Dear Friend,
I have lived you for over a decade. In silence, I breath with you. When there was darkness, when there was not a single soul around, I have seen you sit in silence, right by my side. Sometimes, we would cry together. Sometimes, we would just feel the depth of each loss, each memory, each darkness.
You have never failed me.
Dear Friend,
I have lived you for over a decade. In silence, I breath with you. When there was darkness, when there was not a single soul around, I have seen you sit in silence, right by my side. Sometimes, we would cry together. Sometimes, we would just feel the depth of each loss, each memory, each darkness.
You have never failed me. You have never left me. Days after days, months after months. Years after years. Sometimes, you would hide under my bed, or, in the attic of my mind, and give me my space. But, you were always the jealous one. You always wanted me to remember you. You always wanted me to know that you were there, in the background of all the music, and all the songs that I danced to. Each time, you felt I was escaping you, each time, you felt I was flying too high, each time the bells on my feet rang louder, you felt like I was betraying you.
You would run back to me, like an angry lover, a jealous lover, and hold me and stand beside me. And, there we were again. You and me. Inseparable souls. Swimming in this sea of darkness, years after years.
I would watch you. I still do. Especially, when the world is asleep. I look at you, your darkness, your intensity, your richness, your reverence, your depth, with wonder. Your depth is more than anything I have ever seen or felt in my life. Every bit of you is so powerful, and you leave a lasting impact. The kind that an old lover can leave. The kind that you feel only through extraordinary love, through extraordinary levels of vulnerability.
Your memory lingers on in my mind. You seem to have left a mark in my mind. Many times, I have battled to come out of you. Never unscathed. No, never that. That is the beauty of being with you. That is the beauty of having you within me. You never leave without a mark. You leave behind so much for me, that I refuse to believe that you will ever leave. And, you never fail me. You always come back to me, like a passionate and faithful lover.
Your mood changes a lot. Sometimes, you play, sometimes you tease me for days, with blasts from the past, with rough, unclear memories here and there. Sometimes, you are just a distant memory and most times, you are me, and a part that I carry with me. You sometimes, take over me, and that’s when we fight. I fight you every day. And you refuse to give up against me. We are both so stubborn. I won’t give up either. No matter how much you try, no matter how much you stand strong, I continue to fight you. I fight you, I run against you. Days after days. Months after months. Years after years.
You are committed. You are faithful. Everyone deals with you in their own way. Everyone finds their own survival mechanism, some kind of mechanism to cope, to survive, with you. They say, you are deep. You are rare. You are the hardest thing ever. And you are a process. We all must go through you. And one day, they say, surely you will end yourself. One day, they say, you will leave each of us, you will leave me. But, no one knows when you will leave.
Some live with you in words, some scream at you out loud, some, through tears, some through anger, frustration and some through utter silence. They tell me, you are not a state, you are a process, and you must end. Someone told me, you are the kind, who just leaves one fine morning. Without any notice. Any messages. Or any notes. You might take days before you leave. Even months, years, and even decades. And then, one day, you will be gone. But, who leaves like that? No goodbyes, no closure, no last words? How can you choose to stay however long you want, and then chose to leave whenever you want? Is that even fair?
I refuse to believe you will leave. I don’t think, you ever end. Never. But, maybe, you just change. You change your shape and sometimes, your form. There is just no exit for you.
I breath you every day, my friend. There has not been a day, I have not felt a pang of you. You remind me of my losses, that I can’t recoup. You remind me of the darkest memories, that refuse to part me. You remind me of the truths, you remind me of my heartaches. You bring me the beginning of another you, where there is no ending of you. You bring me you, and you hurt my soul all you want. Yet, you love me enough never to leave.
And, I like, a helpless lover, like a mad woman, like a crazy friend, continue to love you and fight you each day. I love you for all the depth you make me experience. I fight you against your power to drown me in the depths of your darkness. And I fight you. Each day. Each moment, in the hope, that you will come around, and be just a little less difficult, for a moment in time.
