, one gesture, one breath at a time.

Sketch: TBS

Major Shajeda Akter Moni is an officer in the Bangladesh Army with over 23 years of service and currently serves as Deputy Director at the Research Centre, Bangladesh University of Professionals (BUP).

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.