An army-dominated deep state Photo: REUTERS

For some time now, Bangladesh has been pressing Pakistan to apologize for the genocide of the Bangali population in 1971. The occupation army showed no compunction in butchering an estimated three million of their (mostly unarmed) fellow citizens over a nine-month period to quell a liberation struggle in its then eastern wing.

In reply, Pakistan has urged Bangladesh to forget the unfortunate incidents of the past and move on to a new, better relationship. Well short of an apology, its utterly inadequate response glosses over what remains the most shameful blot in Pakistan’s less-than-stellar history.

However, given Pakistan’s gradual morphing into a terror-sponsoring state from its theocratic origins, beginning from its intervention in the Afghan civil war, its refusal to apologize to Bangladesh is not surprising. Countries with a firmer commitment to a democratic system and minimal respect for established norms of governance would have found it easier to offer a brief, heartfelt apology.

A dignified regret would have helped Islamabad get rid of a permanent embarrassment in a civilized manner. If anything, by demanding an apology instead of adequate reparations, Bangladesh had prepared the ground for a graceful ending to a painful episode of history and for a new beginning in bilateral ties.

Evidently, the army-dominated deep state in Pakistan has little concern for either the country’s international image, its place in world history, to say nothing of the damaging legacy it leaves behind for its younger generations.

So far so bad — yet it is possible to see the signs of a major political change for the better among the younger Pakistani citizens, which augurs well for South Asia.

From Pakistan’s point of view, any apology to Bangladesh would have implied that its use of terror as an instrument of state policy had proved self-destructive. Its exploitative policy towards its eastern province was morally reprehensible and utterly wrong.

More importantly, to disavow terror as an acceptable political tactic would have significantly reduced Pakistan’s acceptability among organizations like the Jaish-e-Mohammad, the Lashkar-e-Jhangvi, the Lashkar–e-Toiba (some of which are internationally blacklisted), and their shadowy underworld backers.

    Pakistan’s refusal to apologize to Bangladesh even in 2018 indicates how little the country has changed since 1971

So there could be no apology to anyone on the break-up of 1971, because that would have meant a loss of face for the India-hating Pakistani ruling establishment. For the military hawks, drug lords, and Islamic extremists running Islamabad’s foreign policy, it was preferable to go along with international Muslim terrorism and maintain a pro-Jihadi image post-1971.

After the emergence of Bangladesh, Pakistan became blindsided on the east. It opted wholeheartedly to concentrate on and participate in developments more closely in the deeply disturbed West Asian region. If this meant inviting unrest and chaos, there were compensations too.

So long as the US and the EU continued to use Islamabad as their ally in the battle against Islamic terrorism, the dollars kept coming — never mind the international revulsion and the moral opprobrium, which can be borne better when people are well-fed and elections are a joke.

It is another matter that the US and the West have gradually become wiser to the implications of Pakistan’s running with the hares and hunting also with the hounds, in the matter of fighting Islamic extremism.

Pakistan’s refusal to apologize to Bangladesh even in 2018 indicates how little the country has changed since 1971.

And yet, it is not fair to condemn Pakistan as a country for the shocking killing of nearly three million people in 1971. There are any number of ordinary, decent Pakistani citizens who deeply regret the breaking up of their country and the loss of its eastern wing. Mostly these are younger generation Pakistanis who have no direct experience of the Liberation War in Bangladesh.

But there are elder citizens too, including senior people in the administration, in different political parties, not to mention journalists and members of the commentariat who are bitterly critical of the 1971 break-up.

There are several Pakistani TV channels where the younger set are shown discussing how Bangladesh has left Pakistan well behind in creating better health facilities for the people, in women empowerment, poverty reduction, family planning, and general education.

Pakistan may boast of having more cars than Bangladesh and smartphones, but the former eastern province enjoys better forex reserves ($32 billion as against $14bn), more mobiles (84% of people as against 68%), registers a better GDP growth, and less foreign debt, despite receiving only a fraction of Pakistan’s level of foreign aid.

The average Pakistani is marginally healthier than the Bangladeshi, but joblessness in Pakistan is much more than pronounced, not to mention the terrorism-related violence and the socio/political cost thereof. The fact that Bangladesh is poised to reach a GDP of over $273bn by end 2018 and overtake Pakistan’s GDP by 2021 at present rates is highly appreciated.

Bangladesh does not suffer crippling power cuts like Pakistan, consuming around 16,000 megawatts daily, a figure expected to touch 22,000 MWs in the 2020s. In garments exports, it ranks second in the world.

By 2021, along with Myanmar and Laos, Bangladesh is poised to join the ranks of middle-income countries, an elevation from the ranks of 47 least developed countries, at its present rate of growth — in the sectors of personal income, economic vulnerability, and human assets creation.

It needs stressing here that the present writer has taken these figures mostly covering the 2016-17 period, from Pakistani print and electronic media. Especially on TV channels, it has been heartening to see young Pakistanis listening with interest to the Bangladeshi national anthem and wishing their “brothers in the East all well.”

