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Dhaka Sunday December 16, 2012 |
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Editor's Note In my mind's eye The price paid for the victory Super powers in liberation war Genocide studies at epicentre of genocide Student politics: Story of glory and degeneration The unremembered friends of '71 1971: Of remembering, of not forgetting A child's victory Winter, war and refugee camps: December 1971 Requiem for the Falcon The story of Dan Coggin
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1971: Of remembering, of not forgetting Syed Badrul Ahsan Spring came to our courtyard on a long ago December afternoon. After all the weeks and months of murder and mayhem, of tears and travails, of homes burnt and women raped, of young men abducted and killed, of the elderly swiftly done to death by men calling themselves soldiers of the Pakistan army, Bangladesh emerged from the ashes of East Pakistan. And pure joy it was to be alive, to be young, to know that the land was finally ours, that we had indeed turned our backs on the pernicious two-nation theory which had kept us in its straitjacket for close to a quarter of a century. On that afternoon of 16 December 1971, it was Joi Bangla which reverberated all over the country. On the radio, Kazi Nazrul Islam's 'Srishti shukher ullashe' came alive, in all the euphoria of freedom. Abdul Jabbar's soulful 'Hajar bochhor porey abar eshechhi phirey, Bangla'r buuke
Even so, there was the anticipation of waiting for Bangabandhu to come home from his lonely incarceration in Pakistan. There was no knowing, in those early days of liberty, if he was alive, if he had been executed by the Yahya Khan junta. And in our hearts and souls there was worry about the tens of thousands of our compatriots trapped in Pakistan. With Pakistan defeated on the battlefield by Bangladesh's freedom fighters, it was quite natural to suppose that our fellow Bengalis in Pakistan would be subjected to harsh treatment. We worried about them, justifiably. In a larger sense, our tragedy would not end with the victory of 16 December. It would be two days after liberation that we would learn of other horrors that had been perpetrated by the Pakistanis and their local goon squads even as Bangladesh was emerging free. Scores of Bengali intellectuals, straddling a variety of professions, had been picked up over a period of three days and systematically tortured to death. Much of the euphoria attendant on freedom came to be suspended when the mutilated corpses of these leading lights of society were discovered in Rayerbazar. We wept, copiously. And we would weep, down the years. Yes, we were free. Yes, Bangabandhu did return from Pakistan. Yes, we were citizens of a secular Bengali state. But, no, we did not know of the conspiracies that were yet afoot against us, against all the values we stood for. Enemies within and without were ranged against Bangladesh. Sinister men moved within the corridors of power, with daggers concealed in their cloaks. They murdered Bangabandhu Sheikh Mujibur Rahman; and then they bayoneted and shot to a gory end the four illustrious men who had provided leadership to the nation in the shape of the Mujibnagar government. In the months and years after August 1975, we would lose our battlefield heroes to the depredations of their detractors. Khaled Musharraf, Abu Taher, MA Manzoor, ATM Haider, Najmul Huda and scores of others would die in the darkness imposed by neo-communalism. Bangladesh, a land of freedom, would become hostage at the hands of ambitious soldiers --- on 15 August 1975, on 7 November 1975, on 24 March 1982 --- and would careen down a bizarre alley of abortive coups d'etat, illegitimate government and questionable politics. Truth would be a casualty. History would be airbrushed out of our books. Forty one years after that beautiful winter spring of December 1971, it is for us to reclaim the land and the legacy from those who would have it regress into communalism, into everything that militates against its freedom. Today, the message ought to be loud and clear: that Bangladesh, if it means to march forward in step with the rest of the world, must have enlightened leadership to guide it along. The time is here and now for a reassertion of history, for measures that will erase the falsification which has gone into a mauling of its cultural and political heritage. It is time to sing of Joi Bangla again, of the spirit that led us to war against the denizens of the dark. It is time to remember. Forgetting is a sin. Looking the other way from truth is criminality that will not be condoned. The writer is Executive Editor, The Daily Star.
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