Dazed in patriotism
Yesterday we celebrated the 39th anniversary of our Victory Day. The streets are still warm from the exuberance of people, who poured out of their homes to honour the memory of a glorious day. They wore badges and head wraps emblematic of the national flag. They attended cultural shows, rallies, and discussions. The newspapers ran commemorative pieces. The politicians laid wreaths on memorials. The televisions were abuzz with talk shows. The national flag fluttered on cars, rooftops and street corners. It was one day, which, if multiplied by the number of days in a year, should find us in the Guinness Book of World Record for being the most patriotic country on earth.
But it was also one day, which had the ring of Emersonian cynicism. "When a whole nation is roaring patriotism at the top of its voice, I am fain to explore the cleanness of its hands and purity of its heart," Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote nearly 150 years ago. Yesterday, this nation roared patriotism at the top of its voice.
Thirty-nine years ago the same thing had happened. Our people had roared with patriotism and they fought for freedom. But that roaring was different from now. It was more in the heart than in the mouth. Then the heart was filled with passion and the hand was occupied with guns and grenades. On this Victory Day the patriotism roared more in the voice. Our hands were busy holding mikes and flags.
Lots of things have changed in thirty-nine years. Then we fought for freedom, now we have the freedom to fight. Then we fought against others, now we are fighting amongst us. Then others plundered this country, now we are doing it ourselves. Then our collective ambition was victory, now we are looking for victory in our individual ambitions.
The times have changed, but the scenes have not. We still have got agitations on our streets. We still have got the clashes. We are still angry. We are still worried. Thirty-nine years later we still remain a politically exasperated nation.
We are also a divided nation. Lump sum, one half of the country belongs to either side of the divide. We fought and won a single war in 1971, but opened many fronts since then for many more battles. While we have been celebrating the Victory Day every year, we are being defeated in its purpose. We are celebrating the shell, the substance slipping through our fingers.
One could be misunderstood as unpatriotic for asking the obvious. How could we be such a corrupt nation if there is so much patriotism in our hearts? How could we be so callous if we are so proud of our victory in 1971? How could we be so violent if we resent the brutal killing of our countrymen in that fateful year?
Things don't add up. The recent public opinion survey conducted by Transparency International suggests that people believe the police, judiciary, parliament, media, and military in Bangladesh are corrupt in that order. But we can't deny that these professionals are also people in the ultimate sense of the word. Mutual suspicion and contempt festering in our hearts, how could this nation celebrate victory with so much fanfare?
Not to deny the ordinary folks rejoice over the Victory Day because they love this country. For them, this is the only country, the only home they have on earth. They don't have fortunes stashed away in foreign countries or homes and offices in the USA, UK, Australia, Singapore or Malaysia. They don't have immigration or citizenship of another country secured in their back pockets. A recent report says that the children of 74% of our politicians are studying abroad. God knows what percentage of them have already settled there.
Karl Marx had stunned the world when he said that religion was the opium of the mass. Our politicians must have taken cue from that statement and modified it to their advantage. Patriotism is the opium of the mass in this country. No matter what the politicians do, they still get the people to vote for them. Again and again, the politicians are taking the people for a ride.
Yesterday made that tragedy more poignant for today. The empty streets, desolate memorials, dismantled stages and withered wreaths ring out the vacuity of a few patriotic holidays against the profligate despair of rest of the year. The air is still redolent with the hopes of millions who exhaled their dreams as they celebrated another anniversary of victory. They remembered those who died for it. They remembered those who suffered for it.
Between the businesses sponsoring the events and the politicians organising them, how much of the celebration was meant for the people? Punch-drunk on patriotism, nobody is bothered to answer that question.
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