Naeem Mohaiemen and Jyoti Rahman

Published in the Daily Star on 27 December 2009.

Analysts celebrate remittance growth curves in seminars, but we need to unpack these shiny numbers. The Ministry of Expatriates’ Welfare and Overseas Employment publishes the total number of migrant workers by year, but has no timely statistics on returns which, by evidence of our airports, is large. So we have no calculation of how many are coming back due to deportation or job loss.

AIR Arabia is a low-cost carrier eating into Emirates and Etihad’s dominance of the high-volume Bangladesh-Middle East route. On a recent Arabia flight, we noticed something odd: instead of struggling to carry heavy bags filled with gifts, many passengers were empty-handed and wearing sandals.

When immigration forms were handed out, the blue-collar workers asked the literate passengers to help fill out forms (a familiar experience on Middle East flights). At that moment, we noticed that these men had no passports, only a form from the Bangladeshi Embassy that was a “replacement for lost passport.” Nestled within that form, the “last place of domicile” was listed as “Abu Dhabi jail.”

It emerged, through halting conversations, that there were over a hundred deportees on the flight, all had been arrested after they were fired from their jobs, which made immigration papers invalid. This is where the low-cost carrier comes in as the cheapest option for deportation, at the migrants’ own expense. What was the positive, active role of the Bangladeshi embassy during their ordeal in jail, and during deportation? We’ll leave the workers’ reply it to the reader’s imagination.

Before parsing this anecdote, let’s first telescope out to macro-statistics. At the beginning of the recession in September 2008, remittances were considered to be a major channel where Bangladesh would be affected. But a year on, remittance flows into Bangladesh have shown remarkable, counter-intuitive resilience.

But there are key differences according to source countries. Middle East accounts for three-fifths of our remittances, with Saudi Arabia alone accounting for nearly a third. Remittances from this region fell by 4% in October 2008, but then continued to grow to be about 15% higher in the year ending September 2009.

Contrast this with the US and UK (collectively another fifth of remittances). In September 2009, remittances from the US were about 9% lower than a year ago, while those from the UK were down 1%. During the nadir of the recession in these countries, remittances fell by 13% and 27%, respectively. So how did migrant workers in the Middle East keep remittances flowing, when those in the US and UK dropped?

Can the Air Arabia deportees illuminate one piece of this puzzle? According to their stories, since 2008, as mega construction projects in the Middle East have gone belly-up (something that will accelerate after Dubai World’s recent debt default), many construction workers — “slaves building monuments,” according to Ghaith Abdul-Ahad in The Guardian — have been fired immediately.

As soon as a worker is fired, he is “out of status”/undocumented. But most choose not to return home, since a family, and even a portion of a village, is depending on their income. Instead, they find another worksite that will hire undocumented workers, of course for a fraction of the legal pay. The calculation is simple: stay in the country and continue to work, knowing that you will eventually get caught.

When they do get apprehended (one deportee said he was arrested when he stepped outside for a cigarette break), they are sent to prison and eventually deported, with no chance of recovering their possessions and savings. Faced with layoffs, or at least diminished work opportunities, and eventual loss of any money earned, these workers told us that they send back all income as fast as possible through formal channels and hoondi.

In Yasmine Kabir’s trenchant My Migrant Soul, the narrative uses the diary of a Bangladeshi worker who died while in custody in Malaysia. More recently, there are reports that when migrant workers die in workplace accidents, they are sometimes buried immediately and nothing is reported to the families. Malaysia has repeatedly had crises with stranded Bangladeshi workers, who arrive and find their construction jobs have disappeared. Yet, paradoxically, there was a jump in remittance from Malaysia ($20m in 2007, $324m in nine months of 2009), during this same period.

Even prior to the recession, a key difference between workers going to the Middle East/Asia and the West has been that the latter had one layer of middle class professionals, or at least middle-class aspirations. More importantly, migrants to America/Europe have a path to citizenship in their new homes, something completely absent in the Middle East/Asia. Thus, migrants to the West are more likely to spend and invest in their adopted countries. The working class migrant in the Middle East/Asia is always a “guest worker,” and has no choice but to send earnings home.

Analysts celebrate remittance growth curves in seminars, but we need to unpack these shiny numbers. The Ministry of Expatriates’ Welfare and Overseas Employment publishes the total number of migrant workers by year, but has no timely statistics on returns which, by evidence of our airports, is large. So we have no calculation of how many are coming back due to deportation or job loss.

Is a hostile and unstable work environment with no migrant rights and little job security resulting in large remittance flows, since Bangladesh is the only safe destination for blue-collar workers’ earnings? This is not the only explanation for increased remittance flow, but it is certainly one possible factor, along with others that need to be explored. Finally, we need to demand, once again, that the government take real steps to represent and protect the rights of all working class migrants.

Asif Saleh

Published by the Daily Star on 8 December 2009.

Our country is going to be forty soon; our nationalism is prominently on display everywhere. However, I can’t but help detect a sense of hollowness in our national pride when we know that the country has not been fair to so many of its people. We have made a small step towards correcting that error through the verdict of November 19. Can this be the start of righting the wrongs that have been done to the people of this country?

THE final verdict of the Bangabandhu murder last month has made a lot of people declare that a big stone from their hearts has been lifted. However, can we declare ourselves shame-free so quickly? “It’s difficult not to dwell on the negatives, the fact that it took so long and that it seems unlikely it would’ve ever happened under a non-AL government,” a close family member of the Sheikh family recently wrote to me.

This may be hard to accept but therein lies our collective shame. That it took not only an AL government to be in power but also to be in power with a sweeping majority, and the founding father’s daughter to be the prime minister of the country, for the family to finally get justice is telling. How high a price is that to pay for something that should be automatically facilitated by the state?

