Tides of Struggle: The Unseen Burden of Climate Change on Coastal Workers in Bangladesh

One of the hard-hit areas is Shyamnagar, a sub-district of Satkhira in southwestern Bangladesh. Flanked by the Sundarbans and dissected by once life-giving rivers, Shyamnagar is now a frontline of the climate crisis. The same rivers that nourished the land are turning brackish. Once-thriving paddy fields now lie cracked and fallow. And for the thousands of peasants and fishermen who rely on the coastal ecosystem for their livelihoods, the situation grows more precarious with every passing season.

The damage here is no longer creeping; it is crashing. With sea levels rising and salinity intruding into freshwater sources, farming is often no longer possible. According to Chowdhury et al. (2024), salinity has affected more than 60% of agricultural land in Bangladesh's coastal belts, pushing families to abandon traditional subsistence farming. The economy is partly adapting, but frequently to the benefit of those who are more resourceful and are able to invest. Md. Didar Ali, once a farmer and now a brick-carrying day labourer from Gabura union (Shyamnagar), shares “I grew paddy on my own land for almost twenty-five years. Now the land’s too salty—nothing grows. I had to sell it to a crab farm owner. These days, I work at a brick kiln just to survive.” Climate change here is reinforcing a trend of growing inequity, the opposite of what is termed a “just transition”. Brick kilns operate seasonally, offering low wages under hazardous conditions but no stable income.

The erosion of traditional livelihoods is pushing many into distress-driven, seasonal migration. With agriculture, fishing, and forest-based work such as honey and golpaata (Nipa Palm) collection are no longer viable year-round due to salinity and erratic climate patterns, thousands of coastal workers are forced to travel long distances in search of alternative employment. One of the few options left is work in brick kilns—harsh, toxic, and exploitative. These jobs are often located far from their communities, leading to fragmented families and climate-induced internal labour migration.

A recent study by Torikul et al. (2015) found that over 30% of surveyed coastal households in Khulna and Satkhira had at least one member working seasonally in brick kilns, primarily due to the collapse of traditional income sources. The loss of a stable income also pushes more and more peasants into debts, strengthening the hold of rural land-owning and money-lending elites. "Every winter, we have to travel over two hundred kilometers to work at a brick kiln for around five months. I leave my family behind. We take high-interest loans just to cover their expenses while I’m gone, hoping to pay it back with the kiln wages—but sometimes we don’t even get what we were promised," Didar Ali added.

The rivers, too, are turning hostile. Fish populations are collapsing under the strain of salinity, erratic rainfall, and rising temperatures. Md. Mosharraf Hossain, a veteran fisherman says, “We hardly catch any fish these days—too much salt in the water, the weather’s all messed up. And then there’s the ban from June to August for fish breeding season, which we respect. But some fishermen still go in, cut deals with forest officials, and fish anyway. It’s not fair. This kind of unchecked fishing is making it worse for all of us..”

According to research by Ali (2018), over 40% of traditional fishers in the southwestern coastal belt have lost access to sustainable fishing practices within just one generation. “There are allegations that fishermen adjacent to the Sundarbans, in collusion with some corrupt officials of the Forest Department, are fishing with poison and also hunting crabs along with fish. There are many reports published in newspaper on this matter”, Mosharraf added.

Fisheries and crab businesses now teeter on the edge of collapse. Sudden tidal surges flood ponds unpredictably, causing devastating losses. According to Moniruzzaman et al. (2018), climate-related damage to aquaculture has pushed over 20% of crab and shrimp entrepreneurs into unrelenting debt cycles.

Some, unable to survive in their original trades, have become climate labourers—working odd jobs in construction or domestic work. They are part of a growing tide of displacement across Bangladesh’s coastlines that is qualitatively different from the classic rural-urban migration.

