On May 19, 2026, the nation was shaken by the brutal murder of a child—a tragedy that exposed not only a heinous crime but also a deep-rooted social blight. While the case stands out as a sheer monument of horror, the incident was not an isolated act of evil. It was a symptom of a chronic disease: the complete breakdown of social trust in the densely packed urban housing culture. When a child is no longer safe in the arms of their own neighbors, the fundamental promise of community is shattered. This is the ultimate failure of the built environment.

But what makes our urban society increasingly violent? Recent studies observed that a radical cultural and social change is ongoing in Bangladesh (1). Citizens of Dhaka increasingly hold “proself” (individualistic, competitive) value orientations and interact far less frequently with their neighbors. Rather than fostering connections, today’s urban life has fractured into a silo of suspicion. As a result, societal responsibility for a child’s well-being has given way to self-interest and violence. In criminology, this cultural shift is seen as a key factor that fundamentally alters the context of lawbreaking. The motivation for crime veers toward pure self-interest, while social values and the collective will to intervene and prevent disorder are severely eroded.

The murderer and his associates are now in police custody. But, as citizens, do we really have faith in our judicial system? A similar incident occurred on May 21, 2026, in the Bakalia area of ​​Chattogram, where a local shop employee was accused of sexually assaulting a four-year-old child. The outrage that ensued left dozens of people injured, and a police van was set on fire. What this fire revealed was more than just raw anger; it signaled a total breakdown of trust in the institutions that are supposed to protect the innocent. The reaction of the Bakalia mob was not an expression of mindless anger, but a volatile response to a deficit of public trust. When the state’s legal resources prove slow, dismissive, or compromised, public outrage inevitably spills onto the streets.

The city’s body is sick, and it is poisoning its youngest.

While escalating social crime has instilled widespread outrage, the slow, silent violence inflicted on public health through systematic neglect has become an even more serious concern. Today, our cities have become seasonal battlegrounds for diseases that could be prevented simply by responsible urban management and public health planning. In 2023, a horrifying dengue outbreak saw over 1,700 deaths nationwide, and approximately 1 in every 6 recorded deaths was a child (2). The majority of these cases concentrated in the unplanned, waterlogged urban areas. Poorly managed construction sites, stagnant water, and blocked drainage systems are more than infrastructure failures; they are a direct, lethal threat to public health. In a similar vein, the resurgence of measles—a completely preventable disease—highlights a miserable failure of public health authorities to reach the children it is mandated to protect. As of May 22, 2026, the death toll from this measles outbreak has risen to 488 children (3). This is mass murder. Who will be held responsible for such an insidious crime?

Your joy is not a priority.

For a child’s physical and mental development, outdoor activity is non-negotiable. Yet, with the growing threat of abuse and kidnapping, urban parents no longer feel safe sending their children outside. Children in Dhaka have become prisoners in their own homes. Clinical studies reveal alarming trends: up to 80% of urban children in Bangladesh suffer from varying levels of Vitamin D deficiency, driven heavily by inadequate sun exposure, urban density, and enforced indoor lifestyles (4). Another study by the icddr,b reveals that more than four out of five children are at serious risk of developing mental health crises, including specific phobias, anxiety, depression, deliberate self-harm, and hyperactivity due to excessive screen use (5). Experts warn that reversing this trend requires a drastic increase in physical family activities and outdoor play.

Yet, our parks and playgrounds have been systematically stolen. For more than seven years, the city’s only government children’s park, Shishu Park in Shahbagh, has remained closed to the public for the sake of so-called “modernization.” Once the heart of childhood recreation in Dhaka, this unique place is now restricted. Dhaka’s playgrounds have suffered a similar fate. I remember playing at the Dhanmondi field as a child, when it was a green lung for the community. Today, that field has been ruthlessly encroached upon; its vast green expanse has been cut down for exclusive clubhouses and facilities that serve only a few. The same tragedy applies to countless other playgrounds, which have now become restricted compounds rather than public arenas.

According to a study by the Bangladesh Institute of Planners, Dhaka has only 235 playgrounds and parks against the required 2,400. Of the existing ones, only 42 are actually open to the public; the rest are restricted, either used by different institutions, or under housing colonies, or illegally occupied. Dhaka’s two city corporations control only 1.8% of the city’s usable playgrounds (6,7).

