Amar baba shob jane, went a phrase when I was growing up. Yes, our parents knew everything. They were not to be questioned, doubted, or second-guessed.

It was a turning point when I finally realized that my father could indeed be wrong. All this came about while he was defending a cherished institution -- the one that put food on our table, provided for his education and career, and our whole family's well being.

The Bangladesh army.

This moment, the one I'm thinking of, came when I first dived into an argument about the Chittagong Hill Tracts at the dinner table. I was still a teenager -- sure of my convictions, but green in my debating skills. I had just talked about the army's "pacification" campaigns against the Pahari/Jumma people.

"You don't know what you're talking about," my father replied, "The army is there to keep the peace. They are doing what the civilians cannot. Without them, there would be chaos. We are there because the politicians failed!"

We are there because the politicians failed...

I hesitated. I was certain I was right. We Bengalis were practicing ethnic cleansing in the Hill Tracts. The government was exploiting army jawans to keep the Pahari (Jumma) population terrorized, and Bengali settlers were subsidized to displace Paharis from their homeland. Like occupying armies elsewhere, the Bangla soldiers believed they were a force for good (after all, it was within our own borders) -- even when the indigenous population ran scared from their guns.

But wait, my father was always right. Wasn't he?

I retrieve this memory as a prologue to explain that my critique of army involvement in civilian affairs comes, and has always come, from within. My father retired as a major general in the medical corps. Another uncle was a major general in engineering corps (and head of NSI) and a third uncle was a major general and finance minister for the Ershad regime (the only cabinet member who maintained a neutral stance and did not join the JP). Many of my youthful moments were spent in the cantonment, waiting for my father to finish work, or visiting my uncle. Idle moments were spent admiring the kuchkawaj of soldiers. Every time they passed a senior officer, they gave a smart salute. In a country lacking in rules, discipline or methods, it was a heart-warming sight.

Looking at these smartly turned out men, my father used to share a phrase from the British army: "We always say, if it's moving, salute it, if it's standing still, paint it white." It was a mild joke, but within it was immense pride about the institution that made him who he was. I liked seeing that emotion, a precious and rare commodity.

Despite my long association with the army, and benefiting from the privileges of that institution, I feel fear and cold dread as I watch news reports of khaki in the streets once again. The past is future again, as we see the injection of the army into democracy. The president can talk a good game, but his chess move in bringing the soldiers out is clear. He is now exploiting the army to be the iron fist in a velvet glove. Shabdhan, too much theri beri, and we will bring in military. Tharpor bujhbe thela. Gonothonthro koi jai.

Of course bringing in the army to ensure law and order does not automatically mean a military coup. But the more the army is used to take care of civilian tasks, the more people may ask, well why do we need democracy? Er cheye army bhalo. And that is how it always starts...

Theoretically, both BNP and AL have much to fear from another military coup. But AL has a history of a family wiped out in Dhanmondi (and later the four leaders in Dhaka jail) at the hands of renegade elements within the army. Naturally, they are more fearful of the military than BNP. Of course, Ershad was an equal opportunity punisher, running the jackboot on both BNP and AL. But in the current situation, the AL is the one who is harmed more, since it is their street protests that are being targeted.

Our modern army has shown that it can be, in the right circumstances, a force for good. In UN missions abroad, the Bengali peacekeepers have set high standards and risked their lives. Bangladeshi soldiers are the second largest providers of UN troops. Current deployment is in 12 countries, and 63 soldiers have been killed in active duty (my cousin was one of them). Peacekeeping earns Bangladesh almost $200 million a year.

The UN says Bangladeshi soldiers are in demand because they are highly disciplined and there are fewer complaints of corruption or sexual harassment against them than soldiers from other countries. Speaking of the impact on domestic politics, Professor CR Abrar of Dhaka University told the BBC: "They have gained international prestige, they have gained international legitimacy. So I think they would think twice or thrice before engaging in such adventurism [as military coup]."

When we read of Bengali peacekeepers guarding Mogadishu airport, flying helicopter squadrons in Ituri (Congo), controlling rebel territory in Sierra Leone, and flying the UN flag in besieged Bihac (Yugoslavia), we felt a twinge of pride. But if we look at the history of army deployment inside Bangladesh, these occasions have not harnessed this same positive energy.

From 1975 onwards, army involvement in our domestic politics has dirtied the khaki. Chucho marthe haath moila korthe hoi, and the army has been unable to keep its hands clean. During the Ershad years, the army was so compromised that I stopped riding in my father's olive green car. It did not matter that it carried an "Army Medical Corps" insignia (army doctors being one group that stayed clear of politics) -- army was army, and in those days it was not seen as anything positive. But the subsequent years have largely erased the legacy of the Ershad years, and today's armed forces no longer carry the same stigma of obstacle to democracy.

Can the army resist the political manipulations of those who want to send us back to the bad old days?

Naeem Mohaiemen (naeem@shobak.org) wrote the chapter on Chittagong Hill Tracts for ASK's 2004 Annual Report.