A looming crisis of a countrywide political movement started by university students over the service quota system seems to have been averted by a bold move by Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina. She has taken the wind out of the sail of the movement by declaring her decision to end the quota system altogether, albeit in a sentimental but effective way.

Her decision may have taken everyone by surprise, even the protesting students, as the decision went above and beyond their call. They wanted reform of the system, not an end to it. The system benefited not just the freedom fighters and their descendants, but also women and under-privileged classes.

It remains to be seen how a total termination of a system that has been around for four decades would impact the country, and how the decision will be implemented.

The decision may halt a potentially bigger political outburst of a national scale ignited by an issue that affects a small segment of the population (people seeking government jobs), but it still does not answer the question why such marginal issues morph into national movements.  An immediate reason for the student protests is the perceived unfairness of the quota system in government service that favours highly disproportionate reservation for the freedom fighters and their descendants.

But this may not be enough to explain the ability of the students to attract thousands of protesters to their cause in a matter of hours all across the country, unless there are deeper undercurrents. These undercurrents do not happen overnight. The countrywide unrest over this issue is just the tip of the iceberg. There are riptides that may lie deep under these currents.

A history of protest
Historically, mass movements have been caused by seething anger and unrest over political rights such as freedom of speech, voting rights, and resistance to autocratic powers. Many times such resentments lie dormant but can surface only when triggered by some mistaken policies or missteps by the government. Such missteps may occur from neglecting early signs of trouble, or inability to handle an incident that affects general public.

The people movement, and later revolution, in Tunisia in 2011 were triggered by the symbolic suicide of a small shopkeeper. In an effort to escape the suffocating unemployment that was rampant in Tunisia, this young man had started a shop, which was raided and destroyed by the police on charges of a lack of license.

In protest, the young man committed suicide by burning himself in the public square. His death by burning spread like wildfire which was simmering from galloping economic disparity, uncontrolled corruption, and graft among politicians. Soon, the political storm would engulf the whole country.

The rest, as we know, is history.

Next came the well-known Tahrir Square protests in Egypt and the birth of the so-called Arab Spring. The Arab Spring may have wound up as the Arab Winter, but it is worthwhile to remember how a small group of students assembled via social media grew into a massive national movement. It was able to mobilize not only students but also people from all strata of the social spectrum, including the mighty army that threw its lot with the people in the streets.

The movement was able to not only dislodge the Hosni Mubarak powerhouse, but also dismantle a political coterie characterized by rampant corruption that Hosni Mubarak and his predecessors had built in the name of national integrity over four decades. Pity the old army-backed politics is seemingly poised for a rerun, but it does not alter the historical turnaround of 2011 in Egypt which was triggered initially by a small group of people.
 

There are several other such incidents that occurred in the last decade in several parts of the world that were started by seemingly innocuous gathering of people

There are several other such incidents that occurred in the last decade in several parts of the world that were started by seemingly innocuous gathering of people after an incident or some form of protest that gained strength to make a wider impact and develop into national movement.
The incidents initiated by small groups brought together other larger groups and galvanized them into action by providing them a common platform of protests and nationwide campaign. The incidents helped to bring into fore grievances against authority that were not addressed before and people felt neglected. These grievances may be economic, political, social, or simply personal.

There is no reason to draw any parallel between the student protests which took place recently in Bangladesh and those which happened in the Middle East nearly a decade ago. But there are lessons that our government may take from previous unrests among the youth elsewhere.

It’s the economy
The students who wanted a reform of the quota system wanted so because they felt marginalized in an economy where job prospects had become elusive with a system not allowing fair competition. According to a report of Economist Intelligence Unit of the Economist (2015) nearly 50% of college graduates in Bangladesh remained unemployed. A quota system turns job prospect further into an illusion.

Added to this is the frustration of the common man to be able to access services in the country which are supposed to help him. Be this in law enforcement, recourse to justice, education, or health. A pervasive system of graft, political favours, and nepotism has kept these away from the reach of the common man. And this happens when the authorities who control these institutions that provide the services remain unaccountable to people.

When the politics of a country becomes difficult because changes cannot be brought about in a transparent manner, people take extreme recourse. These extreme measures are sudden upsurge of sporadic movements from apparently simple or even non-political issues which appeal to a broader swath of public opinion and morph into bigger movement of a political change.

The issue of quota-based services may die down for now because of a bold political move by the PM, but it may not immune the country from other political movements in the future demanding redress of the grievances.

In a democratic country, such grievances are better addressed by elections where people participate freely to send those to the legislature who they think understand their problems and are well suited to serve them.

We will not require a patchwork solution of our problems and solve them on a retail basis if we have a parliament of legislators who are truly representative of our people. By removing the quota system, we may remove only one obstacle for your youth.

A more fundamental approach would be to build an economy that attracts investment and creates opportunities of employment. This investment will come from more transparency in our governance, restoration of rule of law, and establishing democratic practices. We hope the upcoming elections will lead us that way.

Only the promise of fair elections can remove the perils of any riptide underlying the latest student protests.