It was also encouraging to see similar programs related to the present status and growth of major Indian cities like Kolkata on some Pakistani channels where most people expressed their appreciation. Their obvious interest in the economic growth of Bangladesh and India was a healthy sign for the political future of South Asia as a whole.

As for reactions in India to developments in Bangladesh and Pakistan, especially among the young, this writer can personally confirm that there exist a matching interest and curiosity to learn more about their (former compatriots and current) neighbours with whom they have so much in common in terms of food, language, culture, and religion.

As analyst Charubrata Ray puts it: “When today’s young generation assumes power in all three countries of the sub-continent, who knows what new possibilities may open up? Maybe Pakistan will unhesitatingly apologize to Bangladesh and India, and Pakistan may well apologize to each other — and a new era of hope may prevail in South Asia?”

An added point of interest is that of late, even blaming India for “having taken advantage of the problems in Bangladesh” is no longer done by the older generation of Pakistanis with the anger and vigour of the past. Col Sabyasachi Bagchi says, “they agree that if they were in Mrs Indira Gandhi’s place, they would have done exactly the same in Bangladesh, in a world dominated by realpolitik.”

Ashis Biswas writes from Kolkata, India.

This article was first published on Dhaka Tribune
 

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As a younger and far more ignorant individual, perhaps even as a teenager (and much thanks to an English medium education which seemed to prioritize ancient Mesopotamia over recent Bangladesh — or perhaps, I shouldn’t blame the system, but my selective memory, which found one history more interesting than the other), I was under the misconception that December 16 was “our” Independence Day.

While this may be an unforgivable mistake, an error without excuse, I would argue that my mind had followed a logical (though mistaken) path. The independence day of any country is determined by the moment in time when they became independent.

As far as I know, Bangladesh remains somewhat unique in this regard: Not only are we the only country whose independence was catalysed by a common tongue, we had the audacity to consider ourselves independent even before we had achieved it.

That is, we were independent because, on March 26, we had said so.

Considering the linguistic nature of our (perhaps perennial) struggle, it only makes sense to do so on the strength of our collective voices. A man or woman, who does not think or speak as if he is free, can never be free to begin with, can they?

Linguistic divides
How has our language been used since then? Has Bangla, for example, become our primary go-to for expression? Some of us, yes, but perhaps the existence of this very newspaper and/or the website on which you read this, and the language in which I write, speaks of a discord, not merely on ideological grounds, but also when it comes to language.

Perhaps one of the saddest characteristics of the Bangladeshi experience is the segregation some of us feel based on our ability to speak a certain language. But, the very fact that we, for the moment, have the freedom to express ourselves in whatever language we choose, that is more important than which specific language we use to do so.

We mustn’t forget that Bangladesh is not home to just Bangla and English, but other minority languages which now run the risk of becoming extinct thanks to the overpowering nature of any official, state-sanctioned language (India is running the risk of doing the same).

To deem Bangladesh a simple autocracy is unfair, to some extent, especially considering how much, still, we are (technically) able to do

If not for expression, what about for propaganda? It may very well be that my fluency in English over Bangla is characteristic of one kind of freedom, but what exactly I can say with that fluency, that remains to be seen. The Digital Security Act, which uses language in such a way as to deem anyone practicing their right to free speech a criminal, hinders not the words I use, but the way in which I arrange them.

There are historical blemishes which perhaps need clarification, leading down paths and holes which have been closed off. We are, in many ways, constantly asking ourselves how much of the truth we really need. Do we need to know, for example, exactly how many people died during the nine-month war for liberation? Does it matter if it was 3,000 or 3 million?

Perhaps not. A person allowed to die under an oppressive regime begs an inevitable question: Is not everyone who lives in such a nation dead? What value do they have as people, if their words never see the light of day? Is a person, who has not been able to express himself, alive, even though his real self resides within him, never to be seen?

A country of beggars
Maybe 3 million people did not die in 1971 but 160 million people die here every day, in some form or another. And we don’t have to look to freedom of expression, but merely at how, sometimes, a person’s very existence is such a struggle that they do not have the freedom to become individuals. Children beg for change, women beg for equality, rape victims beg to be heard, free-thinkers beg for rationality.

A country of beggars cannot be free, can it?

Then a German-based think tank comes along and rates Bangladesh as one of the newest autocracies in the world. Isn’t that quite the achievement?

I find myself caught between celebrating our nation’s “developing” status (whatever that means; perhaps another linguistic façade behind which we will carry on as an imperfect collective?) and bemoaning the fact that it is official, we are no longer a democracy.

The current government denies the allegations — and I remain wary of all governments, not only autocratic ones — and, to some extent, I do realize that democracy has multiple forms, and perhaps we have worn a most unattractive democratic garb at the moment.

To deem Bangladesh a simple autocracy is unfair, to some extent, especially considering how much, still, we are (technically) able to do. But that could change, and it could change very fast.

The real tragedy, of course, would be that we have come full circle.

And, if we suspect we have come full circle, maybe the other tragedy is that sacrifice has become inevitable. We must become free, as we once became.

We must, first and foremost, say so.

SN Rasul is an Editorial Assistant in the Dhaka Tribune. Follow him @snrasul.

This article was first published on Dhaka Tribune

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