Has Dhaka become a status city?
Recently, on a weekday, I went to an upscale cafe in the capital's Gulshan with a friend. It was late in the evening—almost midnight—but the place was filled with chattering people of all ages; some inside sipping expensive cafe lattes and others waiting to get their tables. Parked, rather chaotically, in front of the cafe were brand-name cars. The folks at the establishment appeared to be a happy bunch, both those watching others and those being watched. The overall spirit of the place had the social aroma of a riotous Gatsby party!
I kept wondering about the symbolic meaning of the cafe. What did it signify for the city of Dhaka and its social hierarchy? How did the cafe and its ilk articulate a metropolitan narrative of urban noir? Could the cafes of Dhaka be a measure of the country's economic and social prosperity? Flourishing cosmopolitanism? Swanky, middle-class ethos? Do the cafes offer democratic access to elite practices and status to those who couldn't previously attain them?
For all latest news, follow The Daily Star's Google News channel. I must confess that I went to the cafe in Gulshan that night with an anthropology project in mind—how to understand urban elitism in a metropolis of the Global South and, more particularly, what the British journalist Will Storr calls the "status game"—a provocative argument concerning a fundamental human character to get ahead of others and climb the status ladder as a form of self-distinction. I wanted to explain how the status game gets played in Dhaka, in its everyday practices, its architecture and urbanity, its social mobility and consumptions, and in its capitalism. I have to say: the cafes of Dhaka offered me a compelling vantage point.
A good friend, Kishwar Imdad, introduced me to Storr's intriguing 2021 book The Status Game. He asked me if we could assess Dhaka's social spaces through the lens of the status game. I thought he posed a fascinating question.
But, first, what is the status game, as articulated by Storr? He argues that humans, since the subsistence economy of the hunter-gatherer times, have internalised the idea that the best way to survive, sustain, and dominate life is to acquire status—the quasi-evolutionary urge to belong to a special group of peers, one that demands the respect and adulation of the people in the lower rungs of the food chain. Life has always been, Storr argues, a game which we have been continuously playing to attain status. Status-seeking has become an unmistakable part of our social DNA. Behind our pursuit of a good life, an attractive mate, elite education, money, prosperity, luxury, villas, and cars lies our desire to seek status.
To say this from the other end, status gives us those privileges and the ability to multiply them. Status empowers us to access the best schools, clubs, and markets. The status game is hyper-competitive, and winning it requires constant play and flaunting. What symbolises and displays status? Wealth, social, and political positions, luxury apartments and SUVs, yachts, high-end club memberships, degrees from Ivy League schools, artistic tastes, dining in pricey restaurants, Patek Philippe watches, ostentatious wedding ceremonies, and so on. In all these endeavours, there is a common thread of westernisation (and of being inspired by Bollywood).
The status game results in exclusionary conditions. The spatial dimension of the game entails a lot of walls, gates, separations, isolations, distinctions, and social distances. Status is a unique privilege that thrives on its fortification, restricting access for the masses. Status is about life on the pedestal. Everybody wants to get on that pedestal, but very few can. Thus, there are wars and skirmishes of all sorts.
Let's bring the idea of the status game to understanding Dhaka as a metropolis. Has Dhaka become a status city that champions privilege-creation as a basis of urban growth? Do the planning philosophies of the city view urban development around ivory towers, iconic infrastructures, high-end neighbourhoods, and 300-foot super-highways?
If status feeds on consumption, glitter, and pleasure, the status city is bound to ignore and abandon those who don't have the means to pursue status. When status-seeking becomes a primary driver of metropolitan growth, social equity is sacrificed, and the disenfranchisement of the majority is barely noticed. The status city is hedonistic and paradoxical in the sense that it makes the rags-to-riches success story look so easy, while it is not. The status city is more celluloid than real.
Dubai is a status city, defined by futuristic glass skyscrapers, air-conditioned shopping malls, and a culture of status-seeking, elitism, and privilege-peddling. Singapore is a supremely efficient city, but it at times feels Orwellian in its status-conscious social ethos. A few years ago, visiting Kuala Lumpur for a conference, I thought the city didn't know how not to fall into the trap of a status city. A large shopping mall with a gargantuan Ralph Lauren advertisement had the propensity of being an urban icon. There is a peculiar overlap between status-seeking and westernisation.
I am not saying that Dhaka has become a dehumanising status city. Despite its infernal streetscape and unsettling growth in cardinal directions, the city has an exuberant sense of humanity. From the roadside food vendors to the peculiar romance of its rickshaws, from the maddening congestion of Old Dhaka to the night bazaars of Mohammadpur, there is an urban grit and organic entrepreneurial culture of survival that give the capital city a cocktail sentiment of excitement, angst, euphoria, and pathos. This is humanity.
There is no problem with people pursuing status and privilege. This is a foundational human trait. The trouble begins when status-seeking becomes spatially inscribed in the city as domains of exclusionary utopias, while the city's everyday life of the majority becomes a low priority.
But Dhaka seems at a crossroads. An elite cafe with a pricey menu, situated in a public park, is a red flag. A barbeque pit in a public park is glorified, while learning the names of native trees doesn't appear to be a priority. Fencing off playfields in the name of preservation is more about urban status-building than providing the community with opportunities to access open spaces. Even though all-glass skyscrapers are enemies of the environment (because they emit the highest heat and consume the most energy), they are fast becoming the city's favourite symbols given that they are status-boosters. Like its Western counterparts in the mid-twentieth century, Dhaka keeps on building status-enhancing elevated expressways but not footpaths. Who uses the footpaths? The downtrodden. The vendors. The poor pedestrian commuters. Thus, footpaths are not status symbols or glamorous. In a rising culture of elitism and status-seeking, doing away with urban inequities has very little chance.
According to the latest Worldwide Cost of Living survey by the Economist Intelligence Unit, Dhaka's score is 56 (Delhi's 52, Chennai's 37, Ahmedabad's 34, and Karachi's score is 28), making it one of the most expensive cities in Asia.
The pursuit of status has become a booming business in the city. Look at the typical developers' advertisements for apartments. They all peddle exclusive luxury and individualism, not how to live with the community. The aspiring elites are buying expensive apartments built by prestigious developers and flocking to posh restaurants and cafes, while urban greenery and water bodies are diminishing in broad daylight. This does not have to be a binary condition. It should not be an either/or case. The magic lies in the balancing act and in identifying priorities which serve all.
There is no problem with people pursuing status and privilege. This is a foundational human trait. The trouble begins when status-seeking becomes spatially inscribed in the city as domains of exclusionary utopias, while the city's everyday life of the majority becomes a low priority. The status city often serves the privileged, while the huddling masses eke out a minimal existence.
A prosperous Bangladesh needs not status cities but humane (and environmentally conscious) cities where all people have a fair shot at life's opportunities. Great cafes and metro rails are essential features of a thriving cosmopolis. So are urban forests, canals, footpaths, and birds that chirp next to your window. This may seem mundane, but the idea warrants a profound shift in the way we understand cities, progress, the market economy, and capitalism. It can be done. It requires leadership.
Adnan Zillur Morshed is a public thinker. His most recent books are 'Dhaka Delirium' and 'Architecture as Freedom.'
Views expressed in this article are the author's own.
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