Now that justice is being served for the country’s first family, what about the others who are not in a position to be the PM of the country? Even if I leave out the average Rahims from the picture, the delay in getting justice for the people who dedicated their lives in public service only for it to be brutally cut short, speaks volumes about our justice system. Yes, I am talking about Shah A.S.M. Kibria, Ivy Rahman, Ahsanullah Master and Nurul Islams of this country — the victims of political violence in Bangladesh. Why is it so hard to get justice for their families?

Exactly a year ago I was in Washington DC for a hearing on human rights in Bangladesh when I got a frantic call from my colleague Iffat Nawaz. “Moutushi’s father Nurul Islam is burnt and his brother has died,” she was crying on the phone. I had seen Moutushi just three weeks before — vibrantly going around helping us out for a concert that we organised for our organisation’s fund raising. In that visit, Iffat was supposed to introduce me to poet Ruby Rahman, her mother, whose charm and poetic skills I have heard so much about from my mother-in-law and her friend Shamim Azad. Instead of our meeting, our coffee and our adda, they were on the plane to Dhaka find out more about this “mysterious fire” that ravaged their family.

Exactly one year has gone by since then. I have moved back to Dhaka, and got to meet Ruby Rahman in a situation I hardly wished to meet. I see her and Moutushi a lot more now. They go from door to door pushing their case for a competent investigation. Moutushi spends night after night sleepless — looking for partners, friends and allies who can work with her in trying to get to the bottom of the mystery behind what killed her brother and father — with little success.

After a year of their running around, there has been little progress in uncovering the mystery behind the death of Nurul and Tamohar Islam. Days before the fire, sensing danger for his father, Nurul Islam’s son Tamohar frantically called his sister in the US. The news of the phone threats that Nurul Islam received before the incident have been echoed by people like Matia Chowdhury and Rashed Khan Menon. On the contrary, the initial police investigation report (January 10) claimed that the fire was the result of an explosion from the gas cylinder in the fridge, even though the ATN news report by Munni Shaha on December 4 2008, clearly showed that the lower back of the fridge was intact and that the compressor of the fridge did not explode.

There is also hardly any explanation of how an unplugged fridge that had been non-functional for three years could cause an explosion such as this. On top of that, there is no explanation for the broken door key, which made it impossible for Nurul Islam and Tamohar to open the locked door from inside. Like these, there are so many unanswered questions surrounding these two deaths that it is hard to accept them as accidental. There is little chance of making any inroads into this investigation without a comprehensive new look at this incident with fresh and expert investigators. However, what are the chances of seeing that happen?

I had little reason to be hopeful after I met Dr. Nazli Kibria at a conference on Bangladesh in Boston in October. When I raised the topic of the investigation of her father’s death, there was a sense of resignation in her face. “Nothing changes,” she said. And the sad thing is that her story is not that unique. Look around and you will find that this country is full of people deprived of basic justice and fairness. From 1971 to Pilikhana, this country has seen too many violent deaths that are unaccounted for.

Our country is going to be forty soon; our nationalism is prominently on display everywhere. However, I can’t but help detect a sense of hollowness in our national pride when we know that the country has not been fair to so many of its people. We have made a small step towards correcting that error through the verdict of November 19. Can this be the start of righting the wrongs that have been done to the people of this country?

Comrade Nurul Islam, who spent his entire lifetime speaking for the voiceless, deserves better than this. A transparent investigation with utmost priority by investigators with real expertise is the least that his friends, family and the citizens of this country can expect. Nothing short of attaining that will let us get rid of our collective shame and guilt. It is about time that we establish that the verdict of November 19 and justice served to the deceased family as a norm and not an exception in this country.

Tazreena Sajjad

Published by the Forum on 7 December 2009.

This piece questions who will take command responsibility in Bangladesh’s war crimes trials.

In January 1988, Col. Yehuda Meir ordered his troops to round up twenty Palestinian men from Hawara and Beita in the West Bank, bind them in handcuffs and blindfolds, and break their bones. The unit commander reporting to Meir passed on the order to his troops, but also told them he did not require them to comply. Some soldiers refrained from doing so, but others carried out the order with such zeal that they broke their truncheons.

RASHID TALUKDAR

The impending possibility of a war crimes trial in Bangladesh to try the alleged perpetrators of the 1971 genocide raises a plethora of pressing questions: Who should be prosecuted? How? Can and should the trial prosecute all those responsible for the genocide and crimes against humanity? How far up the command chain is it possible to go? Would the trial include the prosecution of the Pakistani generals? Is it too late to prosecute? What should the punishment be for war crimes atrocities?

While this is by no means an exhaustive list, the central issue surrounding many of these questions which requires greater clarity is that of command responsibility. The 1973 War Crimes Act of Bangladesh (Articles IV and V) recognises the importance of identifying command responsibility. But what does it actually mean? As Meir’s case above raises, and what the trials in Bangladesh would also reflect, is that command responsibility involves two fundamental thorny and complex questions. First, can obedience to superior orders be a defence against allegations of war crimes? Second, how far up the chain of command does “command responsibility” reach?

And while these questions may be the subject of intense legal debate and scrutiny, in the context of Bangladesh where crimes were ordered and committed by Pakistani officers, collaborators and Bengali auxiliary forces (Al Badr, Al Shams), the answers have overwhelming significance.

Origins and development
The doctrine of command responsibility is simple: in the armed forces, military commanders are responsible for the acts of their subordinates. If they fail to prevent or punish war crimes committed by their troops, they can be held responsible for violations of the laws of war. Contrary to a common perception, command responsibility is not a new development in international humanitarian law, national law or military codes. Its existence may be traced back in history to around 500 B.C. to Sun Tzu’s “the Art of War” outlining the duty of commanders to ensure that subordinates conduct themselves with a certain level of civility in armed conflict. In contemporary history, the principle of command responsibility can be traced to the US Civil War where Article 71 of General Orders No. 100 imposed criminal responsibility on commanders for ordering or encouraging soldiers to wound or kill already disabled enemies.

