Can a Birth Certificate Change the World?

Aid organisations promise to tackle poverty, strengthen human rights, and prevent exploitation. But what can they actually achieve when the root causes of a problem are  deeply entrenched in society? A look at Daulatdia, Bangladesh’s largest brothel, shows just  how limited humanitarian aid can be and why it still makes a difference.

Around 80 kilometres from the capital, Dhaka, lies one of the world’s largest red-light districts. Daulatdia is a place where it is hard to say where exploitation ends and everyday  life begins. For decades, an estimated 1,500 women have been living and working here under poor conditions. Some charge barely more than one euro for sex, others a few euros, which is low in absolute terms, but not unusually low for Bangladesh’s poorest brothel markets. Prostitution is legal under certain conditions in this predominantly Muslim country, but is heavily stigmatised by society. 

For Daulatdia, it is also an economic system. Women sell sex, men profit from them, traders sell illegal goods, and children grow up amongst the narrow alleys. Alcohol is banned, but is smuggled into back rooms. Women are expected to take the steroid Dexamethasone, or Oradexon, to gain weight more quickly and appear more attractive to clients. As they grow older, their earnings often decline, while the number of young girls and women entering these circles continues to rise.

Above All, However, Children Are Born in Daulatdia 

According to estimates, hundreds of children live in the brothel community, many of whom are still of pre-school age. For them, the brothel is not a place they have somehow ended up in.  It is the place where their lives begin.

Bithi, 22, featured in the ARTE documentary “Bangladesh: The brothel of Dauladtia” describes her situation in these words: “I am a prisoner. I am being watched. They’re afraid  I’ll run away and they [traffickers] lose their money.” Shetali, 37, is trying to give her boys a  better future outside of the bordells: “Many children here don’t go to school. On our street,  mine are the only ones who do.” At the same time, she is aware of how difficult this path out  of their situation is: “The children are looked down upon, and life in the brothel has a powerful influence on them.” 

In doing so, Daulatdia poses a question that extends far beyond this particular place: What  can development and human rights work achieve when exploitation is rooted in structural issues such as poverty, stigmatisation, a lack of state protection and an  environment that perpetuates itself across generations?

When a Piece of Paper Decides Someone’s Future 

Surprisingly, one answer begins with a document: a birth certificate.

For a long time, many children from brothel communities in Bangladesh did not have a birth certificate. A key obstacle was the requirement to name the father. If the father is unknown or cannot be named, registering the children of sex workers becomes a problem.

The consequences go well beyond bureaucracy. Those who do not officially exist have no  access to schooling, healthcare, vocational training or state social benefits. Legal invisibility  thus leads to social invisibility. 

This is precisely where the work of the aid organisation Freedom Fund, an international non profit organisation dedicated to ending modern slavery and human trafficking. It supports and funds local organizations that address exploitation and strengthen the rights of vulnerable populations. In Bangladesh, the Freedom Fund works with eight local partner organisations to improve the lives of women and children affected by sexual exploitation.  

Together, they make use of a little-known legal provision from the Births and Deaths Registration Rules, 2018, made under Bangladesh’s Births and Deaths Registration Act,  2004 that allows registration even without identifying the father. To support this effort, they informed the mothers about the importance of registration, organised visits by government  representatives to brothel communities and mobilised the local media. 

This illustrates a classic case of “law on the books” versus “law in action”: The legal right  existed, but without active enforcement, community mobilisation, and direct support for affected families, it remained largely inaccessible. The Freedom Fund’s local partners helped families gather documentation, submit applications and navigate bureaucratic procedures. They also organised visits by government officials to brothel communities and  mobilised local media attention to encourage authorities to act. 

By 2025, 710 children had received a birth certificate. 

710 documents. Is that development aid? Or even structural change? 

Halima’s Second Life 

Halima’s story illustrates what this document can mean. Her name has been changed to protect her. 

After her father died, she moved to Dhaka to support her family. Near Kamalapur railway station, she earned some extra money by selling vegetables. It was there that she fell into  the hands of local pimps. According to the aid organisation INCIDIN Bangladesh, she was  physically and sexually exploited and forced into prostitution for three years. 

In 2023, INCIDIN identified her as a victim of human trafficking. Even after she had escaped immediate exploitation, Halima faced a problem: she had no birth certificate. 

This meant she lacked access to the very institutions that were supposed to enable her to  build a new life. INCIDIN helped her to obtain the document. She was then able to take part in vocational  training and learn how to use industrial sewing machines. Later, she found a job in a textile  factory and returned to her mother. For a year, she received support from local organisations  and government agencies. Eventually, she moved to a better-paid job.

