Anna Bhai, Gandhigiri and Us

Published in bdnews24.com on August 31, 2011

The arrival of Anna bhai and his ‘Gandhigiri’, ironically copying a Bollywood storyline of Munna bhai and his embracing of Gandhi in dealing with national problem, has undoubtedly captured the imagination of the world. But not everybody is a fan. Arundhati Roy has almost called him a fake and the people who are seething in anger are just staying quiet for the right time to criticise him. But Anna Hazare definitely has arrived with Indian media and the middle-class hailing him as the new Messiah.

My prediction: this jubilation will be short lived and Team Anna will regularly venture into territories which will become problematic for democratic governance. However, even though I think his solutions are not well thought through (such sweeping power to an unelected body can never be good for democracy), he deserves a huge bow. At the least, the movement has made certain section of the citizens feel empowered and created a huge demand for change from the way business is being done. That is no small feat.

Whose face are we saving?

Pubished in bdnews24.com

The year was 1983. I was 9. In those days, colour TV was a rare commodity in Dhaka. We didn’t have it. But our neighbours next door, a middle-aged couple with a young girl, did. Luckily when we were at the roof, right by the water tank, we could hide and still get a direct view of the room where they had their brand new Sony colour TV. Once in a while, we would go and hide next to that tank to watch the ‘coloured’ ‘Incredible Hulk’. Who needs to listen to the dialogue when you can see the characters in colour? We were peeping toms watching our favourite monster go green in anger.

One night, however, the TV was not on air. Instead, we were introduced to a different monster – a live one, and it was none other than the man of the house. The husband was beating the wife while their 7-year-old daughter was begging mercy for her mother. I had never seen anything like that before. There was swearing followed by slaps, kicks followed by more swearing, slaps and kicks and it went on and on.

“Abbu, ar na, abbu, please ar na” – I still can hear the girl screaming at the top of her voice trying to save her mother, a respected teacher at Eden College.

Losing the plot with Meherjaan

PUBLISHED IN bdnews24.com

Meherjaan movie poster

There are times when in the middle of posturing and profiling, we lose sight of the big picture. Arguing for a ban on the movie Meherjaan is one such moment.   Those who were asking for a ban, or who are happy that its distributors have pulled down the curtain on the film, forget that a very dangerous precedence is being set — tow the line of an ‘acceptable’ narrative in your creative pursuit or perish.

Of course, I had problems with the film’s narrative that portrayed a feel-good image of the war. But I have been stunned with the sheer ferocity of the criticism the film received. I had the chance to see an earlier cut of Meherjaan six months ago with a lot of expectation, only to be disappointed by the script and the absurdity of its plot line. A film that campaigns on its political background — can it claim to be an apolitical love story when faced with criticism?

But I thought this was the beginning of a healthy exchange. I thought it was the beginning of the clash of storytelling between two generations — one that was too emotionally close to the War to accept any other narrative of the story and the one for whom the research of the War was done through interviews and books. It is foolish to dismiss either of these narratives as both were relevant. But it was important to keep the space open for debate to get a semblance of balance on both sides.

I was looking forward to a rational debate on substance, heated discussions on the history, and in the end a populace that has more clarity on our War through the discourse. Instead, what we saw, as it all too frequently happens in Bangladesh, was a debate that quickly descended into the personal territory. What’s the director’s family background? What was the hidden agenda? Why was the film released now? And most alarmingly, how did the Censor Board release this film?

Why? Why such personalisation and vilification when there is plenty to criticise on the substance of the film?

Those who asked this question were also put into a bracket with some colourful labels – “Engreji blogwala”, “bidesh ferot”, “out of touch”, “personally benefited”.   This is not the first time the progressive camp reacted with such vitriol when faced with such ‘nuisance factors’. I recall how Maqsudul Huq Maq of the band Feedback was castigated, vilified and eventually blacklisted in BTV in the late ‘90s for his experimentation with Tagore songs.

Still for a lot of people, the strong reaction against Meherjaan could be put into proper context. The common narrative of the War is not established on firmer ground yet, some said — thanks to many distortions in the past 35 years. There was nervousness about a counter narrative. “We haven’t had a closure yet”. “We are not ready for a counter narrative yet”.

Or so we are told.

Having accepted that, why do we not leave it up to the public to decide rather than trying to influence what it can or cannot see?