Ziauddin Choudhury has worked in the higher civil service of Bangladesh early in his career, and later for the World Bank in the US.

Courtesy: Dhaka Tribune

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On March 25, 1971, when hell’s gates were opened and the marauding Pakistan army launched its war on the civilians of Dhaka, I was in Munshiganj, about 20 miles from Dhaka, but practically several hours away because it was only connected by water with the capital at the time.

Only a day earlier, I had returned from Dhaka after attending the weekly sub-divisional officers’ meeting at the Dhaka Collectorate building near Sadarghat.

That month, all of Dhaka had been abuzz with hectic political activity that included Bangabandhu’s famous March 7 speech and endless speculations about the outcome of the talks between Bangabandhu and Yahya Khan. The talks had started in the middle of the month after Bangabandhu’s ultimatum for holding a national assembly meeting and about his other demands.

The agenda of our weekly meeting that day was only one: Speculation on possible outcome of the talks between Bangabandhu and Yahya Khan. None of us, including my deputy commissioner, had any clue as to what was going to happen only 48 hours later.

Like the vast majority of the Bengalis of East Pakistan, we were hopeful that the talks would lead to a peaceful outcome ending the prospects of an endless confrontation between the elected representatives of East Pakistan and the army junta led by Yahya Khan and their political cohorts in West Pakistan.
In fact, there were signs revealed through the media (very incorrectly, of course) that Sheikh Mujib and Yahya Khan had reached a broad agreement on handover of power to the two provincial governments.

We, in fact, talked about the need to restart our governmental duties in the sub-divisions like reopening courts, revenue offices, etc, and an end to the stalemate. But we were foolishly cheerful.

On the morning of March 25, I had tried to speak with my deputy commissioner, but spoke with one of the additional deputy commissioners instead, who was from West Pakistan instead. The officer, senior in rank to me, sounded vague when I asked him about the results of the talk. He said he had no information, but he asked me not to put too much hope for a positive outcome.

I wanted to quiz him further on his pessimism, but he avoided further discussion. He wished me well and hung up. I had no reason to analyze his remarks in a negative way. I had kept my hopes up and gone to bed.

The first warning of something going terribly wrong came to me early on the morning of March 26. I was awakened from sleep by the bungalow peon saying that the sub-divisional police officer (SDPO) wanted to speak to me urgently.

In those days, phones were manually managed by operators who connected speakers at both ends when asked. When connected with the SDPO, he narrated to me in an agitated voice what he had heard from the police headquarters in Dhaka.

The Pakistani Army had launched an armed attack the previous night all over Dhaka, killing at random. The police line at Rajarbagh (the main police barrack of Dhaka) was demolished as the army drove its tanks through the barracks. Instead of spending any more time on phone, I asked him to meet with me at my bungalow.
 

As hours went by thousands of people landed on the shores of Munshiganj. They spoke of unheard terror, of armed soldiers firing at night at houses, shops, and homeless people on the sidewalks

The SDPO came to see me wearing pajamas and a shirt, instead of his uniform, with a disheveled look. He said he had received a message through police wireless a couple of hours before with a warning that the Pakistan Army was spreading all over the district and could soon come to Munshiganj.

He was asked by a police officer from Dhaka to take all precaution to save his police force and to warn civilians to move away as no one would be safe. He was further told that the army had already killed hundreds of students after raiding DU residential halls.
I could not believe a word of what the SDPO was telling me.

How could such a dangerous and horrendous event take place when the entire country was expecting a happy outcome from the talks? I asked the SDPO if what he was saying was true, and if so, what had happened to Sheikh Mujib and his colleagues who were holding the talks.

The SDPO had no answer to my last question except his assumption that all of them, including Bangabandhu, might have been arrested.

I could not ascertain the truth by calling Dhaka — as the operator said phone lines were dead. I went to my office with the SDPO where we were greeted by a dozen police men without uniform who were in charge of protecting the sub-divisional treasury going to and fro greatly excited.

The havildar in charge informed us, in great agitation, that they had heard that the Pakistan Army was killing all Bengali police, and that they would have to leave the place to protect themselves.

The SDPO found it hard to console or reassure the frightened police constables since he himself was not sure of his safety. The chaos of the moment was further compounded as a group of highly agitated young men came to my office and demanded that they be given firearms to protect the town from the army.
I was dumbfounded by this astounding request. How on earth would a group of young students fight an army, and that too with outdated World War II rifles?

Somehow I was able to argue them out of their demand at that moment citing a need for gathering all sub-divisional police force to build a resistance. But that was not for long.

As soon as we left the office, the students re-entered the sub-treasury and took away the two dozen rifles in the armory there, with no resistance from the fearful police contingent.

The day would not end there.

As hours went by, thousands of people landed on the shores of Munshiganj coming from Dhaka in boats, motor launches, and fishing vessels. They spoke of unheard of terror, of armed soldiers firing at night at houses, shops, and homeless people sleeping on the sidewalks.

