Community Crushed: The Pain behind Bhubaneswar Bulldozers

Bhubaneswar’s slum demolition highlights the harsh impact of urban development on vulnerable communities and raises urgent questions on housing rights

Rabindra Kumar Nayak

Urban development is often celebrated as a symbol of progress — wider roads, flyovers, shining infrastructure, and increased mobility. But when development becomes synonymous with displacement, when the poorest lose their shelter so that the city may appear ‘world-class,’ one must ask: development for whom?

The recent demolition of over 562 slum dwellings at Saliasahi in Bhubaneswar to construct a 200-feet wide road has once again brought to the fore the stark contradiction between urban planning and humane governance. The incident forces us to confront uncomfortable truths about our priorities and the fragile lives of the urban poor.

For decades, the slum dwellers of this locality survived on the margins of the metropolis, eking out their existence by doing the jobs no one else wants to do—domestic work, construction labour, sanitation, street vending, rickshaw pulling, caregiving, and low-paid service tasks. Their presence makes the city functional. Without them, the so-called ‘babus’ and the middle class would find their smooth urban lives unsustainable. Yet, when the bulldozers arrived, these same indispensable labourers were treated as expendable. Their makeshift shelters—fragile yet deeply meaningful as homes—were reduced to rubble within hours.

The government insists that it has arranged rehabilitation: 300 square feet per family, on paper. But on the ground, these spaces are far from adequate—tiny, cramped and often located far away from the workplaces of the displaced. Moreover, the transition is abrupt and traumatising. For families that had lived in the slum for decades, these were not merely huts; they were communities, networks of trust, shared spaces of support, and the only semblance of stability they had ever known.

The dwellers resisted. They protested through strikes, demonstrations, and collective appeals. But the state machinery, armed with its notifications and deadlines, marched ahead. Ultimately, governments will prevail, as they almost always do. What is disheartening, however, is not just the demolition itself but the attitude that accompanies such actions—the belief that the poor can be pushed around endlessly because they lack political influence, articulate representation, or visibility in mainstream discourse.

This raises a fundamental question: If the slum dwellers are indispensable to the labour force that keeps the metropolis alive, why does the government fail to ensure adequate housing for them? The contradiction is glaring. Cities depend on cheap labour, yet they push labourers to the fringes. Policymakers speak the language of inclusion, but their actions often reflect exclusion. Development projects are drafted on glossy blueprints, but human beings living in informal settlements are treated like variables that can be erased and relocated at will.

The root of the problem lies not merely in the demolition drive but in the lack of a humane, participatory, and long-term urban housing policy. Most slum settlements emerge not because the poor choose to ‘encroach,’ but because formal housing is unaffordable, inaccessible, and indifferent to the realities of low-wage earners. When a city systematically fails to provide low-cost rental housing, the urban poor are forced to create their own living spaces. And when the city grows, these very spaces become the first casualties of development.

The solution, therefore, cannot be restricted to post-demolition rehabilitation. What is needed is pre-emptive, inclusive planning. Here are a few principles that demand urgent attention. Firstly, the informal settlers should be treated as citizens, not encroachers. Every labourer in a slum contributes to the city’s economy. Their right to dignified housing must be seen as a basic entitlement, not a concession. Secondly, in-situ development should be ensured, rather than displacement.

Whenever feasible, upgrading slum areas with better housing, sanitation and infrastructure is a far more humane and sustainable alternative than uprooting entire communities. Thirdly, realistic rehabilitation should be provided, not perfunctory and half-hearted.

A 300 sq. ft. room may be sufficient for bureaucratic files, but not for a family that has lived in a community space for decades. Rehabilitation housing must meet minimum livable standards—adequate space, water supply, electricity, schools, healthcare and transportation. Fourthly, affordable rental housing into the city’s core planning should be integrated.

Cities must reserve zones for low-cost rental homes near markets, offices, construction sites and service hubs. Housing the labour force far away only increases hardships, travel costs and vulnerability.

 Fifthly, communities should be consulted before implementing eviction plans. Urban planning should be a participatory exercise. Those who will be affected must have a voice. Their lived experiences often offer insights that policy documents overlook. Sixthly, a rights-based legislative framework needs to be adopted.

Several countries have recognised the Right to Housing as fundamental. India urgently needs stronger legal safeguards to protect vulnerable populations from arbitrary displacement.

The case of Bhubaneswar’s slum demolition is not an isolated episode; it mirrors a national pattern. Cities like Delhi, Mumbai, Bengaluru and Chennai routinely witness such erasures in the name of beautification and infrastructure. The poor are always asked to sacrifice for the city’s growth, yet they seldom reap the benefits of that growth. Their contributions remain invisible, and their hardships are normalised.

If the state truly believes that slum dwellers are part of the city’s workforce—essential, hardworking, and integral—then it must respect their right to live with dignity. Bulldozers cannot pave the way to progress. Roads cannot be made smooth by roughening the lives of the poor. Development that destroys the vulnerable is not development; it is displacement masquerading as progress.

The incident compels us to rethink our priorities. A city is not defined by the width of its roads, but by the compassion of its governance. It is not judged by how fast vehicles can move, but by how safely and humanely its poorest citizens can live. The real question is not whether Bhubaneswar needs a 200-feet wide road. The question is whether development can coexist with justice, empathy, and human dignity.

Until policymakers answer this honestly, the cycle of demolition and despair will continue. The laborers will continue to build our cities, but the cities will refuse to shelter them. And that, perhaps, is the greatest irony of modern urban India.

(The author is a former Reader in English. Views expressed are personal.)