Yours truly
Me
Having spent the first decade of our lives in the Middle East, my sister and I grew up listening to stories of home, the historical and cultural significance of our land- of love for language, of songs of freedom, of beauty of the rivers, of people’s power and of revolution. It was our parent’s way of making sure we were in touch with our land despite the distance. We were always told, desh is not just a piece of land, or a geographical location. It is what you carried with yourself, wherever you go and wherever you maybe.
My parents spoke a lot about history, literature and revolution. The history and revolutionary stories were not just limited to the birth of Bangladesh, and the various movements that the country went through, but it extended to insignificant stories of young men and women, who through their own expressions of freedom, sought for a change mechanism in the country. My mother would tell us stories of college friends who would go all out, defy norms, and display their beliefs through mediums such as different forms of art, writings, and more.
For them, the societal issues were important, and they believed it was in their hands to change minds, change society, the psyche of people and only then real change would come about.
Coming back to Bangladesh at the age of 10 did not really feel that different then. But, growing up did bring that realisation to life. The stark realities of the society, the way it is shaped, the way it is administered and the way it is moulded became much more distinct and harder to look past.
After all these years of living here, living through many developments, events and socio- political changes, desh is really a hard place to be in. There is a vacuum, a gap that makes one feel incomplete and disintegrated.
Over the years, a deep sense of mistrust has developed among us regarding politics. It is not just the politics – there is a profound disconnection between the way this country is run, and the romanticised version of democracy we learned from books and western news. Is it the flawed governance, the lack of transparency, or the sheer absence of any form of accountability – be it in development planning, public expenditure system, or policy implementation? Ever since we learned the phrase “people power”, we’ve known that we elect our governments through a democratic system – yet when it comes to access to minimum rights, or even information, we are suddenly not as important as we were during elections.
Bangladesh’s politics remains characterised by political power built upon family legacies, a lack of connection to those families disenfranchises us from the basic rights we assumed we had when we voted. And once this realisation sinks in, it brings with it a malaise that softly blends into apathy. Is it still a wonder that many analysts continue to ask – are we, the young generation, at all interested to bring change?
Across the world, there are several cases where the young generation has come forward to bring change in societies and countries. For them, it is not about recreating the halcyon politics of generations ago, but the recognition that new patterns of citizenship call for new processes and new institutions that reflect the values of the contemporary public, while keeping the essence of their land and what it stands for alive.
Last year, on September 17, 2011, the world saw a people powered movement representing a significant number of youth start ‘Occupy Wall Street’. The movement began in Liberty Square in Manhattan’s Financial District, and has spread to over 100 cities in the United States and actions in over 1,500 cities globally. This movement is fighting back against the corrosive power of major banks and multinational corporations over the democratic process, and the role of Wall Street in creating an economic collapse that has caused the greatest recession in generations.
This movement was followed after the extraordinary uprisings that the world witnessed in Egypt and Tunisia, and it aims to fight back against the richest 1 percent of people that are writing the rules of an unfair global economy that is impacting the future of the young generation.
Aside from revolutionary movements, the young generation is bringing revolution through changing societies. Take the example of the Greek society, which is experiencing significant economic, political and social change. While there are various changes at work, one of the remarkable phenomena is the change in the society through the young generation. The Greek young generation is now called to resolve social anomalies inherited by older generations. Young Greeks experience enormous uncertainty and insecurity about the future and they are trying to create their own mechanisms to cope with the unknown, and they are really coming forward and bringing reforms in the way the society’s behaviour was administered for decades.
In Marxist terms, increasingly, all across the world, subjective conditions are beginning to align with the objective conditions. The young generation, led by those in the Middle East, is beginning to wake up to the realisation that they are living and consequently inheriting a world that is simply not sustainable. It is said that, when subjective conditions align with objective conditions, revolution generally ensues. And, increasingly, as world based on these objective conditions continues on, it is inevitable that revolution will spread to other countries. The young are, and will begin to wake up to the lack of sustainability in every country across the world, including Bangladesh.