They spoke of rocket bombs, smoldering buildings, and dead bodies they saw while fleeing. As the day progressed, rumours of an impending army attack started to spread like wildfire. Panic struck everyone in that small town and local leaders started to ponder whether to flee or face the invading army.

I did not leave, or rather could not leave, because I had nowhere to go. The villages would not be a sanctuary, if the army decided to invade, and leaving for another country was out of the question (at least at that time). I decided to wait it out along with the SDPO.

But the army did not come to Munshiganj that day or the next few days. They fanned out of Dhaka to other parts of Bangladesh. Munshiganj was spared the wrath and fury of the Pakistan Army in the frenzied days of March. Instead, we dealt with families fleeing from Dhaka and Narayanganj (including my own), with fear and anxiety of an army attack for the next two months.

The army did arrive in Munshiganj in May when it was sufficiently satisfied that it had reestablished authority. Munshiganj was spared the rage of Dhaka, but not the hatred the army carried for the Bengali population, that would come out through three weeks of a cleansing “operation” it would carry out in Munshiganj and neighbouring thanas.

I was investigated for my role in March and later interrogated in Dhaka Cantonment for over a month. I was later cleared to return as SDO, not Munshiganj but to Manikganj, another sub-division of Dhaka that time.

But that is another story.

Ziauddin Choudhury has worked in the higher civil service of Bangladesh early in his career, and later for the World Bank in the US.

This article was first published on Dhaka Tribune
 

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We need to address the real problem before more shots are fired  

After months — probably years — of denial and self-deception about the existence of militant radicals tied to foreign groups, our government woke up to the reality that everybody had been warning us about all along.

This raid and hostage situation in the Gulshan cafe may be unprecedented in Bangladesh’s history, but in the annals of  recent terror history, this is just one more incident.

Could this horror have been avoided? Perhaps yes, perhaps not. What is undeniable, however, is that this is a terror act that was waiting in the wings for a long time, and it finally happened. Sad that it took two young police officers’ lives and made victims of innocent national and foreign citizens, many of whom were working in Dhaka for a living.

More than two dozen lives were in great danger. We hoped that somehow a total blowout would be averted, but knowing that the militants who were occupying the cafe had yet to make any statement regarding their objectives, there were only speculations about the outcome, none of which was pretty.

Various claims have been made regarding the affiliation or sponsorship of these terrorists, ranging from the Islamic State to al-Qaeda to local home-grown groups — the usual suspects. Foreign media has, in the meanwhile, made Dhaka a centrepiece of the latest terror attacks, and are attributing the attack to either of the two infamous international militant groups.

Additionally, the foreign media is also pointing out our government’s failure to listen to the signals that the country has been receiving from the wave of individuals, foreigners, bloggers, and religious minorities being killed. In fact, this incident has stirred up critics to come out full force to blame the government for the failure to reign in budding militants in the country.

Coming in the wake of Istanbul attack, we could not fully rule out the presence of foreign elements among these attackers.

But what is certain to happen is that this will bring, in its wake, more deaths, and it has turned the city into a gloomy and melancholy place at a time when everyone is about to celebrate the end of a holy month with festivity. The blood that has already been shed has cast a pall of gloom. This was only darkened further with the ensuing losses.

We will probably be splitting hairs for days to come trying to figure out how it happened, and there will be more blame games going around. But if there is one lesson to be learned from this tragedy, it is that surveillance alone cannot stop such acts of terror. We may have hundreds of guards and policemen keeping eyes on the people trying to prevent the rogues from attacking.

But it takes only one determined group of people to outwit and outsmart these guards through their ability to network and amass enough firepower to launch such a blitz.

Terror acts of the kind that just happened do not happen all of a sudden. These take days and months of planning, preparation, and assembly. I have written before, and I reiterate it now, that radical extremism of the kind that is now on display globally does not crop up suddenly in a country without a nexus of ideas that run across.

The terrorists who took over the Gulshan cafe, and carried out their nefarious acts, were all our own citizens, but they drew their inspiration from a bigger cadre of militants with a mission that threatens all countries of the world, irrespective of cast, creed, or religious belief.

It is sad that our government, despite its commitment to fight and contain global terrorism, has failed to recognise the enemy within.

By putting blame on the opposition parties and their putative agenda to embarrass the government in the past, we have allowed our law enforcement agencies to lose focus on the real danger lurking in the country and getting bolder by day.

There has been much evidence of the growth and strength of these elements in the past, but for strange reasons, our authorities continue to ignore them.

The cost of political blame gaming is heavy as we can see from this incident. Neither rhetoric nor political blame game can replace real action to contain the cancer of radical militancy.

I am not suggesting that terrorism of the kind that is threatening the world today can be prevented easily, but at least our energy can be better spent and resources better used to fight the cancer of militancy, if our politicians agree to put aside their differences and fight together.

I am praying and hoping that there is no more bloodshed. But what I am hoping most is that there will be transparency in police action, and we will get to know who the perpetrators were. Let there be no murkiness to explain this to the nation. We deserve the truth. 

Courtesy: Dhaka Tribune

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