Shahbagh: The Garden of Kings

Photo: Amran Hossain

Four centuries ago, Abu Fazl, the Chief Advisor to Emperor Akbar wrote, “In the country of Bengal…owing to the climate's favoring the base, the dust of dissention is always rising.” But on the passing heel of winter last month, it was not the oppressive heat that roused the masses, but the decision on the part of the International Crimes Tribunal to let Abdul Quader Mollah, Secretary General of the country's largest Islamist party, live. And along with that decision arose the largest movement to claim the streets of Dhaka in over two decades.

For the first weeks of February, Shahbagh showed many indications that it was an atypical movement: It was much larger and broader in scope than the normal variety of political squabbling that Bangladeshis have grown accustomed to. There was a palpable sense -- however fleeting that sense may have been -- that perhaps a tangible change was on the horizon. Hundreds of thousands of students, and citizens from all walks of life came out in peaceful procession to voice their demands for greater justice. It was incomprehensible to them that a war criminal, found guilty for his role in the of a beheading a poet; gunning down 344 civilians; and raping an 11-year old girl, was spared a sentence that was commensurate to the crimes committed.
Though the unpopular sentence was the catalyst, the strong emotions at Shahbagh can more meaningfully be interpreted as a deep-seated frustration and lack of trust in a system that has allowed war criminals -- and their narrow-minded ideologies -- the license to operate with impunity in politics and society for over 42 years. Decades after Bangladesh gained its independence, and not even the most basic call for justice could be fulfilled without being tainted by dirty politics.
Consider the dilemma here: On one side is the incumbent government which stands accused by critics for its lack of transparency and judicial oversight in prosecuting those accused of war crimes via its self-appointed International Crimes Tribunal (ICT); and on the other stands the main opposition and its dubious alliance with Jamaat-e-Islami (JI), whose very leaders stand convicted of war crimes. The incumbent meanwhile is further accused of sheltering their own party-loyalists from prosecution by the ICT; while the opposition claims the trials are nothing but a calculated public lynching of its leadership.
Given these bleak options, those gathered at Shahbagh posed the following, soul searching questions: Does this legacy represent the vision of Bangladesh that our fathers and mothers so dearly struggled for? And is this a reflection of an identity we can be proud of?
As the next verdict was announced on the 28th of February -- this time a death sentence -- for the Vice President of JI, Delwar Hossain Sayeedi, violence broke out, led by an extremist fringe of JI and affiliated supporters. Amid the chaos, dozens of innocent bystanders, policemen, and students were killed. And as if reliving a sad chapter from 42 years ago, the ashes of over 2000 Hindu and Buddhist homes, and 50 temples smoldered throughout the rural countryside -- with a trail of broken bodies and shattered deities reminding us of the sacrilege committed against the very founding ideals of Bangladesh.
If history must repeat itself, then let it be for the better. Without a doubt, 1971 emerges as the most important year in the collective conscience of Bangladesh in terms of shaping the identity of its citizenry. But should it? So sacred is the date that both leading political parties have claimed monopoly over it's significance: While the Prime Minister's party claims it was her father, Sheikh Mujibur Rahman who first declared independence; the opposition claims it was their chairperson Khaleda Zia's husband, General Ziuar Rahman who holds that honour. (When there is little else by way of credentials to go by, such trivial claims to legitimacy are, regrettably, commonplace).