The first attempt at codifying the principle of command responsibility on a multinational level was The Hague Convention (IV) of 1907, Respecting the Laws and Customs of War on Land. Legal precedence for command responsibility was further consolidated in what are known as the Yamashita standard and the Medina standard, both of which inform the doctrine of hierarchical accountability for war crimes. The “Yamashita standard” is based upon the precedent set by the United States Supreme Court where Yamashita was charged with “unlawfully disregarding and failing to discharge his duty as a commander to control the acts of members of his command by permitting them to commit war crimes” in the Phillippines and duly prosecuted. The “Medina standard” is based upon the prosecution of US Army Captain Ernest Medina in connection with the My Lai Massacre during the Vietnam War.

In the realm of international law, the Geneva Conventions of 1949 and their Additional Protocols provide for criminal liability based on the accused’s position as a commander. On the international level, the doctrine of command responsibility clearly has been extended to civilian authorities exercising control over military forces. In the post-World War II prosecutions in Nuremberg and Tokyo, a number of civilian authorities were convicted of war crimes. More recently, the International Criminal Tribunal for the Former Yugoslavia (“ICTY”) and the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda (“ICTR”) have held civilians criminally liable for the actions of militarised forces under their control. In February 2001, the ICTY found Dario Kordiç, a Bosnian Croat political leader, guilty under a theory of command responsibility for grave breaches of the Geneva Conventions, crimes against humanity, and violations of the laws and customs of war for the actions of Bosnian Croat militia forces operating in central Bosnia. In 1998, at the ICTR, the former Prime Minister of Rwanda, Jean Kambanda, pled guilty to six criminal counts, including genocide and crimes against humanity. He is currently serving a life sentence.

The doctrine of command responsibility has recently been codified in Article 28 of the Rome Statute of the ICC. Article 28(a) imposes individual responsibility on military commanders for crimes committed by forces under their effective command and control, if they either knew or, owing to the circumstances at the time, should have known that the forces were committing or about to commit such crimes.

MUNIR UZ ZAMAN/DRIKNEWS

Command responsibility: A closer look
Command responsibility continues to be one of the most controversial and problematic developments in international law. In general, two types of command responsibility need be understood. The first, de jure (legal) command may be both military or civilian where the determining factor remains rank and subordination and involves issues of policy command (heads of state, high-ranking government officials, etc), strategic command (war cabinet, joint chiefs of staff), operations command (military leadership where the responsibility of preventing war crimes falls on the commanding officer) and finally tactical command (commander of troops on the ground). Then too is de facto command which specifies effective control, as opposed to formal rank and includes questions of capacity to issue orders, powers of influence, etc. In both cases, the central issue still holds: command responsibility extends as high as any officer in the chain of command who knows or has reason to know that his subordinates are committing war crimes and failed to act to stop them.

In order to hold a military commander, either criminally or civilly liable under the doctrine of command responsibility, the prosecution/plaintiff must prove three elements:

1) those committing the atrocities/war crimes were under the command of the defendant;

2) the commanders knew or should have known, based on the surrounding circumstances at the time, that their subordinates were engaging in impermissible conduct; and

3) the commanders did nothing to prevent or punish those responsible for the commission of such crimes.

Command responsibility: application for Bangladesh
The war crimes trial in Bangladesh will be challenged by several dimensions of command responsibility. The first is the issue of the role and responsibility of Pakistani generals who issued orders for committing crimes against the civilian population. Can the emerging trial address the questions of prosecution surrounding the top-level officials at that time in the Pakistani military? In principle, according to the commitment made by the Pakistani government and under universal jurisdiction, those in the Pakistani military who issued orders for rape, destruction of villages and property, extrajudicial killings, torture and maiming should be held accountable. However, barring the feasibility of these individuals being extradited to Bangladesh to face trials, there are other possibilities that exist: trial in absentia, as what had happened in the case of Pol Pot and Ieng Sary for the Cambodian genocide, and putting continued pressure on the Pakistani government to fulfil its treaty obligations.

Second, the domestic trial will irrefutably face the claims of “duress,”such as a threat to execute the subordinate for failure to carry out orders that will be offered in mitigation, in all likelihood by the defence. It is critical for the prosecution to be clear on the fact that the claim of superior orders cannot serve as affirmative defence. In other words, and very simply stated, according to International Humanitarian Law (IHL), a claim of superior orders cannot serve as a defence against an allegation of grave breaches or any of its serious violations such as genocide, war crimes against humanity and war crimes, the very charges on which these perpetrators will be brought forward on court.

SHAFIQUL ISLAM KAJOL/DRIKNEWS

The issue of how far up the chain of command does “command responsibility” reach speaks directly to questions about the chain of command and how far it may extend for ordering a war crime. Article 86 of Additional Protocol I to the 1949 Geneva Conventions states: “the fact that a breach of the Conventions or of this Protocol was committed by a subordinate does not absolve his superiors from penal disciplinary responsibility as the case may be if they knew, or had information, which would have enabled them to conclude in the circumstances at the time that he was committing or was going to commit such a breach and if they did not take all feasible measures within their power to prevent or repress the breach.” This rule also applies to officers. Therefore, command responsibility extends as high as any officer in the chain of command who knows or has reason to know that his subordinates are committing war crimes and failed to act to stop them. It is imperative, then, to examine to what extent Bangladesh domestic law embraces these internationally recognised standards for superior orders and command responsibility.

