Climate crisis is a burning future

Scientists estimate that by 2050, one in every seven people in Bangladesh will be displaced due to negative impact of climate change —Agency Photo

The term "anthropocene" is not merely a signifier of a new geological epoch; it fundamentally questions the relationship between modern human society and nature. It denotes an era in which human activities have drastically altered the Earth's geomorphology, climate, and ecosystems.

However, from a sociological perspective, 'humanity' here is not a singular, undifferentiated entity. Rather, the crucial questions are: Which humans? Which class? Whose economic system? These inquiries form the bedrock of Anthropocene sociology, a field that gained prominence in the 2010s, with influential theorists such as Andreas Malm and Jason W. Moore at its forefront. These scholars help us understand that the climate crisis isn't just an environmental problem; it's intricately linked to our social, economic, and power structures.

Andreas Malm, in his seminal work 'Fossil Capital: The Rise of Steam Power and the Roots of Global Warming', powerfully argues that the use of fossil fuels during the Industrial Revolution was neither a natural nor a technological inevitability. Instead, it was fundamentally a political and class-based decision, driven by the desire to control labour, maximise production, and preserve capital. Malm illustrates that fossil fuels were not just a source of energy; they were a potent weapon of social power, enabling the industrialisation and imperialism of wealthy nations.

Jason W. Moore, in his influential book 'Capitalism in the Web of Life', takes Malm's argument a step further, contending that we are now living not in the Anthropocene, but in the "Capitalocene"-the age of capital. According to Moore, capitalism doesn't merely exploit nature; it reorganises it to suit its own needs. Rivers, forests, animals, and even the climate itself become commodities for increasing capital. For example, instead of viewing the Amazon rainforest merely as a habitat for trees and animals, capitalism sees it as a vast tract of land for soybean cultivation or cattle ranching, both of which can maximise profits in the global market. This analysis suggests that climate change is not an external environmental crisis, but an internal crisis of capitalism itself-rooted in its insatiable demands and the imperative of infinite growth.

This profound sociological analysis brings our focus sharply to the realities of Bangladesh. While Bangladesh is often presented on the international stage as a 'victim' of climate change, in truth, it is a devastating frontline of capitalist exploitation. The cyclones, floods, and river erosion occurring in the delta formed by the Padma, Meghna, and Jamuna rivers are not merely acts of nature; rather, each 'natural' disaster in this land is a far-reaching consequence of historical inequalities, global colonialism, and the structural fragilities of the world economy.

Events like Sidr, Aila, Amphan, or recent floods are part of a larger international framework-one created by the industrialised nations of the Global North through their extreme consumption of fossil fuels, leaving the Global South to bear the brunt of the destruction. This disparity is not just environmental; it's a vivid reflection of deep economic and power imbalances, where wealthy nations evade responsibility for their historical carbon emissions and push vulnerable countries to the brink.

The ecological crisis of the Sundarbans, the world's largest mangrove forest, extends beyond the mere rise in sea levels or increased salinity. Deeper reasons underpin this crisis. Environmentally destructive practices of coastal shrimp farms, which disrupt the Sundarbans' natural sediment deposition system and convert freshwater sources into saline ones, are a primary cause. Furthermore, the hegemonic attitude of neighbouring countries in water management, particularly the control over upstream river water flow, negatively impacts the Sundarbans' ecosystem.

In addition, blind development policies, often under the guise of mega-infrastructure projects, such as the construction of coal-fired power plants near the Sundarbans, are further pushing this fragile ecosystem into crisis. Similarly, Dhaka's severe waterlogging isn't solely due to heavy rainfall; at its root are mismanagement, profit-driven real estate development that fills wetlands and canals with unplanned construction, and the unplanned eviction of the city's poor, which completely disrupts their lives and livelihoods.

