It is peak tourist season on St. Martin’s Island, one of Bangladesh’s most sought-after travel destinations. During a recent visit to St. Martin’s Island, I kept encountering the same quiet scene in different corners of the island. Small piles of waste lay tucked behind houses, along pathways, and near the shoreline. Residents had collected the waste carefully, but there was nowhere for it to go next. With no system beyond collection, the end point was almost always the same: open burning. What struck me most was not neglect, but effort. People were trying to manage waste in the only ways available to them.
Shops and food stalls are filled with plastic-packaged goods, especially small sachets and single-use packets. Bottled water is everywhere, not because people prefer it, but because access to safe, filtered drinking water is limited. Plastic bottles have become the island’s substitute water system. These materials arrive daily, in growing volumes, but there is no corresponding system to take them back out. What remains accumulates quietly, becoming the responsibility of communities least equipped to manage it.
The environmental consequences of this imbalance are already visible and deeply unsettling. Near the Union Parishad office lies a large lake that residents now describe as ‘dead’. As I approached it, the stench was overwhelming. The water was blackened, lifeless, and heartbreaking to see. This is not an abstract warning about further degradation; it is evidence of damage already done. Years of unmanaged waste and wastewater have flowed to the easiest, lowest point, turning a shared water body into a symbol of neglect.
Globally, this story is not unique. Across low- and middle-income countries, a significant share of waste is still openly dumped or burned because formal systems often stop at collection. According to international estimates, around one-third to 40 per cent of waste worldwide ends up in open dumpsites, with rates far higher in poorer and remote regions. In a fragile place like St. Martin’s, the consequences are felt more quickly – in polluted air from burning, contaminated soil and water, and growing pressure on marine life that supports fishing and tourism.
When I spoke to people on the island, many described their challenge as a choice between livelihoods and the environment. Tourism restrictions, in particular, were a source of frustration and bitterness. What became clear, however, is that the real conflict is one of time. Communities are asked to absorb immediate hardship; restricted tourism, reduced income, changes in daily habits for environmental benefits that feel distant and uncertain.
This is not a question of awareness, but of trust.
Across the world, communities, and even nations, face the same dilemma: how to protect the environment while meeting present-day development needs. When the costs of protection are immediate but the benefits arrive slowly, environmental action begins to feel like a sacrifice rather than a shared investment. This is why environmental regulation is so often framed as a constraint on growth, rather than a pathway to resilience. St. Martin’s shows us, in miniature, what happens when transitions are demanded without pathways that make them fair, visible, and credible.
This is also where responsibility must be understood more broadly. Much of the waste accumulating on St. Martin’s is a direct outcome of infrastructure gaps rather than individual behaviour. Everyday consumption is shaped by what is available, affordable, and reliable. When modern consumption reaches places without parallel investment in waste treatment, the burden inevitably falls on local communities.
In the absence of systems that bridge this gap, burning or dumping waste becomes a rational short-term solution. This is why waste management, in such contexts, cannot be treated as a purely technical intervention. It is also a trust-building mechanism. When waste is not only collected but visibly managed, when people see reduced burning, cleaner public spaces, and functioning treatment systems, it becomes a daily signal that environmental protection can also improve life in the present.
The way forward for St. Martin’s Island lies in collaboration. Government leadership is essential: through infrastructure, regulation, and coordination. But it must be matched with community participation and upstream accountability. Waste management here cannot be a stand-alone technical intervention. When policy and community move together, it can rebuild trust by making environmental protection tangible in everyday life, not just a promise for the future.
On an island where land is limited and ecosystems are fragile, the consequences of delay become visible faster. Once a shared water body, it now stands as a quiet warning of what happens when damage accumulates slowly and responsibility is deferred. But it can also be a point of return. Environmental protection succeeds when it becomes part of everyday life, supported by systems that make responsible choices possible. If St. Martin’s is given that chance, it can become more than a warning. It can become an example of how care for livelihoods and care for nature need not stand in opposition, but can move forward together.
The writer is the Chief Coordinator, Bangladesh Sustainability Alliance (BSA), hosted by BRAC