Command responsibility in the Bangladesh genocide: Further reflections
While keeping in mind that the war crimes tribunal will be a domestic court constrained by local factors and limited by its inability to capitalise on the developments made in international and mixed tribunals, there are still lessons to be learned from examples of trying cases of command responsibility. Case laws of command responsibility have had mixed results and have raised difficult and highly controversial questions, starting with the famous Yamashita case heard by the International Military Tribunal in Tokyo following World War II. This Tribunal held a senior enemy commander to what many critics, including a dissenting U.S. Supreme Court opinion, thought to be an extraordinarily high standard of responsibility for actions of subordinates, even under circumstances where Admiral Yamashita had lost almost all command, control, and communications over his subordinates.

In practical terms, command responsibility is not taken to extend as far up the chain of command as might logically be implied, that is, to commanders in chief, and is generally confined to officers in some meaningful supervisory capacity. All of the prosecutions that took place at the East Timor Special Panels involved low-level, and often poorly educated, offenders. Furthermore, the International Criminal Tribunal of Yugoslavia (ICTY)’s early convictions included Erdomovic, a lowly soldier of the Bosnian Serb Army, and Tadic, an indistinguishable thug.

In any conflict, there are conflict entrepreneurs, leaders and actual killers. Realities of conflicts more than often imply that individuals may transverse the lines between being victims, perpetrators and bystanders, making it impossible to prosecute every individual responsible for war crimes. The concept of command responsibility focuses on individual criminal responsibility, such that authority and its abuse may be traced to those issuing orders for the undue and unlawful use of force. As those charged with the responsibility of establishing a fair, transparent and effective trial establish the parameters of who will be tried, on what account and how many trials will be held, it is imperative that the nuances, controversies, debates and issues surrounding command responsibility is clearly understood. The issue is not only a matter of “commanding officers” but, as was highlighted, of a range of factors and a range of options that may be available to identify the question of chain of command and whom to hold accountable for the commission of genocide and crimes against humanity in 1971. The role and actions of Al Badr, Al Shams and other collaborators provide significant ground to pursue the questions of culpability in the court of law, independent of the decisions and outcomes surrounding the role of Pakistani generals in the Bangladesh genocide.

AZIZUR RAHIM PEU/DRIKNEWS

In the Meir trial, the defendant argued in his own defence that he was acting in accord with his understanding of orders given by his superiors. The tribunal rejected his argument. The judges concluded that political and high-ranking military officials had not given orders to break bones. Consequently, the State Prosecutor’s office decided not pursue charges against Ehud Barak, the chief of staff at the time, Rabin, the minister of defence, or Maj. Gen. Yitzhak Mordechai, the commanding officer of the central zone. However, officers and soldiers who carried out Meir’s orders were tried in special military courts and convicted.

Can Bangladesh’s quest for justice illuminate the abuse of command responsibility and serve justice to those in the chain of command who are guilty of systematic and widespread human rights atrocities?

Tazreena Sajjad

Published by the Forum on 2 November 2009.

This piece outlines the lessons Bangladesh can draw from Cambodia in bringing war criminals to trail.

Between 1975 and 1979, Cambodia was under the rule of the Khmer Rouge. Led by Pol Pot, the goal of the Khmer Rouge was to reconstruct Cambodia on the communist model of Mao’s China and create a classless society comprising of one federation of collective farms.

This radical program included isolating the country from foreign influence, closing schools, universities, hospitals and factories, abolishing banking, finance and currency, outlawing all religions, confiscating all private property and relocating people from urban areas to collective farms where forced labour was widespread. It also included abolishing all civil and political rights, enforced separation of children from their parents, and the systematic killing of lawyers, doctors, teachers, engineers, scientists and professionals in any field (including the military) along with their extended families. Leading Buddhist monks were killed and almost all temples destroyed. Also targeted were minority groups, victims of the Khmer Rouge’s racism. These included ethnic Chinese, Vietnamese and Thai, and also Cambodians with Chinese, Vietnamese or Thai ancestry. Half the Cham Muslim population and 8,000 Christians were also murdered. Music and radio sets were banned. It was possible for people to be shot simply for knowing a foreign language, wearing glasses, laughing, or crying. One Khmer slogan ran ”To spare you is no profit, to destroy you is no loss.” It is estimated that approximately 2 million Cambodians died during Khmer Rouge reign from executions, disease and starvation.

While Bangladesh experienced political instability, dictatorships and military coup d’états and the entrenchment of alleged war criminals in public spaces, Cambodia struggled with a civil war following the overthrow of the Khmer Rouge, a regime dependant on neighbouring Vietnam, and continued power struggles between different political parties till the formal surrender of the remaining Khmer Rouge forces in 1998.

The discussion of accountability for the genocide was as absent in mainstream discourse in Cambodia as in Bangladesh. There were, however, a few attempts to seek justice for the genocide and crimes against humanity that were committed during Pol Pot’s rule that merit mention.

First, a memorial and museum in Phnom Penh were erected and a day of remembrance was established on the date of Khmer Rouge’s overthrow.

Second, seven months after the overthrow of Khmer Rouge in 1979, a “People’s Revolutionary Tribunal” was established, staffed with Cambodian and international lawyers that convicted Pol Pot and Ieng Sary of genocide in absentia. Ieng Sary received a royal pardon in 1996 for his defection to the government and Pol Pot died in 1998 shortly after being put under house arrest.

However, the trial was considered mostly a show trial, and did not satisfy the demands for justice and accountability amongst the human rights community in the country. Although the 1991 Paris Peace Accords contained no explicit provision for justice or accountability, the parties committed “to take effective measures to ensure that the policies and practices of the past shall never be allowed to return.”1

The idea of the Extraordinary Chambers in the Courts of Cambodia (ECCC) was initiated in 1997, when Cambodian co-Prime Ministers Hun Sen and Norodom Ranrindh wrote to the United Nations to request assistance in providing accountability for senior Khmer Rouge Leaders that were still at large. A UN commission of experts explored various options for pressing criminal charges and finally recommended that trials be held under international guidance, preferably outside the country. This resulted in a protracted period of negotiations that lasted nearly ten years before the inauguration of the court in June 2006.

