There’s just one question in the air: “Who will win the election?” The Jatiya Sangsad election is knocking at the door. In a few days, several thousand servers of the nation will step into a test of fate. At the same time, the destinies of millions upon millions hang in the balance, much like Felani’s body draped over the barbed wire fence.
Felanis [Felani was a hapless young girl shot by Indian border guards] do everything they can just to stay alive. But a hostile society and cruel times do not let them live. We, too, are drifting somehow, clutching at straws, searching for sight of the shore. There is hope that one day we might reach dry land. Or will we drown instead? We have surrendered ourselves to the hands of fate.
There was a time when Marxism was popular in this country. In Marx’s world, there is no place for fate. Change there is driven by the vanguard of society, those who harness class struggle to shake off the past and move forward. Now Marx has been uprooted from history and lodged in mythology. He is worshipped, ritually revered, but the currents in social science that he had set in motion have dwindled away, rendered useless and irrelevant. The fatalism that once lurked in the subconscious is now thriving openly.
With the election approaching, the aspiring servers of the nation have rolled up their sleeves and jumped in. Their language has changed. They are spewing out promises by the dozen. They claim they will fulfill every need of the people. Among themselves, it has turned into a cut-throat contest, much like an auction in franchise cricket. If one says, “I’ll give this much,” the other counters, “I’ll give even more.” The promises scale the sky.
It’s not just the words, but they sing a new tune too. You don’t really realise how humble a politician can be until an election comes around. They go door to door, roam fields and riverbanks, wander through fairs and markets, shake hands with the common people, hug them, ask after their wellbeing with smiling faces, and beg for support with folded hands. It feels as though we’ve stepped into a fairy-tale world. Here, everyone is an angel.
The country’s biggest vote bank is Muslims. They make up about ninety per cent of the population. This is not something one can afford to let slip. Apparently, Muslim identity is now expressed through attire. One sees many of these servers of the nation sporting skullcaps or veils. It seems the production and marketing of caps have gone up. Dream peddlers arrive with promises to meet worldly needs, while others offer tickets to eternal bliss in the afterlife.
No matter how good these servants of the nation may be, they are divided among themselves. Each belongs to one faction or another. We call these political parties. It’s only natural that party people play party politics. But the way they bare their teeth at one another, roll up their sleeves, and bluster, it seems as though winning an election is tantamount to grasping heaven in one’s hand, while losing means being cast out of paradise. So, one must win by any means necessary. In a constituency, only one person can win. When everyone is desperate for victory, what follows is bluster, abuse, brawls, and finally bloodshed. This is no longer competition; it becomes war. And that war has already begun.
We were talking about fate. Through our votes, we will choose three hundred "angels" and place our lives in their hands for five years. We have only one hope, that they will fulfill their promises, that their honeyed words will stay with us, and that they, too, will not forget them. But will they really remember all this?
There have already been twelve elections in this country. Had they kept their promises, the country would have turned into paradise long ago. Instead, it seems to be turning into hell by the day. Theft, robbery, mugging, highway robbery, hoarding, black-marketing, killings, violence against women and children, all of these are on the rise. Banks are being looted. The bureaucratic red tape in offices and courts is tightening its grip ever more firmly.
On television and in films, we see so many countries. Jurassic Park was shot in New Zealand. The region near the North Pole made up of several countries is called Scandinavia. Close to us, there is Bhutan, a country that feels like a fairy-tale kingdom. Seeing images of these places, it seems they have created heaven right here on earth. And when we look at ourselves, it feels as though hell on earth is right here. The poet’s imagined land of flowing waters, fertile fields, and lush greenery - Bengal - has now become the world’s dumping ground. Yet we still console ourselves. When asked, “How are you?” we reply like robots, “I’m fine.” What bigger lie could there be?
Those who win will say the election was fair. Those who lose will say it was rigged. In this, the verdict of foreign observers is extremely important. If they give a yes or a no, then no matter how much noise is made locally, there will be little choice but to accept it
In an election, someone will win. Some party or alliance will secure a majority and form the government. The question is: who will win? When we were in college and university, student union elections would fill campuses with slogans: “Who’s winning, who will win, who else but so-and-so?” Such slogans are still heard. But predicting the winner is difficult. Yesterday the weather was one way, today it’s another. One leader’s remark sends the electoral temperature soaring, only for another leader’s retort to drive it to rock bottom. Whoever I speak to tells the story of their hopes. The person they support appears to them as the one to grant them their hopes.
When elections are held at regular intervals, one can draw a “trend line,” and forecasting becomes easier. But since a “normal” election is taking place after eighteen years, nothing can be said with certainty. A great deal has changed in these eighteen years. Times have changed. People’s minds have changed. Many old voters have passed away. Countless new voters have been added, those who will vote for the first time. The balance will tip in whichever way they lean. It is hard to say what the outcome will be. Slogans, processions, and grand shows do not always reveal real strength or capacity. Beyond those who are visible lie millions upon millions of voters. They live in villages. Their lives, their needs, their sense of judgement are different.
We often say that a “silent revolution” took place in a particular election. By this we mean that, defying forecasts, people threw their support behind a side that had not been anticipated. In such cases, the equation is hard to grasp. The margin between defeat and victory may be 51–49, or it may be 80–20.
Whatever the result, once the election is over we will sit down to dissect it. Many of us will be left bewildered, saying "we never saw this coming!" Others will say, "I told you so!" In the media, we will see all kinds of political post-mortems. Explaining and analysing events after they have happened is relatively easy, and safe.
Let me say one more thing in advance, learned from experience. Those who win will say the election was fair. Those who lose will say it was rigged. In this, the verdict of foreign observers is extremely important. If they give a yes or a no, then no matter how much noise is made locally, there will be little choice but to accept it. Politics over the issue, however, will continue.
People remain suspended in doubt. Many remain anxious as to whether the election will really take place. The final answer to that question will come next Thursday. The deadline is 12 February!
* Mohiuddin Ahmad is a writer and researcher
* Opinions expressed here are the author’s own.