Look at the Economist Intelligence Unit’s “Global Liveability Index” for 2022 and you’ll find Indian cities in the bottom half of the rankings. Out of 173 cities on the list, New Delhi ranks 140, Mumbai ranks 141, Chennai ranks 142, and Ahmedabad ranks 143. Bengaluru was rated as the least livable of the considered Indian cities, ranking 146.
The index measures stability, healthcare, culture and environment, education and infrastructure in cities around the world. So what accounts for the abysmal state of cities in a country that claims to be an economic powerhouse?
The answer lies in a misguided approach to urban development that focuses on marquees, grand projects designed to demonstrate political and economic prowess and the aspirations of an emerging nation. But such initiatives often only benefit a select few and leave the majority of urban Indians to languish in an increasingly unlivable environment.
Road to symbolism
In the years following independence in 1947, India focused on ensuring state control and oversight of construction activities, land use and prices at a time when affordable housing and haphazard urban development were challenges. In fact, India’s First Five-Year Plan (1951-1956) and Second Five-Year Plan (1956-1961) contained a whole series of state-run public housing programs aimed at providing subsidized housing for industrial workers, low-income groups, as well as affordable rental housing for state government employees who made up the majority of the organized labor force at the time
But with the economic liberation of the 1990s and the growth of the national economy, the city became an exposition of emerging India. Urban development was no longer aimed at improving citizens’ lives. Instead, the ambition was to make the city look like a hub of global flows of talent, capital, innovation and culture. This, according to political leaders and planners, was a matter of national pride and an indication of the country’s global ambitions.
The jingoism surrounding such mega projects cannot be missed. It was palpable a few weeks ago when Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi, amidst the chant of “Modi, Modi”, inaugurated a 118km highway between Bengaluru and Mysuru in the southern state of Karnataka. The timing was political: the state will vote for its legislature on May 10.
And the messages were ambitious. Addressing the crowd, Modi said, “Young people take immense pride in witnessing the growth of our nation. All these projects will open paths to prosperity and development.”
Similarly, as part of a $1.7 billion project to redevelop the administrative center of the national capital, New Delhi, Modi renamed a main street that was called “Kingsway” during British rule and was renamed by its Hindi equivalent after independence. Rajpath. His new name? Kartavya Path – “kartavya” means responsibility. “Symbol of colonialism ‘Kingsway’ will be history and has been erased forever,” Modi said on the occasion. “I congratulate all the people of the country as we emerge from another symbol of colonialism.”
However, this jingoism is not a uniquely Modi affliction. It was also undeniable when the Indian capital hosted the 2010 Commonwealth Games, when the Congress Party – now in opposition – was in power. On the eve of the games, Suresh Kalmadi, the head of the event’s organizing committee, said: “The city is now 10 years ahead. Earlier people flew from Delhi to Dubai, Singapore and many other destinations. Now they will land here, see the beautiful city”.
But Modi has taken this philosophy – in which urban development is first and foremost a symbol of national pride – to new heights, especially with a futuristic-sounding Smart Cities mission. Launched in 2015, the mission promised 100 smart cities by 2023, with technology-driven, sustainable and citizen-centric solutions.
Whose city?
But for whom are all these cities being built? In an effort to brighten New Delhi’s image before the Commonwealth Games, some 350,000 street vendors were declared “illegal” and a “major security risk”. Their jobs didn’t matter.
In fact, according to the Housing and land rights network (HLRN) charity, at least 200,000 people were also evicted from their slums and slums between 2004 and 2010 in preparation for the games in the capital. This was against the basic principles and guidelines of the UN for evictions and displacement on the basis of development. Amnesty International reported that while most of the displaced were subsequently housed in temporary shelters, these lacked adequate water and sanitation facilities and were not suitable for habitation.
It’s been the same story with the smart cities. For example, in 2017, forced evictions and home demolitions were reported in 32 cities implementing smart city initiatives. In 2018, as part of the city of Indore’s efforts to become ‘smart’, 110 houses of mainly Dalit slum dwellers were demolished. This was on top of the more than 500 homes demolished last year. In fact, an estimated 30 people per hour were forcibly evicted from all over India at the time as a result of smart city projects and urban beautification programs.
Then there is the focus on tech-driven solutions. Take the digital and online platforms established to collect feedback from citizens on smart city projects. The massive digital divide in India means that these platforms are largely inaccessible to the most marginalized and vulnerable urban communities – who are also most likely to suffer forced evictions and displacement as a direct result of these smart city-making projects.
“Smart or Dumb City?”
In 2019, I met residents of a rehabilitation colony for slum dwellers in Mumbai who had recently been forcibly evicted from their homes in another part of the city as a result of an urban beautification project. When I asked what they thought of Modi’s smart city plan, one of them asked, “Smart or stupid city?” As the others laughed, he continued: “We feel like we’re disposable people. They took us to the edge of town and forgot about us. He just left us to die.’
Then another resident chimed in: ‘But they can’t get rid of us. Who cooks for them, drives their car, cleans their houses, takes out their trash? Without us, their lives come to a standstill. We live in slums so that they can live in their high-rises”.
Yet Modi’s public relations apparatus has so far succeeded in ensuring that the sentiments I heard in Mumbai do not translate into a political backlash against his government. I recently asked a migrant worker in Mumbai about his prediction regarding next year’s national elections. He replied, “Modiji will remain in power.” When I asked why he thought that, he said: ‘Didn’t you see the sea connection, the tall skyscrapers? Even G20 is coming to Mumbai.”
The Mumbai Sea Link, an elevated eight-lane bridge connecting otherwise congested western and central Mumbai, actually preceded the BJP-led national government. The presidency of the G20, currently with India, is rotated – no acknowledgment from Modi. And when foreign dignitaries recently arrived in Mumbai for a G20 event, informal settlements along the highway were reportedly draped in green sheets as a way of beautifying the city.
Yet it clearly works politically to present urban development as a national cause. But it does little to solve the crises facing Indian cities. Only when urban development targets the most marginalized and vulnerable people can cities really belong to everyone and become truly livable.
The views expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the editorial view of Al Jazeera.