In Bangladesh, while it is true that we notice a certain degree of disengagement of this generation in politics, there are a wide range of ways in which the young generation is making its voice heard beyond the election and political processes. These people have held their own voices, through mediums such as social media platforms, electronic and print media, groups, networks for various causes to express their opinion. Increasingly, this generation is seen to be participating in protests, signing petitions, expressing their opinions through steady movements.
In this regard, the stereotype of a politically disengaged younger generation is not fully accurate in Bangladesh. This generation in Bangladesh is increasingly finding other ways to be involved in public life through their very own voices. Having said that, it is also true that this is represented only by a small segment of the larger number of youth in the country. This small segment of the population is spread around, spread out, as though they are separated atoms, unable to come together and stand together, and represent a singular strong voice.
There are various factors that are at work here, one of them being the need for change in mindset, which is characterised by stern practices, jealousy, pettiness, norm of silence due to stigma, gender inequality and the lack of acceptance of the young generation and its abilities.
This need for change in society is not an easy task to achieve. There is a need to reach out to a wider range of the young generation across all socio-economic backgrounds, those who have a minimum or no access to basic necessities and those who represent what they call a ‘post-emotional’ generation, who lack the anger, the edge, the passion, and have the principle desire to live lightly. The latter segment, despite having access to education and almost all the priviledges of life, seems to focus in the material comfort and move through a selective process of seeing things, perceiving them and acting on them.
So, in this context, how do we change minds, and in the end, change societies? It is perhaps in the hands of those segregated atoms to come together, as much as they can, and perhaps the rest will follow the lead.
The time has probably come, to reshape this land that we call desh- perhaps it is time for the subjective condition to align with the objective condition. The road to revolution may be the longest and the hardest one, but it would surely be worth it, for it would be for a dream that we are yet to achieve – a truly independent Bangladesh that we are yet to experience, for us, and for many generations to come.
Published in The Daily Star: http://www.thedailystar.net/suppliments/2012/anniversary_2012/section2/where.htm
It was different experience in Colombo this past week, as twenty youth traveled all the way to meet, enthuse, engage and empower each other. We all had gathered because we have one common belief- that we will tackle the impacts of climate change together. The South Asian Youth Climate Action Network (SAYCAN) consisted of youth participants from India, Bangladesh, Pakistan, Nepal, Maldives, Afghanistan, and Sri Lanka- countries that are most vulnerable to the impacts of Climate Change.
All these youth were different in there own ways with extremely diverse backgrounds. Some studied Environmental Management, some, Economics, some Computer Engineering, some Journalism and Mass Communication and some Literature or Law. They speak different languages, different dialects, in different ways. Some are passionate about science, and others about art.
They have different tastes too, mind you. Some like shopping till they drop, and some like sight seeing. Some are into books and philosophy, some into music and some into photography. They look at life differently and live differently. Some believe in the peace of finding calm and quite within themselves to lead life. some find solace in finding little things in life beautiful and making the best out of it.
They all work on projects and programs, relating to environment and climate change. Their designs are different, so are their models. They have lots of ideas, and energy.
How do you bring them under the same roof, how do you get them to agree on the same goal, vision, and action plan for the South Asian youth?
This was the challenge for SAYCAN- to bring all these youth to explore and agree on common goals and aspirations and make them draw the road map for the network. There is a always a fear for these attempts to turn into talk shops, to deviate into something completely different.
Lets face it. Climate Change movements have been extremely challenging. Following last year’s BIG failure at COP 15, challenges seem to take a greater toll.
Many articles continue to suggest different pictures of this big game- some say it is time to give up, the political order of liberal democracy is just incapable of rising to this challenge. Others, continue to believe that the world’s biggest polluters will not bend and the rest bring in new models to combat climate change. Stephen Hawking being the man of physics, suggests that mankind should colonise distant planets. James Lovelock thinks the remnants of humanity will seek refuge on the tropical shores of the Arctic.