The June 2003 Agreement between the UN and the Royal Government of Cambodia established that the ECCC procedures shall follow Cambodian law, and the ECCC “shall exercise jurisdiction in accordance to international standards of justice, fairness, and due process of law as set out in Articles 14 and 15 of the 1966 International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights” to which Cambodia is a state party.2 Under Article 28 of the agreement, the United Nations reserves the right to withdraw cooperation from the process if Cambodia causes the ECCC to fall short of complying with those standards.

Under the final terms of the agreement, the ECCC is a hybrid international tribunal that is composed of both Cambodian and international judges, prosecutors and court staff with the mandate to prosecute “senior leaders” of the Khmer Rouge and those “most responsible”for crimes against humanity, war crimes, genocide and violations international humanitarian law and certain crimes under national law committed between April 17, 1975 and January 6, 1979. The majority of the judges are Cambodian, but it is required that at least one international judge must agree to any verdict. This unique arrangement ensured the primacy of Cambodia’s sovereignty without compromising compliance with international norms and standards. And although it has not yet been finalised, the court statute includes the mechanism to provide non-monetary compensation to victims who may participate in trials.

The selection criteria has pragmatic underpinningsit allows for some discretion of the court as to the number of perpetrators that will be prosecuted while recognising that the there will perhaps be no more than ten defendants. There is also the concern that spreading the net far and wide could lead to a “witch hunt” of junior Khmer Rouge leaders that do have links to the existing government. Finally, there is the financial concernthe court’s budget of $56 million spread over three years would not be able to accommodate more than a handful of trials. To date, the ECCC has arrested all five Khmer Rouge leaders indicted by both Cambodian and international prosecutors. These figures have been charged with various counts of war crimes, crimes against humanity, murder, torture and genocide.

The challenges for successful prosecutions are significant. There are logistical and procedural delays with serious allegations of political interference and corruption. There is always a niggling concern that the government can disrupt or derail trials to suit perceived political needs and because a majority of Cambodian judges will hear cases and the Cambodian prosecutor and investigating judge must concur with any trial decisions. There are other challenges to consider–administrative hurdles from finishing the courtroom preparations, hiring translators, implementing financial controls to prevent corruption and the urgent need of funding.

The ECCC will soon seek an additional $43 million to fulfill its mandate. There too is a lack of clear resolution of the appropriate response to allegations of corruption within the Cambodian side of the court. There are allegations of a kickback scheme in which employees are permanently obliged to pay a proportion of their salary to their superiors in exchange for their recruitment. Those who have lodged complaints against these practices have allegedly lost their jobs as a direct result. While the ECCC’s Cambodian administration has consistently denied these allegations, the persistence of these allegations and the willingness of some staff to publicly make these statements have done damage to ECCC’s legitimacy.

Lessons for Bangladesh
What can Bangladesh learn from the experiences of Cambodia revisiting its legacy of large-scale atrocities?

First, Bangladesh is not alone in experiencing the moral and political pressure to respond to war crimes committed in the 1970s.

Second, like Cambodia, Bangladesh has to respond to legal obligations that state there is no statute of limitations (i.e. there is no statute setting a time limit on legal action) in the event of systematic and widespread abuses committed against a people.

Third, the passage of time has had a detrimental impact on pragmatic issues such as loss of witnesses, documentation of crimes and the entrenchment of war criminals in the public sphere. That could pose challenges to judicial proceedings that at times could be difficult if not impossible to circumvent.

Fourth, in the discussion of what kind of trials, and the extent of international intervention and support, there will be inevitable concerns raised about sovereignty and pressures to ensure that it is a fully domestic led effort. Correspondingly, these will also raise questions about the independent nature of the proceedings and could engender speculation of negative external intervention and interference and give rise to rumors and allegations of “foreign” manipulation in the outcomes of the cases. On the other hand, as experiences in Cambodia have indicated, a domestic led effort is open to both allegations and realities of corruption both in the legal and particularly in the administrative departments of the ECCC.

The possibility of such discussions emerging in the Bangladesh context and the politicisation of

Amdadul Huq/Driknews

legal proceedings would have to be guarded against. While the Cambodian efforts for seeking accountability have received a significant level of international support, both in terms of expertise as well as financial assistance, Bangladesh has to be acutely aware of the extent to which the international community will be allowed to and be willing to participate in its domestic efforts and perhaps even more importantly bear the financial burdens of these trials. The costs of war crimes tribunals are not minimal; outside of the immediate court costs, there will be additional administrative and bureaucratic costs especially in the case of prolonged trials and it is critical to identify potential donors and funds in the event of such a reality.

There are other lessons that Bangladesh can draw from Cambodia and particularly from the ECCC.

First, there is no substitute for coordinated, organised and well-developed documentation procedures and a unified stance that will continue to put pressure for the war crimes trials to move forward while upholding the highest standards of justice. The Cambodian Documentation project has done a remarkable job in tracing, tracking and collecting evidence of the genocide and its network of NGOs have played a critical role in ensuring that decades after the commission of crimes, individuals are held responsible for their roles in human atrocities and that the government makes a firm and sustained commitment to dealing with those guilty of war crimes. Bangladesh NGOs, human rights activists and individuals pushing for the war crimes trials need to pay attention to the organisation and commitment demonstrated by those in Cambodia who have made ECCC possible and learn from both their strategies and their mistakes.