Too often, we underestimate the power of the average citizens in deciding what they want to accept and reject. Quite in contrast to existing norms, Tareque and Catherine Masud in the last few weeks have taken their latest film ‘Runway’ to the mass all around the country. In theatres after theatres in different cities, packed audience came and watched the film based on a somewhat controversial topic of the rise of religious extremism in Bangladesh. He took it to places where it mattered and left it upon the audience to judge his film. The results were surprising. The audience engaged in lively debates after the show and the director came away with an array of discourses – some expected and some not so expected — which, I believe, will only make his future works stronger. The lesson therefore is that it is extremely patronising to ‘shield’ the public from the so-called ‘incorrect’ narratives. Show it to as many people as possible and let the public decide what is right and what is wrong.

Unfortunately, that hasn’t happened with Meherjaan.  It couldn’t even be shown in Dhaka for more than a week. In spite of sell out crowds, the distributor pulled the film off the screen; the real reason behind the pull out is yet to be known but if some news reports are to be believed, the withdrawal of the censor certificate is likely to follow.

This will no doubt make some of those from the “progressive camp”, who were asking for the ban and those who originally questioned its censor certificate, happy.  But losers will be those who truly want an open space for creative exploration and who want an open space for debate without questioning each others’ agenda.

The losers will be those who could have hoped for a better film on 1971 in future by doing an honest critic of Meherjaan, which will now be impossible as it gains martyrdom.

The tragedy is not that film’s life was cut short. Real tragedy is that the intense reaction and subsequent exchanges could have provoked the younger generation to search for the real history of the War and its relevance. Now it’s a missed opportunity.

“In these transition times, we are all fighting for the soul of our country we live”, said Rahul Bose, Bollywood’s thinking actor, at an event in Dhaka for the Asian Women’s University last week.

Indeed we are.  However, among all the posturing and internal politic, those of us, who claim to be from the progressive liberal camp in this country, forget what kind of soul we aspire to have for our nation. Will this soul be about creativity, openness and fairness or will this be about close mindedness, banning of views that we don’t like, and censorship?

Judging from the reactions that I hear that Tareque and Catherine Masud got in their brilliant attempt to take the film to all over Bangladesh, I suspect it’s the former. Ironically, in the case of Meherjaan, however, we are setting a terrible precedence of intolerance with the vilification of a creative pursuit and celebration of its ‘withdrawal’. This, I am afraid, will return and haunt us for a long time to come.

Does this mean I am advocating to allow anything and everything under the sun in the name of freedom of speech?  Surely not. Freedom comes with responsibilities.  Surely Rubaiat Hossain, having access to the power and privilege, due to her family connection, could have showed more maturity, restraint and care in the portrayal of the war and particularly the women victims of the war. She deserves some of the criticism she is getting on the substance of the movie. But the movie by all account deserves to be shown.

There is still time. Let’s criticise the film to pieces. But let us protest any restriction in showing the film — be it official or unofficial.  Even if we hate the film, let us protest any attempt on censorship. Let us allow our people to make up their own minds about the film by letting them go and see it. More importantly in this process, let us aspire to make a better film – much better than Meherjaan – that captures the true essence of our great Liberation War.

Endless grief but no accountability

published July 30, Daily Star

Photo: APAsif Saleh

AFTER the recent Nimtoli fire, someone on the Unheard Voices blog commented: “Look at the reaction after the fire, endless grief but no demand for accountability from the citizens.” The fire truck came to Nimtoli but quickly ran out of water and had to go back through the narrow alleys and get water again. A few of the firefighters tried desperately with their limited resources.

Only a few weeks after the worst fire tragedy in Bangladesh that highlighted the resource constraint of our public safety organisation, the budget for fire service was cut. There was not a word anywhere. We were still busy grieving without asking the right question.

Who is accountable? How can we do better in response? How can we get to the bottom of it? No questions asked. We have become a country of fatalists. This was in our fate. So let’s just move on.

Today is the birth anniversary of Nurul Islam, the Gonotontri party leader who was burnt to death along with his son in a mysterious fire incident — another two people whose death remains unaccounted for.

A few months ago, his daughter Moutushi Islam showed us a documentary on the progress of investigation (or the lack of it) at Shahid Minar. The Shahid Minar was filled with people watching the documentary with tears in their eyes.

In their grief, they all probably thought this was a pointless exercise. Nothing will change, nothing will matter. What’s the point in demanding? Islam’s family and friends have has made sure that the demand for justice remained. Asking the right question is the first step and the most important step in this process.

So what are the right questions in this case?

-After the initial PDB report that concluded that it was not a short circuit, a “curious” follow-up report was released that contained misleading and erroneous findings. The MD of PDB himself was not aware of the second report. This suggests that some vested interest group has been trying to tamper with the investigation. However, there seems to be no clear effort to identify who influenced PDB to come up with the erroneous second report.

