Do we have the right to silence?

Stand at any busy intersection in Dhaka for five minutes and listen.

Before the traffic lights change, you will hear a chorus of impatient horns, roaring buses, motorcycles squeezing through impossible gaps, construction machinery, loudspeakers, street vendors, and countless conversations competing to be heard.

The sound is so familiar that most of us barely notice it any more. It has become the soundtrack of urban life.

We often talk about air, water and plastic pollution. Yet one of the most pervasive forms of pollution in Bangladesh is also one of the least discussed: noise.

We worry about polluted air, contaminated water and plastic waste because we see their effects. Noise pollution is different. It leaves no smoke or rubbish, cannot be photographed, but silently enters our lives and affects our health, productivity, relationships, and peace of mind.

Perhaps it is time to ask a question we rarely consider: Do we have the right to silence, tranquillity and peaceful moments?

According to the World Health Organization (WHO), environmental noise is among the most significant health risks in urban areas after air pollution. Prolonged exposure is linked to cardiovascular disease, stress, sleep disturbance, impaired learning, reduced productivity, and declining mental well-being.

Unlike many environmental problems, noise is impossible to avoid.

We often think the loudest celebration is the happiest, the loudest speech is the strongest, the loudest advertisement is the most convincing and the loudest horn will get us through traffic faster. But confidence rarely needs volume. Authority does not depend on noise. Neither does joy.

It is everywhere: on roads, at construction sites, from loudspeakers, in restaurants, on buses and even in hospital waiting rooms. For many, real silence has become rare.

Children, older adults and those with health conditions are especially vulnerable. Persistent traffic noise can reduce children's concentration and reading ability.

Night-time noise disrupts sleep, leaving people fatigued and less productive. What seems a minor inconvenience becomes a public health issue affecting millions.

Bangladesh is not without regulations. The Noise Pollution (Control) Rules, 2006 specify maximum permissible sound levels for residential, commercial, industrial, and silent zones.

Residential areas, for example, are limited to 55 decibels during the day and 45 decibels at night.

The problem is not the absence of laws. We have gradually accepted their violation as normal.

Anyone at a busy intersection, construction site or market knows excessive noise is routine. Horns express impatience. Loudspeakers are frequently used not because they are necessary but because being louder attracts more attention. Weddings, rallies, religious events, and commercial events compete for attention through volume. In some cases, people may not even realise they have developed hearing impairments caused by prolonged exposure to noise.

Technology has made the problem worse. People use phones on speaker, play videos at full volume, use Bluetooth speakers and have loud conversations in public. Many do not realise how much unnecessary noise they add every day.

At some point, we started thinking that being loud meant being important.

We often think the loudest celebration is the happiest, the loudest speech is the strongest, the loudest advertisement is the most convincing and the loudest horn will get us through traffic faster.

But confidence rarely needs volume. Authority does not depend on noise. Neither does joy.

Ironically, most of us would complain if the same noise occurred outside our homes late at night. We protect our right to make noise but forget that our neighbours also deserve quiet.

That contradiction lies at the heart of Bangladesh's noise problem.

The effects go beyond human health. Birds use sound to communicate, find mates, defend their territory and find food. Constant city noise disrupts these natural behaviours and slowly reduces the variety of wildlife in our cities. As noise grows, cities become less rich places for both people and animals.

Many cities now see excessive noise as a quality-of-life issue, not just an environmental one. They monitor sound levels, regulate noisy activities, encourage quieter transport and educate people about the issue. The aim is not total silence but a better balance between activity and calm.

Bangladesh can learn from these experiences.

Enforcing existing regulations is certainly necessary.

But enforcement alone will never solve the problem. Lasting change requires something more powerful than penalties. It requires a cultural shift.

Just as people got used to wearing seat belts and following smoking bans, we can learn that making unnecessary noise is not a personal right but a burden on others.

Schools can teach respect for shared spaces. Families can adopt quieter habits. Businesses can reduce unnecessary announcements.

Events can celebrate without disturbing neighbourhoods. Transport operators can ask drivers not to use horns unless necessary. Leaders can show that real influence comes from ideas, not volume. The media can treat noise pollution as a genuine public health issue, not merely a minor annoyance.

Ultimately, reducing noise is not about creating silent cities. Cities are meant to be vibrant, filled with conversation, laughter, music and celebration. The challenge is distinguishing between the sounds that enrich urban life and those that diminish it.

In the end, this is not simply an environmental issue. It is a public health issue. It is a question of dignity. It is a question of mutual respect. And perhaps, above all, it is a question of rights.

We talk about the right to clean air and water. We should also recognise that moments of peace are essential to our well-being. Silence is not just emptiness; it gives us space to think, rest, learn and recover.

As our cities grow, silence may become one of our rarest public resources. The question, then, is no longer whether Dhaka is becoming louder. It is whether we still believe silence is worth protecting.

Because clean air allows us to breathe. Clean water allows us to live. And silence allows us to hear ourselves.

A truly liveable city is not one where nobody makes a sound. It is one where everyone still has the chance to experience moments of quiet. Before that chance disappears, perhaps it is time we recognised the right to silence as part of the right to live well.

Shafiq R Bhuiyan is a storyteller who examines the intersection of social progress, effective communication, cultural development, and corporate social responsibility while sharing insights to inspire change. 

Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the opinions and views of The Business Standard.