Second, while there are those who criticise the ECCC and are cynical of the proceedings, what is irrefutable is the discourse that is developing in Cambodia regarding its dark history and a growing sense of awareness of the need to know more and engage with those who have survived the genocide in the 1970s. In Bangladesh, a similar strain is already visible; yet it is critical to ensure that urgency and awareness is allowed to grow, develop and sustain itself so that the history of the country is neither forgotten nor allowed to be sabotaged by revisionists’ interpretation of the events that led up to 1971.

The ECCC judges’ decisions to adopt rules allowing victims to participate as civil parties in the proceedings and to create a dedicated victims’ unit has been a positive development for the ECCC’s legacy within Cambodia and also a precedent for other internationally assisted courts. In areas such as witness protection, court management practices, provision of transcripts of hearings, and an independent defence support unit that works with defence legal teams, the ECCC have also taken important steps towards modeling a functioning, fair judicial system. Those responsible for the Bangladeshi war crimes trials have much to learn from these developments. Further, the ECCC has also provided a useful way for civil society to publicise the trails and has begun to promote the public and media to reflect on Cambodia’s history. Court officials have participated in public outreach events, the Cambodian nongovermmental organisations such as the centre for Social Development and Khmer Institute of Democracy and ADHOC have been active in developing a range of public for a and reconciliation exercises. Although the scale of the war crimes trial in Bangladesh will be different, it is pertinent to take note of the various ways in which the ECCC has been actively engaged with the Cambodian public to disseminate information about its work and the reasons for its establishment while creating new venues for civil society to engage with court proceedings and outcomes. If such measures are completely disregarded in the Bangladesh context, then the trials will remain a remote and isolated project without context and without continued public support and interest in the proceedings and its outcome.

While Bangladesh and Cambodia share a history of human tragedy that unfolded around the same time and overshadowed by Cold War politics, international indifference, domestic politics and policies and the subsequent entrenched climate of impunity, both countries already have and will continue to have distinctly different experiences in trying to address questions of war time atrocities. International support and nature of the trials in Cambodia is different from the Bangladesh context as is the reality of the length of trials and the practical considerations surrounding trials of the elderly war criminals in the Cambodian situation. There are other differing aspects too, such as the confessions of the born-again Christian Duch whose statements have provided a breakthrough for the ECCC to continue to press forward on seeking prosecutions of other criminals for the Cambodian genocide.

Noor Alam/Driknews

Nevertheless, as pointed out earlier, there are valuable lessons to be drawn from our Asian neighbour which is of vital significance for the success of the Bangladeshi trials. While we may not witness full disclosures and confessions brought on by remorse and guilt of perpetrators, a vigilant, systematic and vigorous process can hope to identify and try individuals guilty of committing egregious crimes. The reality is, like the ECCC, the war crimes tribunal will be largely symbolic in its ability to try a handful of cases against the worst perpetrators; yet, if the groundwork is prepared adequately, justice can be served against those who have yet to face charges for crimes against humanity. The ECCC’s experience has already indicated that corruption and political manipulation is a reality even with international presence; in the Bangladesh context, such a lesson should promote steps to affirm the independence of such a court and barring government officials from actions that could be perceived as attempts to influence the judicial process. Individuals implicated in corruption charges should be fully investigated and removed if the charges rove to be true.

Last, but not the least, one of the challenges facing the ECCC is the lack of clarity regarding the discussion of reparations for victims. The ECCC is being advised to consider how to maximise the impact of the reparations mandate, including soliciting public input on the feasibility of a trust fund for victims and relevant cultural considerations in formulating appropriate collective reparations for the various categories of victims involved. In the case of the war crimes trials in Bangladesh, deliberations regarding reparations should not be left as a marginal issue; if, like Cambodia there is lack of clarification of what reparations should involve, there is a strong possibility that the Bangladesh war crimes trials will face a challenge of monumental proportions.

Additional Readings:
On the Issues: Cambodia, United States Institute of Peace, http://www.usip.org/on_the_issues/ cambodia.html
Official ECCC website

http://www.eccc.gov.kh/english/court_doc.list.aspx

Documentation Center of Cambodia

http://www.dccam.org/

An Anatomy of the Extraordinary Chambers.” Awaiting Justice: Essays on Khmer Rouge Accountability, Jason Abrams, Jaya Ramji & Beth Van Schaack (eds.) (Mellon Press, 2005).

1 Agreement on a Comprehensive Political Settlement of the Cambodian Conflict, Article 15(2) (a) Oct 23, 1991.
2 Agreement between the UN and the Royal Government of Cambodia Concerning the Prosecution under the Cambodian Law of Crimes Committed during the period of Democratic Kampuchea, June 6, 2003, Article 12 (2)

Asif Saleh and Mridul Chowdhury

Published in the Seminar-India on 1 Nov 2009.

THE media scene in Bangladesh has undergone a dramatic transformation over the past forty years. What initially started as an outcome of missionary zeal has now grown into a full-fledged industry, employing a significant number of journalists and plays an important role in the shaping of democracy in Bangladesh. With an increase in the number of distribution channels as a result of significant new investment, the media’s role has expanded in both the print and electronic domains.

However, with the rise of media, in particular new media, industry insiders face many questions about their role, practices and business viability. On one hand, the media has been hailed for raising awareness about democratic principles and, on the other, it has been accused of serving as a tool for influence peddling. This short paper attempts to analyze the political impact of the growth of mass media in Bangladesh, focusing particularly on how changes in media ownership and control have altered its role in politics, in particular how media has influenced the citizens’ ‘demand for democracy, accountability and transparency.’

Bangladesh now has more than four hundred registered newspapers. However, of significance are the top seven in Bangla and top three in English. Based on circulation data, the top seven Bangla newspapers together sell about 800,000 copies across the five divisions every day. The weekly newspapers have, however, been declining with very few reaching significant circulation, in part because almost all the leading daily newspapers have free weekend supplements, thus negatively affecting the demand for weeklies.