The Sundarbans—Bangladesh’s vital green shield—is increasingly inaccessible and unpredictable. Honey and golpaata (Nipa Palm) collectors who once ventured into the forest with reverence now do so with fear. Their peril is worsened by the constant risk of tiger attacks and sudden cyclones, which have become more frequent and violent due to shifting climatic patterns (Mohiuddin & Nowreen, 2023). In recent years, stronger cyclonic activity—such as Cyclone Amphan and Cyclone Sidr—has not only devastated coastal infrastructure but also damaged large swaths of mangrove habitat, making forest paths more treacherous and navigation more difficult. As reported by The Guardian (2013), over 70% of the forest edges in parts of the Sundarbans are eroding at a rate of up to 200 meters per year, dramatically shrinking accessible zones for traditional forest-dependent activities. Furthermore, rising salinity has weakened the natural regeneration of mangrove species like golpata, forcing collectors to go deeper into increasingly dangerous forest zones. At the same time, tigers—facing their own habitat stress and food shortages—are venturing closer to human settlements and into commonly accessed areas of the forest. These intersecting risks—environmental degradation, wildlife stress, and climate extremes—are making the age-old practices of forest-based livelihoods both hazardous and unreliable.

“I lost my two husbands because of tiger attacks. I was labeled as 'Opoya' (evil), 'Olokkhi' (inauspicious), and 'Oshoti' (unchaste). Consequently, they started calling me 'Swami Kheko' (husband eater). These curses pushed me to think about suicide, but I couldn't because I had a seven-month-old child to look after”, said Sonamoni, a resilient woman now in her seventies. There are many women like Sonamoni who are still fighting against many odds. However, over time, several NGOs launched development projects specifically aimed at supporting these vulnerable women, referring to them as "Bagh Bidhoba" (tiger widows). As a result, the term "Bagh Bidhoba" has gradually become a widely recognized label used to identify them.

Local women entrepreneurs like Mst. Shefali Bibi have stepped up to support families who rely on the Sundarbans for their livelihoods, helping them cope with growing insecurities. She founded a grassroots development organization focused on empowering women through alternative income opportunities.

“I always tell the women in our community to try doing something—like making pickles, handicrafts, hand-stitched clothes—anything to earn a little on the side,” she says. “When I started this organization back in 2028, most women didn’t want to come. But now, I see many of them trying to do something to support their families.”

Women also face a uniquely cruel burden. As freshwater becomes increasingly saline, they must walk farther for clean water, often falling ill due to constant exposure. A recent essay by FES Asia (2024) cites Dr G M Tariqul Islam, resident medical officer at Shyamnagar Health Complex, observing:

“We’re seeing rising rates of urinary tract infections and leukorrhea among coastal women—salt in the water is directly causing pelvic inflammatory disease, irregular periods and even infertility.”

Additional research in the southwestern coastal region confirms this alarming trend: among 420 women surveyed, 56.9% suffered from urinary tract infections, and over 36% experienced vaginal infections (Ghosh et al., 2025).

A young climate activist from Shyamnagar and volunteer with YouthNet Global—a youth-led grassroots organization promoting climate justice—strongly stated, “Remote areas like Shyamnagar are bearing the brunt of climate change, yet our voices remain the weakest. For true climate justice, the leadership and lived experiences of Shyamnagar’s people must be brought to the forefront.”

Most people here emphasize the urgent need for strong, lasting embankments that don’t break every time a storm hits. They envision desalination and water filtration systems in every village and call for training in climate-resilient crops, such as salt-tolerant rice and vegetables, to help them adapt and survive.

One local development worker puts it plainly, “What we need most is enough clean water to drink and some kind of work security so we can survive here. Otherwise, we’ll have no choice but to leave our homes.”

The story of Shyamnagar is not just about changing weather patterns—it is about structural injustice. These communities contributed the least to the global climate crisis, yet suffer the most. Their stories—of salt in the soil, sickness in the water, and dreams drowned by rising tides—are not just narratives of loss. They are warnings. They are roadmaps. And above all, they are calls to action.