Oppression and exploitation have no colour or creed

I recently attended a British High Commission event in Dhaka celebrating the birthday of King Charles III. It was quite a party — pomp and splendour blending seamlessly with the hosts’ warm hospitality and a general sense of festivity.

The guest list read like a veritable Who's Who of Dhaka's social, political, professional, media, and diplomatic circles — and beyond. The camaraderie, the food, the conversations — everything flowed endlessly.

Later that evening, I shared pictures of the event with one of the many social groups that live in my cell phone. Almost instantly, a sardonic — though not unexpected — comment hit me in the face: “Are we missing our colonised and exploited past?” a dear friend asked caustically.

After the initial eye-roll, I found myself reflecting. Our people were indeed exploited, mistreated, and oppressed during nearly two centuries of British colonial rule. It took the courage and sacrifice of figures like Tipu Sultan, Titumir, and Khudiram to stand up against their domination and spark the spirit of independence.

Time has passed, and those colonial days are water under the bridge. Today, our brothers and sisters form a significant part of the UK’s population, and diplomatic ties have evolved into friendship. We will not forget history , nor bow down to it, but neither will we allow it to hold us back. We look ahead.

Consider Germany and France, once bitter enemies during the Second World War, now share an embassy complex right here in Dhaka. The lesson is simple: remembering history does not mean rejecting engagement with the present.

But we must also remember that discrimination and oppression come in many forms, and not all are inflicted by foreign powers. Some are homegrown, insidious, and deeply entrenched.

After the end of British rule came a new chapter: Pakistan. As its eastern wing, we endured a fresh wave of exploitation — economic marginalisation, linguistic repression, political subjugation. West Pakistanis, in general, assumed a position of superiority, relegating East Pakistanis to second-class status.

The people of this land are patient and tolerant. But push them too far, and they rise as one. And rise we did. After a nine-month-long war of liberation, Bangladesh emerged as an independent, sovereign nation in 1971. That victory remains the cornerstone of our national identity and pride.

But independence didn’t free us from all forms of domination. In the years that followed, a new kind of power dynamic emerged, one shaped by our powerful neighbour to the west. India began playing its regional Big Brother card, often dictating terms overtly or subtly in matters of trade, security, diplomacy and in other nuanced ways.

Waters of common rivers were held back by upstream India, causing drought and desertification in downstream Bangladesh. Then, without warning, the same waters were released in sudden torrents, triggering flash floods and wreaking havoc on thousands of lives and livelihoods. Despite repeated promises, the long-anticipated Teesta treaty remains unsigned.

In the meantime, instead of a policy of give-and-take, the Indophile, sycophantic Awami League government of the past 15 years adopted a give-and-give approach, with blatant disregard for the interests and sentiments of its own people.

On the home front, injustices deepened. Does it really matter whether the tormentor is a white-skinned sahib, wears the mask of a “friendly neighbour,” or cloaks themselves as our own “elected” (read: voterless) leaders? Oppression and exploitation have no colour or creed.

The Awami League government's authoritarianism, marked by enforced disappearances, extrajudicial killings, secret detentions in the notorious Ayna Ghar cells, and the ruthless gagging of dissent, was no less heinous than the repression inflicted by foreign powers. It's always easier to point fingers outward, but far harder to confront the brutalities from within.

But the people had had enough. After years of simmering discontent, a sporadic yet forceful uprising erupted in July 2024. Brave young men and women, even children and the elderly, rose up in protest. Many were killed, many more maimed. In the face of this mass defiance, the autocrat prime minister Sheikh Hasina and her loyalist flunkeys fled. Once again, we broke free of tyranny. Once again, we could breathe.

True, the present is far from perfect. This transitional phase is turbulent. Mob violence, political confusion, and widespread uncertainty cloud the road ahead. Daily life is repeatedly disrupted by waves of protest, both valid and misplaced. But let’s be fair: fifteen years of accumulated rot cannot be cleared in six months. Still, there is no room for complacency.

Beyond the macro politics - global, regional, national - what of the injustices that unfold quietly in our homes, on our streets, in our communities? What of the violence we have grown numb to?
The businessman who stashes away millions in Swiss vaults slaps his houseboy for forgetting to polish his Tom Ford Custom Oxfords. The garment factory owner jets off to Singapore with her family for Eid, while her workers are beaten by police for demanding their rightful bonus.
Clichés of rich versus poor? Perhaps. But clichés are clichés for a reason, because they hold more than a modicum of truth.

If there’s one lesson to draw from our past, colonial, regional, and domestic, it is this: injustice grows when people look away. When we pick and choose which oppressions to condemn and which to excuse, we become complicit in the very systems we claim to oppose.

It is not enough to parrot patriotic slogans or perform outrage when it's politically convenient. Real patriotism lies in the courage to hold our own accountable. To think critically. To question power, wherever it is, be it in foreign capitals, neighbouring states, or within the walls of our own offices and homes.

We must be bold. Bold in our awareness, bold in our voices, bold in our actions. It’s not enough to whisper in private or post anonymously online. The present time is fragile and formative, and it demands more. We owe it to those who rose up, who stood firm, who fell. And we owe it to ourselves.

Injustice does not vanish on its own. It is dismantled by awareness, by resistance, and by the unyielding refusal to stay silent.

* Ayesha Kabir is the head of Prothom Alo English news portal