The electronic media sector is highly competitive, with about twelve independent satellite channels and one government controlled terrestrial channel. The degree of professionalism and public acceptance of the channels vary widely. As in the print sector, most of these channels are not economically viable and survive only due to political patronage.

Private radio channels too have been increasing in recent years. Until very recently, the government controlled Bangladesh Betar was the only radio option available in addition to the BBC Bangla Radio Service broadcast from London. However, within the last five years, several private radio channels have come up. Though mostly focusing on entertainment and targeting the young urban population, they are now showing an increasing maturity in news reporting.

With the rise of internet usage, new media outlets have seen a steady increase in Bangladesh. The premium news outlet among them is bdnews 24.com which, within the last couple of years, has positioned itself as a significant player dominating news coverage among the urban educated populace, sometimes covering politically sensitive news items that mainstream papers would prefer to avoid, such as human rights violations by the military intelligence. Apart from newspapers, major Bangla blogs such as somewhereinblog.com and Sachalayatan.com have also seen a marked rise in readership. More people are now using blogs to look for news with personal viewpoints, express their own opinions and use them as outlets for citizen journalism.

The birth of media in Bangladesh can be traced to the involvement of political parties in the early ’60s during the heady days of the anti-autocratic movement in then East Pakistan. The build-up to the national struggle for independence and the subsequent liberation war in 1971 saw the emergence of a fervent nationalistic media attempting to counter the media propaganda from West Pakistan. The immediate post-liberation era during the regime of the founding father, Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, ironically culminated in efforts at a ‘nationalization’ of the print media, thus largely stripping it off its independence. The infamous Printing Press and Publications Ordinance enacted in 1973 was used by successive governments for the next 18 years to keep a tight control over the media.

During the subsequent General Zia ur Rahman regime that assumed power in 1976, although newspapers were once again ‘deregulated’, they continued to be placed under strict censorship by the military, an approach that was largely followed, if not further intensified, by the next military dictator, General Ershad. Public criticism of the government was discouraged, often resulting in years of incarceration.

By the mid-1980s, as unrest against the government began to mount, Bangladesh saw the rise of a new kind of media outlet – 32 page weeklies printed on inexpensive newsprint and carrying extensive political and social commentary. These new brand of weeklies led by Jai Jai Din became instantly popular. Though barely viable commercially, they served as spontaneous outlets of resistance against military rule. Jai Jai Din was banned twice, and its editor was thrown into jail. Other papers such as Bichinta and Kagoj too met a similar fate.

However, as the anti-autocracy political movement gathered strength in the late 1980s, journalists became increasingly bold, eventually resulting in a media non-cooperation movement with the government and a refusal to publish in solidarity with the opposition’s campaign. It is believed that this non-cooperation by the media played an important role in the eventual down-fall of autocracy, thus elevating the status of media and certain editors and journalists in popular perception.

The first caretaker government which assumed power after the fall of the Ershad regime in 1991 annulled the abusive and undemocratic Printing Press and Publications Ordinance, resulting in the reopening of newspapers and renewed press freedom. This was a new dawn in the print media of Bangladesh. In the new era of a relatively free environment, the media thrived. The complete dominance of Ittefaq that lasted through most of the ’70s and ’80s was soon challenged by a new group of journalists and papers. Ajker Kagoj was the first newspaper to be bank-rolled by a businessman and had a more contemporary approach to news. About the same time, The Daily Star was set up, challenging the dominance of Bangladesh Observer. Both its treatment of news and get-up was different, and the paper was printed at a modern computerized press, giving it a more contemporary look.

Slowly, other new entrants joined the market as Bangladesh’s economy grew at a rate of five to six per cent and corporates became more aware of creating brand awareness through advertising. In the Bangla newspaper domain, Banglabajar, Manab Jamin, Jai Jai Din, Bhorer Kagoj, Prothom Alo, Shomokal, Jugantar, Naya Diganta, to mention a few, entered the fray. Incidentally, all of them were financially backed by some of the biggest business houses in Bangladesh.

Private electronic media entered the scene in 1999 with Ekushey TV (ETV), which was the sole player till 2001. ETV effectively changed the media landscape by infusing high levels of professionalism in the field of television journalism. ETV acquired a wide reach because it had a terrestrial license, soon bypassing the popularity of the national TV channel, Bangladesh TV. Within a short time, ETV built a wide following among the public with its newscasters and reporters gaining instant celebrity status. The channel showed what was possible with a good mix of investment and a vision for the industry. However, in 2001, ETV was shut down by the government, ostensibly because of some legal complications. Insiders claim that it was a political decision after the change of government in early 2001.

Within a year of the shutdown of ETV, new private channels started to appear. In less than five years, five new channels started to operate. Unlike in the past, it is worth noting that each of these were fully or partially owned by leaders of the governing political party.

Accompanying the growth and diversification of new distribution channels for information was the growing demand for quality. From 2006 till 2008, Bangladesh went through probably the most turbulent time in its recent political history. As a result, people’s appetite for news and analysis also increased. The year 2006 saw the first political talk show with expert analysts holding differing views coming together to analyze the day’s events. Tritiyo Matra, a pioneer of this trend, saw its popularity rocket in its first year.

A quick glance at the ratings reveals that the financial returns on making a talk show far outweigh costs, since production expenses are minimal. On average, each channel runs two talk shows every day, repeating them at least once the same day. Currently the twelve active channels produce about 18 TV hours of talk shows every day. Typically, the shows are telecast in the evening. Within a 12 hour news cycle, any event of consequence is subjected to detailed scrutiny and analysis. Over the past three years, the shows have technically improved to incorporate call-ins from the audience to ensure greater public participation.

The pioneer of the talk show in Bangladesh was the BBC Sanglap, which started off as an experimental programme of the BBC World Service Trust. The aim of this show, where lawmakers are questioned by the audience, was to demand greater accountability from the government. The programme became extremely popular with Bangladeshi audiences and soon other talk shows began adopting its format.

