The liberation war was the fight for our Mother. That is why as I start to write this piece, a tale told by my mother comes to mind. The liberation war was on at the time and the Pakistan army had set up camp in the next village. Looting had taken place so everyone was preparing to flee. The problem was with the little girl of a house, around nine or ten years old. She was disabled. If scared, she would start to cry out aloud. If she was taken along, being captured was more or less inevitable. Seeing no way out, they left behind the little girl with her old grandmother. The day they returned, they found the girl dead. Some say she died out of fear, some say she had been raped.
I know that family. When I look of them, I think of the novel ‘Hangor, Nodi, Grenade’ where the mother hands her disabled child over to the military. The circumstances were different, but the matter is the same. An moral dilemma. Just how helpless can one be, to be posed with such a cruel moral dilemma?
A war is not a linear matter, though many people try to place the liberation war into a particular mould. In doing so, the narrative has sometimes been written in favour of the rulers, sometimes one’s own bias has been concealed. Then when we get tired of trying to find the true history in the pages of a book, we return to the stories of the people.
No one wants war until one’s back is pushed up against the wall. The struggle of the people in this country didn’t suddenly start in 1971. It goes back to 1952. But as one’s democratic rights and economic interests were being steadily eroded, when it was no longer possible to deal with the Pakistani rule, that is when the war broke out.
I remember a story heard from an old grandfather of our village. A few of their families were fleeing from the village and his young brother was born during their exodus. His father was a practical man and said that the baby should be left there. How could they carry a new born baby in this situation? It would just put the other children at risk. They were accompanied by another neighbor. Grandfather would call him Maqbul bhai. He was single and he took responsibility of the infant.
Many people join the struggle, but only a few set to create narratives. At times they create narratives to lend legitimacy to a government, sometimes they suppress their own thoughts to write a linear account of history.
To me, these stories heard from family and relations are what the liberation war was all about. I would search for history in literature, in plays, movies. Later I realised most of these were one-sided narratives, I felt cheated.
When I was in class three or four, even at that age I noticed a sudden change in narrative in our textbooks. It struck my mind. But what I do remember clearly was that none of the textbooks ever lent a feeling of ownership of the liberation war as did the stories of my mother and grandfather.
Then came “chetona” or the “spirit” of the liberation war. On one side there was the politics of making the liberation war spirit into a business, and on the other side the liberation war was obfuscated. A distance grew from the history of struggle that flowed in our veins. We lost the right to our own identity. All sorts of fears arose. There was no one to assuage these fears, but many narratives to fan the flames of these fears. Thus the stories of Jagat Jyoti Das, of the role of the leftist parties in the liberation war, remained absent. The stories of thousands of struggling people like my uncle who was caught by the Pakistani military when providing medical treatment to the freedom fighters were lost. The intensity and the emotions were replaced by a few numbers and writings in dry ink.
How did this happen? I can understand this somewhat from the post-July incidents. Five months haven’t passed since the mass uprising and already so many narratives have sprouted up and it is hard to discern between the truth and lies in certain instances. Many people join the struggle, but only a few set to create narratives. At times they create narratives to lend legitimacy to a government, sometimes they suppress their own thoughts to write a linear account of history.
Shaheed Shafi Imam Roomi’s vision and understanding of the liberation war were surely not the same as that of the rural farmer. What was the same was their struggle against repression and their vision of a beautiful country. That vision those dreams are our identity. It is now vital to remain alert and let no one snatch away that identity in their selfish interests.
* Upama Adhikari is a student of the Electrical and Electronic Engineering Department, BRAC University.