These events, in Malm's words, constitute "socio-ecological sabotage"-a coordinated destruction of society and nature, where capitalism uses both humans and the environment for its gain, ultimately destroying them. In Bangladesh, this process is observed daily-ordinary people lose their land, agricultural lands erode, and rural populations are forced to seek refuge in urban slums, devastating their lives and livelihoods.

Climate-driven migration is now a harsh reality in Bangladesh, particularly in coastal areas like Khulna, Satkhira, Barguna, and Patuakhali. People there are being forced to leave their homes not only due to natural reasons, but also due to human-made causes.

These migrants often face discrimination, exploitation, and a lack of basic services in their new environments. The very countries responsible for global carbon emissions now use terms like "climate resilience" and "sustainable development" to superficially praise Bangladesh. Yet, they demonstrate no genuine empathy or willingness for structural change. This is merely a rhetoric designed to deflect their true accountability towards affected nations and absolve themselves of their historical carbon emission burden.

In this context, Anthropocene sociology compels us to critique conventional notions of "resilience" and "adaptation." While these concepts may sound positive, in reality, they often impose a moral burden on those affected by disasters. They implicitly demand that vulnerable populations 'cope' with their circumstances, disregarding the underlying socio-political structures, the insatiable greed of capitalist growth, and the accountability of international institutions. For example, when a coastal village is advised to shift from traditional livelihoods due to salinity, it masks the systemic pressure of the capitalist system on their culture, indigenous knowledge, and way of life.

Particularly in Bangladesh, women, who are disproportionately affected by environmental crises, are often presented as marginalised and passive recipients in development projects. Water scarcity, food insecurity, and climate-related health risks disproportionately impact women and children, as their daily lives are more reliant on water and food sources. When men migrate to cities or other areas for work, the burden on women to manage the household and family often increases significantly.

Yet, they are rarely included in policy-making discussions, and their experiences or perspectives are largely ignored. This constitutes another form of gender-based inequality-one that remains hidden behind the supposed universality of the Anthropocene's 'humanity'. No sustainable solution is possible without incorporating women's experiences and knowledge

Anthropocene sociology also challenges our understanding of time. According to conventional development paradigms, time is viewed as a linear progression, where progress occurs incrementally. However, the climate crisis shatters this linearity. It confronts us with two complex temporal concepts: slow violence and deep time. Slow violence refers to a form of violence that unfolds gradually, often invisibly, and with long-term consequences, such as the slow salinisation of soil or ongoing river erosion that affects generations.

Deep time refers to geological time, which is vastly longer than human history, and where the long-term impacts of human-made changes transcend our current lived experiences. In Bangladesh's coastal regions, people feel that time is a slow yet certain pace of destruction, where memories and future uncertainties perpetually intertwine with the present. This slow violence, though invisible, has far-reaching effects, extending across generations and exerting profound pressure on human psychology and social structures.

In this dire context, what should be our course of action in Bangladesh? Firstly, from a sociological perspective, we must stop perceiving disasters as 'natural'. Disasters are not merely acts of nature's wrath; rather, they are the manifestations of socio-political events. This understanding is the first step towards finding solutions. We must recognise that floods and cyclones are not just meteorological phenomena; their intensity and impact reveal the weaknesses of our existing economic and social structures.

Development and sustainable management must not be confined to mere technological solutions; instead, they must be transformed into a framework based on justice, power, and rights. This goes beyond just building embankments or cyclone shelters; it's about ensuring social and economic justice. We must ensure that funds received from climate finance truly reach the affected populations and that they are aware of their rights.

In a country like Bangladesh, where the climate crisis knocks on our doors daily, this sociology is not just an analysis-it is a weapon of resistance. If we genuinely desire change, we must dismantle this narrative of capitalist development-or endure the inevitable burning future. Bangladesh's future rests not solely in the hands of nature but on our collective social and political resistance. This struggle is not just about environmental protection; it is a fight for justice, equality, and the very survival of humanity.

Dr Matiur Rahman is a researcher and development professional.

matiurrahman588@gmail.com