This is the grammar of a ruthless city: a slow, systematic encroachment orchestrated by political and economic power that converts a child’s birthright—the space to run and play—into an exclusive asset. Despite mass protests to protect playgrounds and a flood of new promises, no one truly advocated for our children. Consequently, the children’s voices remain unheard. The city sends them a clear, chilling message: you and your joy are not a priority.

This city is not for you.

The persistent fear of harassment and safety concerns severely limit the mobility of young girls and children. For a young girl, the urban street is an assault course of harassment, a free-fire zone for predators. When simply getting to school requires enduring daily physical and psychological violations, young girls are denied not just safety, but their basic right to learn. Plan International, a non-governmental development organization, reports that around 74% of female students in Bangladesh experience violence and harassment at educational institutions, and around 82% face harassment in public places (8). When asked why public spaces are so hostile, the majority of respondents stated that a fundamental lack of respect toward women in society is the sole driver.

This anti-child, anti-woman environment is not accidental; it is a structural feature of a city designed to ignore its most vulnerable population. Crucially, this urban environment is not a product of benign neglect, but of an active process of exclusion, driven by systematic erosion of empathy. This erosion of social empathy creates a condition in which harassment flourishes unchecked and becomes normalized, turning public spaces into arenas of threat. These are the symptoms of a ruthless city—one that does not see the child playing, the woman walking freely, or the elderly seeking a dignified corner for rest. It views them merely as a mass to be managed, a problem to be contained, or simply an obstacle to a “development” vision that only serves the powerful.

Our cities are not merely the products of poor planning; they are ruthlessly inhumane. This ruthlessness rarely stems from active hatred, but rather from structural injustice: a systematic refusal to recognize children and women as full citizens. In a metropolis that consistently prioritizes space for capital over space for play, this indifference becomes lethal. It acts as a slow, silent, extreme violence—a perfect instrument for reproducing inequality. And in its ultimate, brutal expression, this indifference becomes inseparable from hatred.

We must remember: a city’s greatness is measured not by its mega infrastructures, but by the freedom, safety, and dignity it grants its most vulnerable citizens. To build a humane urban future, we must realign our civic value to embrace the global demand for child-friendly and gender-inclusive urban planning. However, an inclusive city cannot be built in a vacuum of values; it is the physical manifestation of the community’s collective conscience, and the state’s commitment to deliver swift, certain, and equal justice. If the state and society continue to deny women and children their fundamental right to the city, we are doing more than compromising our present—we are actively poisoning the future.

Works cited:

(1) Chowdhury, A., 2023, “Cultural and social changes in BD: old and new realities,” The Financial Express,Dec 18, 2023

(2) Hasan MN, Rahman M, Uddin M, Ashrafi SAA, Rahman KM, Paul KK, Sarker MFR, Haque F, Sharma A, Papakonstantinou D, Paudyal P, Asaduzzaman M, Zumla A, Haider N. The 2023 fatal dengue outbreak in Bangladesh highlights a paradigm shift of geographical distribution of cases. Epidemiol Infect. 2025 Jan 7;153:e3. doi: 10.1017/S0950268824001791. PMID: 39763239; PMCID: PMC11704938.

(3) Dhaka Tribune, May 22, 2026, https://www.dhakatribune.com/bangladesh/health/410801/measles-outbreak-death-toll-488-as-seven-children

(4) Prothom Alo, Jun 8, 2024, https://en.prothomalo.com/bangladesh/1z6w7lba53

(5) The Daily Star, May 23, 2026, https://www.thedailystar.net/news/bangladesh/news/the-hidden-pandemic-4176196

(6) The Business Standard, 15 July, 2023; Source: https://www.tbsnews.net/bangladesh/authorities-unconcerned-children-lose-playgrounds-dhaka-665406;

(7) Prothom Alo, 16 May, 2026; Source: https://en.prothomalo.com/bangladesh/city/tjeerd63tm

(8) Plan International Bangladesh, 2021, An exploratory research on fear of violence among girls and young women in Bangladesh. https://plan-international.org/uploads/sites/72/2022/06/FoV_Exploratory-Research-on-Challenging-Fear-of-Violence.pdf