-Nurul Islam was called back to Dhaka on that fateful night by a trusted associate based on a false newspaper report — however, there was no investigation or interrogation regarding the source of this false report. Why?

-The issue of broken key door and bent window grill does not seem to have been taken seriously during the investigation. Why?

-This case has been listed as a “sensational case” but still there has been very little progress in the past 20 months. Why?

-There was no proper forensic analysis done — some chemical analysts were brought in, but no formal report ever came out. Why?

-There is repeated effort to try to conclude that it was a short circuit despite the fact that there is clear evidence to the contrary. Why?

A few months ago an inexplicable series of incidents took away the life a young man, an acquaintance of mine, in a fire. The police investigation team (which does not have a proper forensic team) was clueless and termed it a “short circuit.” The affluent family brought in a forensic expert from Singapore and the explanation was found in only a matter of days. It was not a short circuit. The family mourned, but they were at peace.

Nurul Islam’s family is not affluent. Nurul Islam spent all his life fighting for the rights of the workers. They cannot bring in a specialist from abroad. But the government can. Until we have built the expertise, can we not take help of outsiders to build our capacity? Until we build the capacity, can we not at least take the help for at least the most sensational cases?

Or is justice in this country for those who can afford it? Or are we going to remain a nation of fatalists who think if it was in our fate, then nothing could have been done about it and so no investigation is needed.

Enough of events and activities, we now need to demand results and outcomes. The trial of war criminals is ensuing. The process of righting the wrongs has started. Let’s not stop there.

Asif Saleh is the founder of Drishtipat, a social rights organisation.

Burning Inside

‘গরিবের প্রানের কোনো মুল্য নাই এই দেশে’, (There is no worth for poor people in this country) says the Biriwala in front of Dhaka Medical College.

I just returned from the burn unit of Dhaka Medical College. People are still trying to figure out there what just happened. The roads were too congested and small for the fire trucks to go in. Once they were in, pretty soon the water ran out and so they had to go back and get water again. In the process, more than 100 lives were in flames — just like that. By the time I went this morning, most of the bodies were dispatched to the morgue. I went in to the unit of the not so seriously injured ones at first.

As it happens in Dhaka medical college, most of these emergency patients don’t have any bed in the first place. They are either in the lobby and the not so serious ones typically are in the floor. But it did not seem that way yesterday with the serious ones lying in the floor bed as well. A man, half burnt, lying in pain, a mother sitting with his young son with burnt hands, father carrying his 7 year old with burnt legs and promising him what he would bring him from the store when he gets better. Most patients, however,  are blankly staring not sure what has hit them. A few journalists are reporting. They are also tired from reporting, I guess. The nurses could barely keep their eyes open. I slowly walk towards the serious injuries — or attempt to move there and I can’t.

Innovation Begins at Home

Published in Bangladesh Brand Forum Anniversary issue:

At 1.30 AM the night before the PM was going to launch the Digital Innovation Fair, an email reached my inbox:

‘I just came back from Novo theatre, the venue for the Fair. Even at midnight, it was buzzing with people from many ministries setting up their stalls for the 4^th. I cannot recall a more energetic group of government people up and down the hierarchy all single-mindedly focused on showcasing multi-dimensional service deliveries. Each stall has become a pride and joy of a government agency. The energy was unmistakable, infectious really. ‘

A mobile paradigm for service delivery

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Friday, March 5, 2010

IN a resource-starved country like Bangladesh, where almost forty percent of the population earns less than a dollar a day, providing access via desktop solutions is untenable. On the other hand, the growth in mobile industry in the past decade and the reach of mobile phones in the rural areas have turned cell phones into the most accessible and affordable form of technology for the masses and an obvious choice of service delivery channel for public agencies.

A new start for India and Bangladesh?

Published in the Guardian on 19 January 2010.

The Bangladeshi prime minister’s visit to India won only vague promises. It is time to demand a more equal relationship.

 

There was a sense of history at the Bangladeshi prime minister’s office on Saturday. Sheikh Hasina, in a show of strength, flanked by the top members of her government, was addressing the country’s editors and reporters. In an unprecedented White House-style press conference broadcast live on all the TV channels and radio stations, her mood was combative. She was defending the agreements she had signed in India the previous week. “Are we to let our resources remain unused forever?… The deals will fight South Asia’s common enemy – poverty,” she said, trying to defuse opposition to the deals.

