Bi-monthly essays by our in-house writer, Caterina Capelli, covering the most inspiring stories we find along the way.
|
|
ILLUSTRATION BY
Andrea Chronopoulos
|
|
|
|
Extreme weather is the new normal. A Bangladeshi architect at the forefront of climate change shares a lesson on how to adapt.
|
|
It’s been raining constantly. Last year, it barely ever rained. It was one of the hottest, longest, driest summers in Italy’s history, so much so that when Paolo Virzì’s dystopian film Siccità debuted on the big screen, a three-year drought seemed like an entirely possible extension of our reality. And even this spring – if we can still call seasons by their names – didn’t look normal. Milan has been submerged by torrential rains for days, as well as most parts of northern Italy – while southern regions like Sicily still suffer from extreme drought. Laguna~B’s 30th-anniversary event was threatened by an incumbent rainfall – which never materialized. Still, everybody in the office wondered what we would have done if the planned garden party had been ruined, or canceled. People are talking about the weather more than usual, how it’s getting unpredictable; you never know, the morning you’re sweating, the evening you’re freezing.
Small talks like these seem to be the tip of the iceberg, signaling we are beginning to notice that something is off. These days, *complaining about the weather* is so frequent it sounds like a gimmick to hide our climate anxiety under an easily manageable facade. In fact, it’s not the first time that violent atmospheric events have shaken our everyday lives. Just one year ago, mud invaded the inland of Emilia-Romagna, a region in northeastern Italy, still recovering from the intense rain that caused flooding and landslides, and killed 15 people. In July 2021, torrential rainfalls battered Europe, leaving countries like Germany helpless in the face of the emergency (189 people died). This May, persistent, torrential rains hit southern Brazil, causing devastating flooding and leaving half a million people homeless, with the risk of spurring one of the biggest cases of climate migration in recent history. Meanwhile, in Afghanistan, flash floods killed 70 people and destroyed 2,000 homes. These are only a few examples.
|
|
© Abir Abdullah / Shidhulai Swanirvar Sangstha.
|
|
We – I speak as a European citizen – can no longer afford to see atmospheric disasters as regional events confined to remote places. The climate has already changed, and the evidence is right under our noses. Instead of abandoning ourselves to helpless fears, why can’t we try to adapt? Emanuele Coccia, philosopher, and EHESS professor, says that in the climate catastrophe lies an opportunity. In a conference in Mendrisio last year, he called it an “unprecedented cognitive opportunity” to shift our relation with our home planet and finally recognize Earth as a living subject with its own agency. According to Coccia, the Earth is revealing itself as a gigantic storm – “una gigantesca intemperie” – impacting the whole world at the same time. However, some people have experienced the consequences of climate change before others, and in terms of adaptation, they have something to teach the rest of the world.
|
|
© Abir Abdullah / Shidhulai Swanirvar Sangstha.
|
|
Bangladesh has always been at the forefront of the climate crisis. The world’s largest delta, it’s regularly flooded, especially in northeastern areas, where a third of the land remains underwater all year long. And things are only getting worse as the world keeps burning fossil fuels. A report by Climate Central – a US-based organization – says that 40% of the country may go underwater within 6 years – 60% by 2050, declared IPCC. When this happens, how will the residents live? Where will they go? According to Mohammed Rezwan, a 47-year-old Bangladeshi architect who’s worked on climate adaptation for decades, these questions can’t be left unanswered.