Moving to the scientists, some suggest climate change does not exist to begin with and other scientific data now strongly suggests that physical and biological changes in the planet are increasingly greater than those defined by the modelling in the most recent Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) report. Despite the steadily rising levels of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere, even countries expressing commitment are having little impact compared to the huge task in hand.
Governments continue to fight, focusing on the monetary values than trying to just solve the issue first. Everything is being calculated. Survival of people is being negotiated. It is all about the money. It is all about mandates. It is all about negotiation.
In the middle of this, you have youth movements striving everyday to fight for this cause. You can tell, that some of these passionate people would one day give up and just walk away, instead of watching the whole climate debate go no where. After all, isn’t that the only way to not hurt?
I myself, could not help, but wonder what it was that had brought some 20 of us together to fight for a cause that is under so much criticism and how we would agree on anything by the end of it all. More often than not, all around us, passion seems to seep away and leave behind just uncertainties and insecurities. This cause has the same potential.
Then, why, despite all questions, have all these youth come together for this conference? Why spend so many hours, all day long brainstorming, planning and designing action plans to tackle climate change in our own little ways? Our governments do not recognize our strength and we are never a part of the policies that run our lives. Then why bother?
Some of these people have stayed up nights to make this possible, run around from one funding organization to the other, in hope of organizing a conference for youth. Some have skipped their biggest events, some have paid out of their own savings, just to be here. together.
It was during the first night at the beach that I stared at the distant endless ocean, waves slapping against the hot sand of the beach, while I felt my feet burrowing into the deeper depths of the cool sand. I wondered, why I was here? Why all these people were here? why so many of these youth were working so hard in their own country for this cause?
I could not help but think of this Greek myth.
Greek myths never failed to fascinate me. Somehow, I seem to have had the greatest fascination of all towards the Greek mythology since God knows when. Staring at the beach, the story of Pandora’s Box came to my mind so many times.
According to Greek myth, Pandora was the first woman on earth created by the Greek Gods. She was stunning and she was created by Zeus to take revenge on mankind. It is said that the Gods would give her gifts. Each one of them. Which is why her name meant ‘the bearer of gifts’. Pandora was given a beautiful box by the Gods and asked never to open it. Pandora, however, could not resist herself and had finally opened the box, which let out all the misdeeds, diseases, hatred, greed, jealousy, pain and sufferings in the world.
Pandora shocked and guilty, had closed the box as soon as possible to ensure nothing else came out of that box to destroy the world. Zeus wanted Pandora to open this box, so she could bring sufferings into this world. It is said that this story explains the world we live in today- the world where we are consumed by jealousy, anger, selfishness, hatred, greed and many more.
However, the myth also suggests, the box was closed and there was still something left there, and that was Hope.
Greek myths never explained further as to why hope was left in the box- if hope should be taken in absolute sense or narrow sense. There have been millions of interpretations of this myth since then. Archaic and classic Greek literature went further to explain the concept of hope. One thing that came out of the mythographers was that hope was not gone. Hope was inside that box, intact, to ensure that mankind has the ability to live through all the odds that life has stored for us.
True or not, personally, I have believed this version of the story- that hope is intact and will keep us going come what may. I would have died, had I not seen a glimpse of hope in my life. In the worst times of my life, hope pulled me through. Every morning that I wake up, I wake up with hope, as though it is a part of me, a part of who I am and the sheer reason for my survival.
And I realised, it is hope, too, that brought all these South Asian Youth Together, to ‘enthuse, engage and empower’ in the middle of all the stories of Climate Change and failure.
For us youth, science or economics is not the basis for negotiation of our survival. True, there may be big failures, and true, there may not be any end to this long debate and our efforts may never be recognized. True, negotiations may never come to an agreement.
But, it is hope that keeps us going. Everywhere. Everyday. And we continue to work, together, in our little ways with that one thing that keeps us together- and that is hope. for better days to come.
Tahmina Shafique writes about the exhibition in London that records and retells the birth of Bangladesh and the images that bring to life the resilence and melancholy of people during 1971
Those who have lived through the war of independence in 1971, speak of it with tears of pride and inexplicable melancholy. Often, they struggle to fight back tears and find words that would perhaps justify the depths of the movement- the depth of the extraordinary power, resilence and belief of the people.