Suddenly India is all over the airwaves in Bangladesh. (The visiting Indian cricket captain has created his own controversy by calling the Bangladeshcricket team “ordinary”.) Civil society, too, has rounded up experts for discussions on the prime minister’s visit to India. Talkshows and blogs are deluged with comments, with listeners calling in. But if you switch to the Indian media, the trip gets very limited airtime and print space. Even during the visit, the news hardly made the front pages. This difference in media treatment underlines the relationship between India and Bangladesh. And this is reflected on the policy level – India reacts with indifference and apathy when Bangladesh reaches out, and concerns and accusations when Bangladesh plays tough.

In spite of this lack of attention in India, how will the people of Bangladesh view this trip and the ensuing relationship? If it translates into more investment and economic activity, and ultimately jobs and income, that will surely be welcomed. But if it does nothing to remove the threats of upstream dam projects to local rivers and ecosystems or to stop the killing of civilians by Indian paramilitary forces at the border, while the trade imbalance between the country continues in India’s favour and the security rhetoric continues to reflect Indian perceptions and prejudices and not Bangladeshi reality, there will be a heavy political price to pay.

Can India afford to take that chance? Hardly. Over her first year in power, Hasina has gone out of her way, taking enormous political risks, to address India’s concern on security matters. Her party won three-quarters of the parliamentary seats, but she has already spent some of this political capital on India. And yet, if this visit was any indication, India has not reciprocated. There are genuine concerns in Bangladesh about the impact of India’s proposed Tipaimukh Dam, due to be built within 100km of Bangladesh’s north-eastern border, and the sharing of water from the Teesta river. Indian positions on either issue have hardly changed. The developments in the coming months will be crucial to assess if this is indeed a new start to Indo-Bangla relationship, as some analysts have argued.

What are the chances that India will move from its entrenched position on these issues? More importantly, is there any basis for Bangladesh expecting the relationship’s dynamics to change dramatically? Is it enough to trust the Indian government when it says no harm will come to Bangladesh? Has this worked in any unequal relationships between states?

Of course it hasn’t. And it won’t either in Bangladesh’s case unless it applies more leverage at the negotiation table. For that to happen, Bangladesh’s policymakers need to start thinking of the “China card”. Bangladesh has recently attracted investment attention from China’s private sector. It wouldn’t hurt to extend the relationship on the state level to advance some key strategic objectives. Both Pakistan and Sri Lanka have recently built sea ports using China’s assistance. Bangladesh too can explore options on building deep sea ports using China’s assistance.

As a friend of mine, a professor of international political economy, put it: “If India wants to treat Bangladeshis as equals I am all for integration. If we are going to be fenced in like rats (or Palestinians) in a context where India will clearly still use our territory as its market and for access routes (exactly like Israel), as a sovereign country we should explore how to change the balance of power in the region.”

It may be time for us to achieve far more concrete promises addressing our concerns from future India visits by our PMs. As I write this, India, the top cricketing nation, is playing Bangladesh, the bottom-ranked but lately resurgent test-playing country. Against the backdrop of the comment by the Indian captain that Bangladesh is an ordinary side, the dismal performance of their overconfident side on the first day will seem particularly sweet to Bangladeshis. We can only hope the regional importance of Bangladesh is not similarly underestimated.

The ‘Helpers’ of Our Lives

Published Oct, 2009 in Daily Star Magazine

Despite the apparently minor tasks they perform, domestic workers are an important part of our lives. Photo: Zahedul I Khan

I have moved back to Bangladesh recently after spending 19 years abroad. In the process of reintegration to the society, I have been amazed to see how much it has changed. I compare my teenage years with those of a teenager today and I find youngsters are so much more globalised, open to new ideas, and hungry for success.

However, there are certain things that have remained the same. Our attitude towards our domestic help have changed very little. Even though, we, the urbanites, spend a major chunk of our time agonising over our ‘kajer loks’, the issue of our treatment towards them still remains a taboo. Would I be really exaggerating if I say even though I had a full time stay-at-home mother, my life has been surrounded by domestic helps? Would it be any different a story for any of you who are reading this? Are they just our employees, or as people who share our private lives, they are a little more than that? I grapple with this issue while introducing my daughter to the domestic helps whom she calls ‘helpers’.

This write up is an ode to the invisible helpers who helped me become what I am.