While it is true that 1971 explains why Bangladesh fought for its culture and identity, it does not explain where its culture and identity came from. And the “where” is critical because it reveals a process of thousands of years of religious and cultural intermingling, cooperation, and progress that ultimately defined the character, constitution, and vision of an independent Bangladesh. A vision, that we fall dangerously short of today.
If we are to go back in time through the colourful history of Bengal, we find 2300 years ago Emperor Ashoka's famed rock edicts dotting the countryside of Bengal; upon them the enlightened message, “The faiths of others deserve to be honored for one reason or another. By honoring them, one exalts one's own faith and at the same time performs a service to the faith of others…” Traveling forward into the 4th century CE, we encounter a thriving delta under the Imperial Guptas. Chinese scholars such as Fa-hsien, I-tsing, and Hsuan-tsang recorded vivid descriptions of the of tens of thousands of monks in worship at dozens of famed Buddhist monasteries, many of them built by grants provided by the imperial Hindu court itself.
By the ninth century, a powerful indigenous empire had established itself in Bengal and stretched as far west as modern-day Afghanistan. The Pala Dynasty built immense university complexes that were open to all religious faiths of the realm; and composed some of the earliest recorded versions of Bengali poetry and literature that remain preserved to this day. The Pala where a global influence, spreading the universal teachings of Buddhism from Bengal to Tibet, South Asia, and Southeast Asia, developing an extensive trade network in the process that eventually absorbed the Arab merchant fleets as they moved westward.
And this legacy of plurality and prosperity continued under the rule of the Bengal Sultanate. Here we find holy Hindu scriptures such as the Mahabharata, and the Ramayana translated into Bengali for the first time; while local yogic manuals were translated into Persian and Arabic and distributed throughout the larger Muslim world. Later Bengali Sultans ritually cleansed themselves in the Ganges during ceremonial events, and were often celebrated by their Hindu subjects with the honorific title of Raja -- a title reserved for a Hindu monarch. In fact, it was under the reign of the Mughal regime that Bengal eventually converted as a majority to Islam -- a regime, it should be noted, that largely maintained a strict policy of secularism in maters of faith.
Bengal, by virtue of its geographic location has always been an ancient contact point of antiquity; and any political order that has ever succeeded with stability and progress in the region has accounted for this in its fair treatment and inclusion of minority groups. We know this because from ancient Greek writings to modern European trade documents, Bengal appears time and again, noted for its powerful kingdoms, quality merchandise, and vast wealth. It is through this lens that we can appreciate the movement of an independent Bangladesh that stressed the importance of cultural and national unity, irrespective of religious or ethnic differences.
So when Muhammad Shahidullah, one of the intellectual leaders of the Language Movement took a stand at Dhaka University in 1952 against the imposition of Urdu and Arabisation of the Bengali script, he declared the ancient and syncretic origins of the Bengali language as a confluence of Hindu, Buddhist, Muslim, and Christian influences thought the ages. In similar vein, Bangladesh's National Poet, Kazi Nazrul Islam sang the words that would define the unifying theme of the independence movement: I sing the song of equality, Where all barriers have crumbled, All differences have faded, And Hindus, Buddhists, Muslims, and Christian, Have come together and merged.

Photo: Prito Reza

And it is in this spirit that the framers of the original Bangladeshi Constitution declared Secularism as a founding pillar of the state -- a term that honoured the equal treatment of religious groups as they unite to form the fabric of Bengali Nationalism. “Out of many, One”, as the Roman poet, Virgil once wrote.
Yet, disunity and discord is what is left in the receding shadow of the Shahbagh movement, now dwindled from its once swarming masses to the committed few of the last few days. A sense of unease and apprehension exists at every level of society as the incumbent and the opposition have once again pitted themselves against one another in the lead up to the elections later this year. Once again, it is the people who will suffer the collateral damage of this embattled rivalry. But hope still exists; the alertness of the citizenry was, without question, reaffirmed by its stand at Shahbagh over the last month.
As the new generation looks towards a future of Bangladesh that is resonant with their desires for social, political, and economic progress, they have a great precedence to look towards: one that is in their very history and DNA. There are many ways to heal and move beyond 1971; perhaps one of them includes reaching deeper into the past, to resurrect an identity more fitting of nation's highest aspirations. If the history of Bengal was one of plurality and prosperity, why then should we expect any less now?
Shahbagh is not new to mass demonstrations and change -- it has often served as the very epicentre of it. It was in 1952 that the Language Movement sprung up from Shahbagh and its adjacent streets; from the late 60's until independence, it played host to the annual Pohela Boishakh New Years celebrations, which was observed as a day of protest against the West Pakistan regime; and in 1990 it swelled with millions of citizens demanding an end to over 15 years of military rule with their loud and unrelenting call for Democracy. In each instance, political establishments were discredited, destabilised, and forced to cede to the will of the people. Indeed this Shahbagh, originally built as the “The Garden of Kings” in the 17th century, could aptly be renamed in the last century: the Garden of Kingmakers.
However, Projjonmo Chottor -- New Generation Square -- is just as fitting. For it is the new generation that is the inheritor of the dream of an open, inclusive, democratic order that was instilled upon them by the previous generation. They have long heard the heroic and tragic stories of 1971, and have lived long enough to see the bold vision of Bangladesh, and all it stood for, remain unrealised. But the vision lives on, and if Shahbagh 2013 proved anything, it was that this vision is still worth struggling for.

Samier Mansur is the Founder and Director of the Bangladesh Pluralism Project. To learn more, view his TEDx Talk on the topic here: http://www.youtube. com/ watch? v=FRZ20kD3Wck, or visit www.The Pluralism Project.com.