When I interviewed him over Zoom this month, he pointed out that the crisis “could result in millions of climate refugees.” Unless – and that’s what he’s trying to achieve – “We don’t invent new ways to live in this land of water,” and try to get the best from what’s left. “Water is all we have in Bangladesh. Here, half of the population is landless, and more than 36% live below the poverty line. So I had the idea to turn the country’s water sources into an intergenerational opportunity for the landless people." If we can’t have land, he said, we’ll float. Rezwan founded Shidhulai Swanirvar Sangstha in 1998, intending to help the residents of his home village become a self-reliant, thriving community living on the water. To achieve this, the priority was ensuring kids would go to school: “We need the education to survive.”
|
|
© Abir Abdullah / Shidhulai Swanirvar Sangstha.
|
|
Shidhulai created the first floating school in 2002. It took four years of changes and adjustments, working side-by-side with experienced Indigenous boat builders to build the final prototype. Today, the organization operates a “fleet” of over fifty 60-sqm solar-powered boats made with wood, bamboo, and other locally sourced materials. They have flat bottoms to navigate flooded lands and multilayered waterproof roofs to ensure classes don’t stop even in the heavy rain. On board, there’s a library and an internet connection. “Floating schools combine the school bus and the school building. They collect students from different riverside villages and dock at the last station to start classes for 4 hours daily. They follow the government’s curriculum, which I’ve integrated with textbooks I’ve written about biodiversity, water management, and climate change – tailored to the needs of the local community.” The organization – which is a non-profit and receives funds from international foundations and individuals, but not the government – takes its name from the village in northeastern Bangladesh where the architect was born and grew up. Like most of the country’s rural areas, Shidhulai goes underwater for most part of the year, and people struggle to access even basic facilities. (In 2022, the area experienced a new climax of devastation, with floods affecting 9 million people. In Shidhulai, the community’s transport boats relocated people to safer places with their livestock and resources. The floating schools remained open). After graduating in architecture from the University of Dhaka with a degree in architecture, Rezwan decided to invest his new skills back home, where he felt he could make a difference. “I remember growing up seeing my friends and relatives being denied basic education – and a future – because they didn’t have a boat to reach the school during the floods.” Bangladesh, he told me, has a 400-year-long tradition of floating vegetable gardens and floating markets, and people know how to build boats. So why not build floating schools as well?
|
|
© Abir Abdullah / Shidhulai Swanirvar Sangstha.
|
|
On separate structures, floating training centers provide classes to parents – mostly women and illiterate – on sustainable agriculture, climate adaptation, new skills (sewing and solar lantern manufacturing), women’s rights, health, and hygiene. “We use multimedia equipment to show pictures and videos to make information more accessible in a short time. The training helps adults prepare for when the fields go underwater; it prevents seasonal migration. [...] It helps people to adapt to a changing climate. At the same time, it teaches them how to protect the environment and use natural resources wisely.” A floating health clinic and playgrounds followed, contributing to creating an effective floating community, a concept that was later replicated in other regions of the country. In 22 years Shidhulai has helped around 25,000 children get basic primary education, holding classes six days a week with no interruption even during the pandemic, when half of the country’s schools closed and many didn’t reopen. Floating schools have also “drastically reduced child marriages,” Rezwan claims, “One of the biggest problems in the country.” (Bangladesh ranks 4th in the world in terms of child marriages.) “Our floating schools allow girls to go to school, and if they keep studying, they will acquire new skills and eventually earn income. And if they contribute to the family, they won’t be forced to get married.”
|
|
Rezwan says the demand is increasing: “Shidhulai is planning to build 34 new boats for floating schools, playgrounds, libraries, training centers, and health clinics by 2029.” The big challenge, he concludes, is funding, which is essential to maintain the existing boats, some of which have operated for over 15 years.
It’s highly inspiring to see someone approaching climate change in a creative, generative way, mindful of the future generations that will inhabit our planet. What I also love about this story is that it shows that climate justice and social justice are inextricably intermingled. Even if the West has begun to realize the environmental backlashes of its centuries-old politics of extraction and economic growth, the world is not suffering the crisis equally. Coming to terms with climate change also means acknowledging that while we worry that a storm might ruin our party, elsewhere human rights are denied on a daily basis, and those who are most responsible are not doing enough. Capitalism won’t save us. But creativity, education and community might stand a chance.
|
|
|
|
|