My first orientation to the concept of domestic help was through Jainal who came from Bogra at the age of eight after losing his father. My mother employed him so that he could play with me and I was not bored in the afternoon. Jainal was an instant hit among our friends with his sharpness and athleticism. My brother and sister started teaching him during the time when President Zia made it compulsory for all SSC candidates to teach an elder illiterate. He was taken in for a ‘viva’ and he did so well that pretty soon all of our relatives and friends started taking him as their case study. Jainal moved on after a few years. He eloped with our chef 10 years older than him, and after a few years in wilderness came back to us looking for a job. His wish was granted in no time. Jainal runs a successful rental car company now and provides me with car service every time I need one in no time.

Much before Jainal there was Abdul bhai who taught me driving in between my trips to different tutors in Dhaka. Abdul bhai also has been with us since he was eight. His parents passed away and he came to our family in Kaptai. My mother can’t remember who brought him to us. But he graduated from a house help to chef, and then from a chef to in-house driver in a few years. Since then, through thick and thin, he has remained with us — now for 40 long years. My mother is as worried about his retirement plan as she is with hers. When my father died, Abdul bhai cried more than any body else. Till date, in his spare time he goes to his graveyard and makes sure that it’s clean and tidy.

Have you ever wondered what’s the story behind so many of the domestic helps being referred to by their son’s name?

I am wondering as I am thinking about Harun-er ma (Harun’s mother). We never asked her real name. But she was the cook-in-chief at our house for the longest time. When my sister had a baby, she asked Harun-er ma whether she wanted to come to the US to help her out. She was ready instantly. For the next five years, she took care of my nephews while my sister was at work peacefully. When I visited her there, she would often ask me to write a letter to Harun on behalf of her. I remember the indignation of a longing mother asking her child to be responsible. Harun was of my age and so Harun-er ma always had a special corner for me. After my return to Bangladesh 13 years later, Harun-er ma came to see me with tears in her eyes. Harun passed away due to some complication after a surgery. I was stunned. Harun-er ma has told my mother that she wants to cook in my house because that would make her feel that Harun is close to her. She starts work next month.

The person who gets the most emotion out of my mother still, however, is Aklima. Aklima stayed at our place for eight years. But she was notorious for her temper. She would fight with a karai if she could when she was in a bad mood, which would happen quite often. But she was a grand cook and someone my mother could rely on when she was away. She would be bitter and angry one moment, and the very next moment would be laughing away. One of her weekly rituals was to fight with my mother and make her mad as hell. We never could figure out why my mother employed a woman who made her so angry. Eventually one day it was a little too much for my mother and she let her go after a bitter fight. Aklima was diagnosed with breast cancer a year after she left our house. My mother quietly used to send her money for her treatment. She mellowed down a lot and eventually passed away only in her thirties, and talked about my mother till her dying days. Till date my mother fondly remembers her service.

When I remember these people and their stories, I often wonder about the stories of abuse I read in the paper. Only a few days ago I went to a child domestic worker drop-in center run by Ain O Salish Kendro and supported by Save the Children and Drishtipat. There I met many of these young Jainals, Abduls and Aklimas. They were trying to learn new skills and get education so that they could climb on the mobility ladder. I was fascinated talking to them. When I read their profiles, it all seemed too familiar. Sons and daughters of landless farmers coming to Dhaka for employment and getting disconnected from their families forever.

I asked the supervisor if they talk about any kind of abuse in their ‘host family’.
“All the time”, she replied.
“Do you not do anything about it?”, I asked.

“If I do anything, they will stop sending them over to the drop-in centre. I only alert people when their complaints become extreme and unbearable”.

“What kind of complaints do you get?”
“Physical abuse by the house head, sexual abuses by the young brothers-in-law of the family — it’s of all kinds. When I talk to them, they often deny it and get very defensive.”

My jaw dropped, and it explained after all these years why the middle class is still afraid to talk about this issue. We have moved ahead so much in our journey as an independent country. We take pride in the progress and liberalisation of our society. But when are we going to look at these skeletons in our closet? Too often we dehumanise our domestic helpers so that we can rationalise our treatment to them. But there lies a Jainal, Aklima, Abdul and Harun-er ma in all our houses.

Can we start with humanising them in our own houses first?

Asif Saleh is the founder of Drishtipat, a social and human rights organisation which is running a campaign for dignity and education for child domestic workers.

‘We are poor, but are we not human?’

Published in the Daily Star on 24 March 2009.

Asif Saleh and Rumi Ahmed
Unattended and uncared for.

Every Saturday our prime minister speaks directly to the common people for a few hours and hears their grievances, and later asks the relevant ministry to take action on these matters.

Yesterday was one such day. I wasn’t there. But if I were, what would I tell the PM?