[Reader-list] Bangladesh, In the Graveyard of Hope

[Shambhu Rahmat]

"If the pond of politics is overrun with weeds, you cannot clean it
with bamboo sticks, the entire pond has to be uprooted. Only the
people can do that. It's the people of East Bengal that wiped out the
last trace and name of Muslim League. It's the people of Bangladesh
that forced out the Pakistani occupation forces. In Kansat, Shonir
Akhra, Fulbari, the people rose up again and again. That was the
muscle power of democracy. And this government, this is the muscle
power of the ruling elite. The two not bring the same results."

"There can be no ordering the river to flow from the heights of the
Qutub Minar of power. Stuck between the scylla and charybdis, we also
see a glimmer of hope. Will a bridge be built between the masses and
government power, can state power finally pass out of the hands of the
elite into the people? On that rests the future of hope and fear. So
we wait and wait. We wait as the hyphen between past and future. But
no nation, no people, can spend decades suspended, waiting as hypens.
We want to wipe away our poisoned inheritance and start a new day, but
we cannot also erase our proud history."

http://www.drishtipat.org/blog/2008/07/01/graveyard-of-hope/

In the Graveyard of Hope
by Faruq Wasif
[Prothom Alo, June 28, 2008]
[Translated for Drishtipat by Shabnam Nadiya]


Bangladesh is the name of hope's graveyard. Bangladesh is another name
for waiting. Here, everything almost arrives, but nothing actually,
finally comes. But even within the darkness, the possibility of the
arrival shines like the morning star. Even though in exchange for our
nose, a blade we received, we still hope that some day our noses will
heal. We are waiting, hope, sister to waiting, will one day return.
The train of history will stop at our platform. We wait. This is our
life's force in this unspeakable reality. We water the grave of hope
and bring forth the grass of sorrow. Waiting, brother of hope, keeps
us awake. We traverse decades. We come through death, war, pestilence
and famine.

A new decade arrives, and we spy hope in the dregs of frustration and
are moved. Hope arose in 1990, after the fall of the despot. Hope
arose in 2000, at the arrival of the new millennium. We were almost
becoming self-sufficient in food production, xx was rising, our
confidence was growing as the young men and women labouring here and
abroad were earning dollars. But the lines of that poem turn true
somehow: I built this house for happiness/It burnt up in fire/I bathe
in an ocean of ambrosia/It turned poison.

The poem is more than a hundred years old. Today some non-poet would
perhaps write, new bottle same wine. So it's with that in hand that we
have to sit down today to take measure of our humiliation on a
national scale.

Transparency International has conducted a survey and provided a
record of the corruption during the rule of this government. It states
that corruption hasn't decreased in comparison to the past two
governments, it has increased. TIB themselves has prepared a
comparative picture based on data from the survey of 5,000 households
across 62 districts. An examination of the six months prior to and six
months after 1/11 shows that ministry-wise corruption levels, meaning
education, health, land administration, local government, the NGO
sector, corruption and bribery are rampant everywhere. And that too is
at higher levels than before. In the education sector, it used to be
12.5 percent, now it's 44.5 percent. In the health sector, 32 percent
has grown to 36.9 percent; in land administration 39.4 percent has
increased to 45.1 percent and in the NGO sector, 33.3 percent is now
35.7 percent.

In addition, 96.6 individuals out of every 100 have been victims of
the corruption in the law enforcement agencies. So who's been left
out? We hear that the politicians are no longer in power, many of them
are immobile, in jail. So who are the phantoms who have been doing all
this? It was to curb corruption that so much effort was expended, so
many upper floor chumps were sent downstairs, and chumps from lower
floors promoted to the upper.

In the past the political leaders would call the TIB report a
conspiracy, propaganda to tarnish their image. Will the same thing be
said this time as well? I don't know. If corruption has decreased even
slightly, then is the new TIB survey lying? Those who have nothing
else, have experience. Its from that experience that we know, whatever
the intent of the survey, the data that has emerged from it are close
to the truth. If that is the case, then what was this game of
hopscotch that we had been witnessing all this while?

We don't know whether in the future, after another 1/11, we will have
to read another epic of corruption in an anti-corruption drive. Still,
sorrow sulks within our hearts, Why did we build this house!

