Ethnic discrimination: In times of suffering, people must feel the govt is within reach

The recent incidents of human rights violations trace back to the village of Purbo Dhorati. Even with frail health, I receive numerous phone calls reporting such events. The village lies deep within the Madhupur Forest. Once, it was a thriving expanse of sal trees, their leaves never falling all at once, keeping the forest verdant throughout the year.

I first visited this area, Mominpur, in 1966 during my university years. By the mid-1980s, much of the natural forest had been cleared for a rubber plantation by the Forest Department, an ill-conceived project. Today, the plantation is a loss-making venture. The original sal forest has been almost entirely destroyed. Who will take responsibility now for this misguided project, the corruption, and the destruction of biodiversity?

Later, the Bangladesh Forest Industries Development Corporation (BFIDC) was established. Ansar guards were deployed. On 9 March, a video circulated widely on social media showing a Garo woman in the Madhupur Forest resisting eviction. Many may have seen it. A heavy tractor and personnel, including the Ansar, came to demolish Sibli Mangsang’s house. They destroyed the stakes set up for a new home. Sibli, carrying her infant child on her back, took up a piece of wood to resist, while armed men confronted her. She was pushed to the ground, but eventually the crowd’s presence forced the authorities to retreat.

The video spread quickly, and protests followed. Anyone watching it would recognise the severity of the Garos’ situation in Madhupur Forest—this was a stark image of human rights violation. Youth groups protested, and the International Work Group for Indigenous Affairs in Denmark shared the video. A Japanese human rights organisation also expressed concern.

Upon contacting Madhupur, I learned that the local MP, now a minister, inquired into the matter. The administration, including the Upazila Nirbahi Officer, expressed regret to the Garo family, offering some cash assistance and corrugated iron sheets for rebuilding. The BFIDC was directed to replace the stakes it had destroyed. The Ansar team was formally withdrawn. Amid the sorrow, these were welcome developments.

We know that higher echelons of the government often remain unaware of what happens on the ground. Local officials sometimes exaggerate or overstep. Leaders from the Joinshahi Indigenous Council and others supported the family, touring the area. The BFIDC authorities showed flexibility.

In a joint meeting, it was agreed that Sibli Mangsang and her husband, Romen Kubi, could rebuild their house. Their family of 11 children would indeed require it. Boundary markers were agreed upon. At first glance, the issue seems peacefully resolved. Yet legal recognition of the Garos, Kochs, and Barmans’ traditional land rights within the national park remains essential. A high-level dialogue addressing decades-old, complex land disputes must begin immediately.

Irreparable damage has been done to people, forests, and the environment due to from the Pakistan era’s national park designation to later flawed projects, corruption, and the marginalisation of local forest communities. Now, with the new government in place—just over four weeks into its tenure—the prime minister’s words and actions have inspired hope. We share that optimism. This country, home to multiple ethnicities, languages, and cultures, can become a space of dignified, inclusive diversity. Recognition of cultural pluralism will not merely exist—it will be celebrated.

The ordinary working people of this country endure unimaginable labour. Look at the farmers, garment workers, auto-rickshaw drivers, rickshaw pullers, vegetable vendors, peddlers, fishmongers, traffic-bound pedestrians, children’s toy sellers, tea garden labourers, Dalit Bede communities, and members of the third gender who beg—the sheer breadth of professions is astounding.

Why do thousands of young people cry out in despair? How many accidents occur? How many women take their own lives? How many dreams are consumed by fire in an instant? How many migrate to the capital from villages in search of a slightly better life? How many perish in the Mediterranean, in Thailand’s jungles, or in the deserts of the Middle East as domestic workers? How many sprint under the scorching sun to reach a TCB truck in traffic? So many hopes are invested in your governance by the country’s deprived and oppressed.

My humble plea is this: in times of grief, suffering, and deprivation, people must feel that the government is present, reachable, and responsive.

* Sanjeeb Drong is a columnist and cultural activist

* The opinions expressed are the author’s own