The voice of the slumdog
CDA needs to consider carefully whether its actions will restore order, or bring latent tensions to surface.
The writer is a graduate student at the Fletcher School of Law and Diplomacy, focusing on human security and education. She tweets @madeeha_ansari
Islamabad, a popular stage for political protest, has recently witnessed a change in the nature of activism. This time, it is not the black-coated lawyers or white-collar workers taking to the streets, but the invisible ‘spawn of the streets’ themselves — the inhabitants of the katchi abadis, protesting eviction from their homes by the Capital Development Authority (CDA).
A short while ago, I was working for a network of open-air schools in slums like the ones that are now under threat. The schools existed on the premise that they were not permanent — if the communities were made to move by the CDA, the staff would move too. As it happened, during my time, a prominent catering company decided to build a marriage hall near one of the settlements. Silently, the community and the school were absorbed into a different settlement, where they would not exist as eyesores to dampen wedding revelry.
Now, however, the silence has been broken. These protests illustrate the dynamics of a ‘post-development’ world: poverty is no longer rural and remote, but is urbanising and is finding a voice. The many various kinds of people, driven to Islamabad by conflict, disaster or economic need, are keenly aware of the inequities in the urban bubble and also have a growing consciousness of rights. The state has failed to provide them with adequate protection and they have no formal access to basic services like sanitation, electricity and education. While previously, this was accepted as part of their reality, now they have come together in the face of a collective threat. The question is, what next?
On the one hand, they have no formal recourse. The CDA can argue, and rightfully so, that the katchi abadis exist in defiance of the law. A court ruling, issued in February, provides the authorities with the grounds for removing the slums. Militants and terrorists, it is said, find safe haven in the gritty mess of informality.
On the other hand, such a removal would be a purely cosmetic surgery for a problem having multiple, deep roots. For one thing, the demolition of the abadis will not solve the issue of rising terrorism. The other proposed solution — that of corralling the people into gated settlements — is also a dubious one. Terrorism, as has been witnessed by the entire country over the past few years, cannot be geographically contained.
In addition, clamping down on the settlements will not make the people disappear. The slums of Islamabad are not uniform; they are peopled by distinct communities who set up their own worlds, representative of their places of origin. For the most part, they include Afghan refugees, Internally Displaced Persons (IDPs) from both the settled and the tribal areas of Khyber-Pakhtunkhwa and Punjabi families who have moved in search of employment. Looking at their origins and options for return, it is not likely that they will leave.
To be fair, the issues of burgeoning informal settlements are not unique to Pakistan. According to a UNDP projection, by 2030, 40 per cent of urban residents are expected to be living in slums.
For reasons of both security and development, it is important to keep track of the communities populating urban spaces; in that, the authorities have been late in mobilising. However, if neglect has consequences, so does misguided action. At this point, the CDA needs to consider quite carefully whether its actions will help restore order to Islamabad — or simply bring latent tensions and inequities to the surface. Particularly for IDPs displaced by violence, there is the risk of worsening ethnic tensions and creating further disillusionment with the state.
Sweeping their homes away would simply mean sweeping people to a different corner; they need to go somewhere. Now, the stakes are higher than the aesthetic worries of a commercial marriage hall — there is panic in this decision for systematic demolition. The fear of the abadis, however, cannot be addressed in this way. If the dwellers of the slums have found a voice, it is worthwhile to hear them out.
Published in The Express Tribune, May 6th, 2014.
A short while ago, I was working for a network of open-air schools in slums like the ones that are now under threat. The schools existed on the premise that they were not permanent — if the communities were made to move by the CDA, the staff would move too. As it happened, during my time, a prominent catering company decided to build a marriage hall near one of the settlements. Silently, the community and the school were absorbed into a different settlement, where they would not exist as eyesores to dampen wedding revelry.
Now, however, the silence has been broken. These protests illustrate the dynamics of a ‘post-development’ world: poverty is no longer rural and remote, but is urbanising and is finding a voice. The many various kinds of people, driven to Islamabad by conflict, disaster or economic need, are keenly aware of the inequities in the urban bubble and also have a growing consciousness of rights. The state has failed to provide them with adequate protection and they have no formal access to basic services like sanitation, electricity and education. While previously, this was accepted as part of their reality, now they have come together in the face of a collective threat. The question is, what next?
On the one hand, they have no formal recourse. The CDA can argue, and rightfully so, that the katchi abadis exist in defiance of the law. A court ruling, issued in February, provides the authorities with the grounds for removing the slums. Militants and terrorists, it is said, find safe haven in the gritty mess of informality.
On the other hand, such a removal would be a purely cosmetic surgery for a problem having multiple, deep roots. For one thing, the demolition of the abadis will not solve the issue of rising terrorism. The other proposed solution — that of corralling the people into gated settlements — is also a dubious one. Terrorism, as has been witnessed by the entire country over the past few years, cannot be geographically contained.
In addition, clamping down on the settlements will not make the people disappear. The slums of Islamabad are not uniform; they are peopled by distinct communities who set up their own worlds, representative of their places of origin. For the most part, they include Afghan refugees, Internally Displaced Persons (IDPs) from both the settled and the tribal areas of Khyber-Pakhtunkhwa and Punjabi families who have moved in search of employment. Looking at their origins and options for return, it is not likely that they will leave.
To be fair, the issues of burgeoning informal settlements are not unique to Pakistan. According to a UNDP projection, by 2030, 40 per cent of urban residents are expected to be living in slums.
For reasons of both security and development, it is important to keep track of the communities populating urban spaces; in that, the authorities have been late in mobilising. However, if neglect has consequences, so does misguided action. At this point, the CDA needs to consider quite carefully whether its actions will help restore order to Islamabad — or simply bring latent tensions and inequities to the surface. Particularly for IDPs displaced by violence, there is the risk of worsening ethnic tensions and creating further disillusionment with the state.
Sweeping their homes away would simply mean sweeping people to a different corner; they need to go somewhere. Now, the stakes are higher than the aesthetic worries of a commercial marriage hall — there is panic in this decision for systematic demolition. The fear of the abadis, however, cannot be addressed in this way. If the dwellers of the slums have found a voice, it is worthwhile to hear them out.
Published in The Express Tribune, May 6th, 2014.