Our train never arrives; our night never dawns. The ringing of sword
on shield never ends. If our train does come, it never runs on the
right track. Still we wait. Like a condemned man waits with the noose
around his neck, so we wait too, for some more breath, light,
cherished faces, tastes of the mortal. We who inhabit the footpaths
wait, one day we will have a house. Slum-dwelling rickshawpullers in
Dhaka and Chittagong nurtures the yearning to one day return to the
village and farming. The poor wait, something will happen some day.
They will no longer want for rice, their children will laugh. The
prostitute waits, even if she can't, her daughter will escape this
life of the fallen. When her life is over, she thinks her
granddaughter or her great granddaughter will surely find a different
life. Then she goes to her grave and waits, when will the gates of
heaven open. And she will ask the Creator of this world, did my
children find happiness? Those fathers and mothers will wait even
beneath the grass and earth of the grave, those that they had left
behind, have they found happiness? Perhaps they won't know, but we do,
over a million women have been smuggled to brothels in various
countries. That's about the number of people who live in a smallish
district of this land! Over 400,000 among them are India, and 40
thousand boys are living the lives of sex slaves in Pakistan. Still we
wait, they will return, they will be brought back. People cannot do
without waiting and hoping. If we didn't have the hope of the times
changing, we would move around like the living dead. If there was no
wait for the establishment of our golden Bengal and the trial of the
war criminals, the Liberation War would become a meaningless. If there
was no hope that one day this lawlessness will end, we would turn to
stone from sorrow.

It is through these eyes of stone that we witness the kings, queens
and princes of corruption have either been released or are about to
be. Of course we want to see freedom in politics, we want the
re-establishment of the political rights of the people. But since when
have these corrupt politicians become so similar that we have to
witness the freeing of the crrupt in the guise of freeing politics?

We see that although corrupt individuals are being placed under
pressure, institution corruption is not being addressed. Citizen's
participation in administration and rule has not been increased. The
people are like puppets in the reform and anti-corruption drives. Are
we only supposed to go and vote when we're called upon? We've lost our
rights in the regimes of both political and non-political governments.
All we've retained is our right to vote. What can be done with that,
if the same people stand for election? If the pond of politics is
overrun with weeds, you cannot clean it with bamboo sticks, the entire
pond has to be uprooted. Only the people can do that. It's the people
of East Bengal that wiped out the last trace and name of Muslim
League. It's the people of Bangladesh that forced out the Pakistani
occupation forces. In Kansat, Shonir Akhra, Fulbari, the people rose
up again and again. That was the muscle power of democracy. And this
government, this is the muscle power of the ruling elite. The two not
bring the same results.

A scream for a mass movement burnt deep inside the heart of society.
But no response to that came from politics, and so a vacuum was
created. The people could find no one any more to reflect their hopes
on to. "People Power" hung in space with no heir, no one to claim the
mantle. But power is such a thing, it does not, cannot just travel
hand to hand without a final address. Since the people could not, the
people's representatives would not, take it on, power landed in the
laps of today's navigators, and said take me, use me, drive me. The
next history every one knows. We needed a flush to get rid of all the
waste, they pressed the flush button. But now all the blood, all the
spoils, all the pollution is coming back. Is that dirt now going to
overflow the toilet and drown us all?

No one can deny that corruption is like a sea flowing over Bangladesh.
Everyone knows that a sea cannot be cleaned like this. The only way is
to allow rivers and streams to keep flowing into the sea until it
cleans itself. And those rivers, those streams, are the people. So the
only path is to remove the barriers in the way of the people. There is
no other solution. There can be no ordering the river to flow from the
heights of the Qutub Minar of power. Stuck between the scylla and
charybdis, we also see a glimmer of hope. Will a bridge be built
between the masses and government power, can state power finally pass
out of the hands of the elite into the people? On that rests the
future of hope and fear.

So we wait and wait. We wait as the hyphen between past and future.
But no nation, no people, can spend decades suspended, waiting as
hypens. We want to wipe away our poisoned inheritance and start a new
day, but we cannot also erase our proud history.

The last 37 years have rained so many blows on our feelings, deep
calluses have formed. It has become like a hard tortoise shell. Does a
hopeful heart still beat under that shell? We fear that if hope is
dead, opportunism will be born and will stretch its neck out of its
shell like a tortoise. And Bangladesh will be transformed into a grave
for hope. In that graveyard will walk a group of tortoise people, who
have a strong shell as shields and whose necks are always stretched
out in greed.

We do not want the dead weight of those tortoise-like opportunists to
turn everything to poison forever.