Bangladesh has broken free from its nationalist mythology

Growing up in 1990s Dhaka meant there were two things I took for granted politically. The first was that democracy had become firmly entrenched in Bangladesh and autocracy had been banished by the brave generations who came before us. The second was that globalisation was an excellent opportunity to share Bangladesh’s greatness by moving to the West for higher education before either returning home as a technocrat or making a name for myself abroad.

Our predecessors were the generations who dreamed of and fought for a better future. Ours was the generation that had to live up to that promise by following the path that had been so neatly mapped out by our betters. The Yellow Brick Road stretched out before me to the glories of the Emerald City and the bounties of Oz.

It was a powerful mythology that was reinforced at every turn. 

Learning about the histories of sacrifice from 1952 and 1971 in the classroom, and listening to stories of the decades of military dictatorship that followed, made it impossible to view the circumstances of my own childhood as anything but perfect. 

The movements that brought about this perfection, however, were never framed as grassroots revolutions against tyranny but as the strategic manoeuvres of a handful of political geniuses who now took on the burden of leadership.

The lesson was abundantly clear: trust the system and the benevolent leaders who uphold it, for that is the route to prosperity and happiness. Oz the Great and Powerful, but in saris, not top hats. 

For most of my childhood, this great lie survived all attempts at being dismantled. Any evidence to the contrary was an inconvenient anomaly. The steady growth of Islamism was a pragmatic sacrifice for the greater good and a step towards inclusive reconciliation. 

The lack of sustainable development and the stagnation of growth for the wider population were natural growing pains for a country that was still very young. The occasional upheaval of hartals and oborods was evidence that protest was still a protected right, no matter who led the disruptions. Meanwhile, the personality cults at the heart of our political system were never seen as anything other than overdue reverence to our saviours, who gifted us with their insight and integrity.

The 2006-2008 political crisis was the first sustained challenge to my comfortable apathy for national politics. The subsequent general election brought a brief reprieve, especially when I moved to India in 2008, but I had taken my first peek behind the curtain. In 2010, I moved to the UK for undergraduate studies and became a full-time member of the global diaspora (having not moved back to the country since then apart from short visits), and I kept pulling the curtain back.

Nationalist mythologies might be a powerful relaxant but nothing can wake someone up faster than disillusionment. Moving abroad made me quickly realise how the idea of Bangladesh was a flashy parlour trick used to distract from the ugly reality of exploitative and oppressive politics. The promise of democracy had never really been fulfilled, even as citizens at home and abroad kept being fed its hollow fruits. 

We kept being told that our land was the greenest and our leaders were the best, but there was never any proof. If anything, the constant discrimination aimed at diaspora communities from the Global South, and my personal experiences of prejudice from fellow Bangladeshis upon realising my queer identity only heightened my discomfort.

For me, what irreversibly broke the spell was how any calls for improving the lives of people came up against the same response – denial and dismissal of the issue and a pivot towards blaming someone else (usually the Opposition). 

Shahbag and its calls for historic accountability? Hooligans hijacking and ruining a movement for closure. Demanding justice for the many victims of Islamist violence in 2015 and 2016? Atheists and deviants who rocked the boat too much. The 2018 calls for road safety? Unruly children who should be grateful for their lot in life. The ongoing calls for reforming an unsustainable quota system? Traitors to the very fabric of our nation.

The Wizard of Oz was growing displeased and the hordes of flying monkeys were being let loose with greater frequency to wreak havoc. It took me – and many of my peers – far too long to realise that this was not normal. I am glad to know that the sheen of the Emerald City has worn off. 

Yet, that knowledge in and of itself is not enough. No matter how much their sacrifices have been warped, the people who came before us did fight for a future that is based on compassion, equity, and justice. Many are continuing that fight today. For those of us who have left, regardless of the reason, there is a legacy that we need to build on.

There are many ways to mobilise – sharing verifiable information, challenging misinformation on all platforms, putting pressure on global powers to speak up, having overdue conversations with complacent loved ones, organising solidarity campaigns, and so much more. 

It does not matter how we get to our final destination, but it does matter that we make a collective push for it. The Wizard’s illusion has been broken, but the land of Oz is not yet free. We can help change that.●

Ibtisam Ahmed is a UK-based researcher on Bangladesh’s aid sector.