More often than not, they say, words fail to do justice- to the desperation, to the strength, to the struggles, the desperate cries, the haunting memories, the images, the bloodsheds and more.
True, words fail to justify even the bloodiest war of the twentieth century. And more often, words seem to die and with that a part of history seems to fade. So has the history of 1971 in so many ways. Even though the war stands till date as the worst genocide of World War II era – the number of deaths being well into seven figures, outstripping Rwanda (800,000 killed) and probably surpassing even Indonesia (1 million to 1.5 million killed in 1965-66), it remains to be a largely unacknowledged event in the history of the world.
The larger part of the world population seem to have very little knowledge and awareness concerning the campaign of violence on the part of the Pakistani army as the Bengali people of the then East Pakistan sought to achieve political sovereignty.
Thirty seven years on, the war remains to be a contested issue- those who had seen the war continue to fight to pass on the true stories to the next generation and at the same time fight between emotional and psychological intensity that the war left within them.
In the past 37 years, so much has been written, so much told, yet it is felt that none of it could bring to the life the true images of the war, none of it could justify what this people’s war meant.
Yet, amidst these, photographs speak the tale of the war that time may have forgotten. It is also true that war photographs remain to be powerful in history- because of the intensity – both emotional and physical that it portrays, but also perhaps the photographs of 1971 stand out for several other reasons. More than anything else, the photographers seem to stand out for the one fact that it was the people’s war- not the armies- but people- farmers, villagers, man, woman and child.
This month as an exhibition titled ‘Bangladesh 1971’ takes place at the Rivington Place public gallery in Shoreditch, East London, they retell the tale of the war visually, bringing back painful memories to Bangladeshis and leaving others in awe. These photographs of the war taken in 1971 bring to life the very images of the beginning of a dream- the movement of people and the birth of Bangladesh.
In this exhibition, most were amateur photographers at that time, men who just happened to hold a camera when they found themselves caught up in the war. For almost two decades, Shahidul Alam – director of the Drik, the photography Library in Dhaka and a curator of the current exhibition along with Mark Sealy, director of photographic agency Autograph ABP – went beyond the struggle to justify the war with words and collected these photos, visiting the photographers in their homes and saving their negatives.
These images taken by these accidental archivists, 37 years later have gone on to become an intimate, reflexive portrait of the war, ranging from photographs that are well known to others that have never been seen in public.
The exhibition consists of more than 100 images organised in loose chronology that begins with the first resistance of the Bengalis, to the Pakistani occupation. The exhibition portrays some powerful images. The spirit and resilience of 1969-70, when war was imminent is captured most powerfully by Rashid Talukdar’s image of a ten-year-old bare feet boy, leading a street march and shouting ecstatically and leading the group.
The collection includes many iconic images of war: Abdul Hamid Raihan’s image of two children staring into the distance, a carpet of missiles scattered at their feet; Mohammed Shafi’s portrait of a freedom fighter – a boy who could be from anywhere – reveals a young man’s fear despite his attempt at studied resolve. Other images depict the horror and the haunting night mares that many speak of till date.
On the night of December 14, knowing they were about to lose the war, the Pakistani army and its local paramilitary allies massacred the future doctors, teachers, lawyers, and writers of Bangladesh in an effort to cripple the new nation. The bodies were not found until after independence, when a mass grave was discovered in the city. The exhibition includes a powerful image of this massacre- a ghostlike face surrounded by submerged bricks and covered in a thin sheen of mud.
Bangladesh 1971 also showcases the many portraits of the slaughter. A photograph shows a uniformed man circled by a large crowd, stabbing a civilian with a bayonet; the caption tells us that it is not a Pakistani soldier but a Bengali one, attacking a local man who has collaborated with the army, is outstanding. According to reports, at Alam’s first exhibition of war photos in Bangladesh, the government had requested that he removed this image, in which the roles of victim and perpetrator are reversed. His refusal led to the exhibition being shown at a private gallery rather than at the National Museum.
