The slightest reference to ‘genocide’ reminds us of the horrors of the Second World War. Images of gore, pain and disgust makes us relocate our faith on the power of memory. It is because of the memory of this catastrophic event that Germany as a nation has been able to rise from the ashes like the phoenix. However, not all genocides have led to such conscious consequences. Some, like my homeland of Bangladesh, haven’t learnt any lessons at all, or so it seems.
My friend came to me
With sadness in his eyes
He told me that he wanted help
Before his country dies
Although I couldn't feel the pain
I knew I had to try
Now I'm asking all of you
To help us save some lives
Bangladesh, Bangladesh
Where so many people are dying fast
And it sure looks like a mess
I've never seen such distress
Bangladesh, Bangladesh
1971. March 25th. As darkness swooned over East Pakistan, the Pakistani Army with their ‘Operation Searchlight’ began a genocide against Bengalis, against the Liberation war which was being fought at that time. As Dhaka slept, bullets riddled the quiet of the night, killing thousands. Within minutes, Dhaka was all but a city of the dead.
March 26th. Women of all ages were picked up from schools, colleges, universities and put in barracks. On the sight of this, Pak soldiers rejoiced with lust. Beaten, bloodied and raped- the horrors that followed cannot be described in mere words. And as if rape was not enough, flesh from their bodies was cut off, lips and breasts slashed, cheeks pierced. Their bite-marks went deep inside the girls’ stomach, chest, back, waist and so on. Guns were inserted in their private parts before firing. I often wonder how some of these women survived all of this and died much later when they were hung from their feet on poles next to each other.
It was not just the women who bore the brunt of the genocide of my past. Intellectuals, teachers, poets, writers, students were murdered in bulk. Religious minorities killed mercilessly. Whoever raised a voice against the Pak Army, whoever stood for our nation’s freedom was either dismembered, kidnapped or murdered. Young minds who dreamt of a better tomorrow were murdered for being ‘enemies to the state, enemies for the faith’.
My homeland, Bangladesh, was a consequence of the lives of 3 million and the honour of 4 hundred thousand women. It was a result of the struggle for freedom, the final success of the undying spirit. But this dreamlike victory ‘was’ Bangladesh. It is not such anymore.
Contemporary Bangladesh has carefully forgotten its struggle to be born. Nazis are banned in Germany today, but Jamayat-i-Islami, one of the primary anti-liberation forces, is at the centre of current affairs. Those who killed then, are the same ones killing now. What amazes me is how easily a nation has gotten accustomed to forget. This state of national dementia has turned contemporary Bangladesh into a nightmare for free-thinkers, intellectuals and progressive voices once again. It is as if the dark nights of 1971 are knocking on our doors once again.
History is not mere repetition of time, but a solemn remembrance of it. As I talk of 1971, I represent an unseen memory- of a time not witnessed, but experienced nonetheless. As a refugee in a foreign land now, I draw my heritage from the distressed people forced to leave their homes in East Pakistan and seek refuge in India. As a homage to the eternally homeless, memories are all that keep us grounded and homeward bound.
Is this what I did to myself in the past?
What shall I do, dear Poet, I asked?
Move on and leave them without any coins?
What should I care for the love of my loins?
Millions of fathers in rain
Millions of mothers in pain
Millions of brothers in woe
Millions of sisters nowhere to go
Millions of Souls nineteen seventy-one
homeless on Jessore under grey sun
A million are dead, the millions who can
Walk toward Calcutta from East Pakistan
Millions of Souls nineteen seventy-one
homeless on Jessore under grey sun
A million are dead, the millions who can
Walk toward Calcutta from East Pakistan.
(poet Allen Ginsberg)
Thank you
Ananya Azad
Germany, 2018