“When I saw my birth certificate and signed the forms, I realised that I could finally break free  from this cycle,” she recalls. Halima’s story, however, is not proof that development cooperation ‘works’. A single case is  far too insignificant for that. It does, however, show at what level aid can make a concrete  difference. 

The organisation has not eradicated poverty in Bangladesh. It has not abolished patriarchal  structures. It has not closed the brothel. But for one person, its work may have made all the difference. The importance of legal identity extends far beyond Daulatdia. The story of Halima, a survivor of human trafficking in Dhaka, illustrates how the absence of a birth certificate can continue to limit opportunities even after someone has escaped exploitation. 

The Decisive Generation is Yet to Come 

Perhaps the more significant impact lies not even with the women working in Daulatdia  today, but with their children. 

The issuance of 710 birth certificates does not yet constitute social change. The number of  birth certificates issued tells only part of the story. Whether legal recognition translates into  lasting social mobility remains a question that cannot be answered by registration figures  alone. In development cooperation, there is a distinction between output, outcome and  impact. 

Output can be quantified: 710 birth certificates were issued. However, an outcome describes what actually happens as a result, such as children being able to enrol in schools, receive medical care or start vocational training. 

Impact goes even further. This would be achieved if these changes contributed to children being exploited less frequently in the long term, improving their economic opportunities and breaking the intergenerational cycle of poverty, stigmatisation, and sexual exploitation. 

This is precisely why the question of the effectiveness of NGOs is complicated. 

Often, many years pass between a birth certificate being issued and a life free from exploitation becoming a reality. A child with a birth certificate may still face discrimination.  They may start school and then decide to drop out. A young woman may complete a vocational training course and still be unable to find adequately paid work. Even successful aid programmes do not automatically alter the power dynamics that make human trafficking and sexual exploitation profitable. Therefore, anyone who measures an NGO’s success solely on the basis of the number of people reached may be measuring the wrong thing. 

Aid Must Not Replace the State.

NGOs can step in where state structures fail to reach people. They can support schools and  healthcare services, protect those affected, fund local organisations, document abuses, and  exert political pressure. What they cannot do, however, is replace a functioning state. 

The local authorities in Bangladesh were contacted for their perspective on the issue but did not respond to the request for comment. 

The Freedom Fund can neither eradicate poverty in Bangladesh on its own, nor can it  abolish patriarchal structures. Nor can an international organisation dictate from the outside  how a community such as Daulatdia should change. This is precisely why the way aid is organised is so crucial. 

The history of international development cooperation is full of well-intentioned projects that  nevertheless failed to meet people’s needs. Sustainable change rarely comes about when  an international organisation turns up with a ready-made solution. 

Sustainable change needs local partners. People who understand the local power dynamics. They need state actors who take responsibility. And they need to include the people whose lives are at stake.That is why the birth certificates in Daulatdia are more significant than their mere number  might suggest. Local partners utilised existing Bangladeshi law, persuaded mothers to have  their children registered, brought government representatives into the brothel communities,  and brought the issue to public attention. In doing so, the NGO did not simply provide a service. It sought to forge a link between  people and a state whose protection they are entitled to in any case. 

Perhaps this is precisely where the structural dimension of such work lies. So what does it mean to bring about change? 

Daulatdia still exists. Women there continue to sell sex. Children grow up in an environment  where poverty, stigmatisation, and commercial sexual exploitation are closely intertwined. A  birth certificate makes an alarmingly little difference to this situation. And yet, at the same time, it can change almost everything for a single child. 

Perhaps, then, the flaw lies in our initial question. We often ask whether aid organisations  can ‘solve the problem’. In doing so, we are demanding something from them that neither NGOs nor individual development projects can achieve. 

The more interesting question is therefore: at what level can they make change possible? 

For an individual, this might mean enabling a young woman like Halima to gain an education and earn her own income. At a generational level, it might mean giving children from brothel communities legal recognition and opening up pathways for them to school and training. At a structural level, it might mean strengthening local organisations, ensuring that existing rights can actually be enforced, and persuading state institutions to protect people whom they have scarcely reached so far. 

This is less spectacular than the idea of ‘saving’ people. And it is more difficult to translate  into figures of success. But perhaps it is the more honest conception of development work. An NGO did not put an end to the brothel in Daulatdia. But it may as well have changed a child’s life. Perhaps the clearest sign of structural change would not be another NGO success story, but  a system in which children receive birth certificates without an NGO having to intervene at  all. 

In the end, the greatest success for an aid organisation might not be reaching more and  more people every year. But rather, one day, no longer being needed.