It is here that Alam is most successful in bringing the untold tales of the war and the complexities of the many roles played. The exhibition in all, documents the political story, the landslide election victory of Sheikh Mujib, the betrayals by collaborators, the massacre of intellectuals two days before the surrender of the Pakistani forces – and at the same time it reveals other stories- some untold, some silent.
Walking out in the newly liberated town of Mymensingh, the photographer Naib Uddin Ahmed had come across woman who had been raped and tortured by the Pakistani army: his picture of a woman covering her face with her hair bears witness to the contradictory state policy regarding such women and the powerful image seems to speak louder than words.
Another powerful image that showcases women’s struggle and their actions in the war is the image of women preparing for battle prior to the crackdown of March 25, 1971. The exhibition includes many more photographs- idyllic image of two women wading through a pond with a basket of flowers, carrying grenades covered with water hyacinth- show the strong role played by women. The countless images, a visual testament to the trauma and hope of independence.
Some of the photographers were also of actual freedom fighters, like Mohammad Shafi, whose diaries, buried underground and recovered after the war, are the only non-photographic artefacts on display. Alam characterises these Bangladeshi photographers as freedom fighters for the huge personal risks they took to preserve the only ‘physical documentation of this war’.
As Bangladesh 1971, a visual journey into the birth of Bangladesh brings to life the memories to many and awes the rest, thousands of miles away from home, in many ways at an important political time such as this, important questions once again appear and linger on- have we as a nation paid respect to those who fought for independence? Are we still fighting another fight?
I need a week to pack up
or maybe more.
Could you do my work for this week?
I gotta dig a hole to keep
to keep too many things
your box would probably not suffice
nor would your biggest suit case
there are way too many moments we gotta wrap up tonight
too many moments to pack and lock away my friend
You can Keep them all for me, just leave me a few good songs.
Exactly, there are too many moments
Should we start packing them all? or should I just leave them in the attic?
Too many moments – too many little things and big ones
and none at all
too many first times
Too many aches, and too many scars
Too many words too, would you not say?
Chew them, and your jaws will start to rust
Swallow them and they would be too much to take in
Where do we keep them?
How do we keep away?
keep away from memories
Keep away from lonliness
Keep away from the scars that remain?
There are too many voices, too many silent screams
screaming at you. you just left too many shades of blue
or may be black
clean your own part, clean that dirt
why leave too many on this floor?
Why would you not bother?
Clean this surface
Clean that attic of mine
pack those things lying around
pack up the smell too,
the rotten smell of the many bitter memories
pack the good ones too
Take everything, just leave me a few good songs though
for now. forever.
forever is too long to hold you by
but those good songs of you and I will suffice
would you not say?
I am digging deeper
lets bid farewell to the many moments
to the broken promises, disappointments, bitter memories
to that screaming silence and you?
I think about writing every other day. about the little somethings that sometimes slip away, and nothing at all. clearly i never get around to do that.
Some days just pass too fast and I want there to be more hours in a day- to complete the neverending to-do lists, to breathe, to relax and ponder. and there are somedays like today, when i keep checking the time and it seems to stand still. Weekends are blissful most of the times. Except the Friday evening classes and make-up classes on saturdays and work that comes up once in a while.
In the past few months, I have been searching for answers, trying to figure out things- both about myself and others around me. Often, i lose track of time. of conversations. of patterns. I just phase out. my brain cells seem to shut down by evening, and i begin to ponder. at other days, i just keep thinking about 150 things at the same time. keep questioning, keep searching, keep exploring.
Sometimes, I just stand still and feel this would the moment that I would know the answers. to all those jumbled up puzzles and questions. but, that does not happen.
I am still searching. still trying to figure out the answers. there is no gurantee on anything. but i seem to seek gurantees, and assurance. not just for a specific time period, but for as long as i may be alive. that does not happen for products, does it? how would it happen to other things?