With the declaration of a state of emergency on 11 January 2007, the country was once again plunged into an era of state suppression as regards press freedom. However, this time press censorship took a different form, enforced more through self-censoring by the editors rather than an outright banning of publications. It was alleged that the military controlled government defined clear boundaries that media outlets should not transgress.

Arguably, some of these pressures culminated in a change of ownership structure fuelled by an anti-corruption drive that put many of the media owners behind bars. During this period, different media outlets took varying editorial positions on the ‘interventionism’ of the military-backed regime – some critical while others broadly supportive of the effort at ‘cleaning up politics’ and the army’s anti-corruption drive. Whether this was a reflection of choice or coercion remains a matter of discussion, but it does appear that the news coverage was slanted to conform to boundaries that were not meant to be crossed.

A majority of the newspapers are affiliated or owe allegiance to some political party or the other, some more explicit than others. The two leading dailies – Prothom Alo and The Daily Star, both unquestioned leaders in Bangla and English daily newspaper segments are, however, exceptions. Nevertheless, these two newspapers have also faced some public criticism for being ‘sympathetic’ to the military-backed caretaker government during 2007-2008.

Most of the private TV channels were founded by political leaders, who continue to maintain significant ownership. However, there are a few notable exceptions such as Channel I, ATN Bangla and ETV, which have been founded by businessmen and media personalities.

Most party-affiliated newspapers reflect clear bias towards their favoured party in terms of news content and editorial position. However, political bias is generally less marked in the electronic media than in print and there is greater even-handedness in the coverage of the two major parties. One possible reason for this is that viewers can easily switch channels and see the other side of a certain news story, something that is not as easy with the print media. Probably, the fear of losing audiences if they appear too biased in their treatment of news, has served to modulate their political inclinations.

There are generally two schools of thought regarding the level of influence that political ownership of the media has on public opinion. While some argue that political ownership of the media significantly influences people towards one party or the other through selective news content, biased treatment of news and even outright propaganda, others disagree, pointing to the relative absence of bias in most of the leading newspapers (indicating people’s general preference for politically unbiased news) and the electronic media.

While assessments of the possible influence of political ownership of media in shaping public opinion may vary, most experts do agree that the media affects the ‘demand for democracy’, even though there are differences of opinion as to the degree. The media’s role as a significant force in augmenting citizens’ ‘demand for democracy’ first became apparent during the campaign against the Ershad regime. Subsequently, in the 1990s, newspapers such as The Daily Star, Prothom Alo, and TV channels such as ETV, created a public appetite for professional and unbiased news, thus strengthening the foundation for democratic behaviour. For the first time, both in print and on TV, people saw a more balanced treatment of the news about and views of both major parties.

During the reign of the military backed caretaker government that lasted for nearly two years, newspapers played an increasingly active role in contributing to and augmenting the efforts of civil society for democratic reforms, particularly in demanding political party reforms and clean and honest candidates, as also a strengthening of independent commissions. The electronic media too played a significant role in ensuring that politicians engage with common people.

During this phase, ‘reformists’ emerged in both major parties demanding better democratic practices and transparency within parties, thus directly challenging the long-held dominance of Khaleda Zia and Sheikh Hasina in their respective parties. The media, for the most part, highlighted the issues raised by the reformists. While some contend that the media coverage was due to directives from military intelligence, whose agenda was to highlight flaws in political parties, it is undeniable that the media played a crucial role in enhancing people’s awareness about non-democratic behaviour and lack of transparency within parties.

Simultaneously, there were several civil society groups such as Shushaner Jonno Nagorik (Shujon), which became extremely active in campaigning for clean and honest candidates and transparency in campaign expenditure. Leading dailies such as Prothom Alo and The Daily Star actively participated in these campaigns, highlighting information about candidates, tracking fulfilment of criteria set for political candidacy and closely monitoring campaign expenditure. The efforts of civil society groups were thus significantly augmented by the active participation of the media.

The media also significantly contributed to the campaign against war criminals by encouraging talk shows and presenting non-stop news about the anti-corruption drive and the crackdown on war criminals. The results of the 2008 election clearly indicate some success on both these counts, although it may be hard to establish any direct causality with the media efforts. Many of the known corrupt people and also the most prominent alleged war criminals failed to win parliamentary seats.

Efforts at strengthening democratic institutions, particularly the independent commissions, were also highlighted by a segment of the media. By facilitating interaction between the Election Commission and the public, the media helped maintain continued public pressure for accountability. Reforms in the Public Service Commission was another focus of the media, leading to significant changes in the administrative structure of the commission. The establishment of the Human Rights Commission too was a result of public pressure, augmented by the media. Again, though it is hard to establish direct causality, there is a pattern that significant coverage led to greater transparency of and proactive action by the government.

However, similar success cannot be claimed in the campaign for accountability of the Anti-Corruption Commission and the functioning of the special anti-corruption courts. Although both the public discourse and media coverage throughout the two years of the caretaker government was largely dominated by charges of corruption in the political sphere, there was much less focus on the working of the Anti-Corruption Commission itself in ensuring due and fair processes while framing charges and jailing people. Here was a chance for the media to create public pressure for more transparency. Instead, it chose to remain on the sidelines, ultimately failing to optimally utilize the power and influence that it had managed to gain over the years. Although the media did turn its attention to this issue during the last half of 2008, there were limits that were never crossed, possibly because of the covert role of military intelligence.

In free societies, the media’s role is often compared to that of the opposition in attempting to make the government accountable. Unfortunately, because of the failure of the opposition parties in Parliament, it has fallen to the media to ensure governmental accountability, so much so that analysts wonder whether the media in Bangladesh actually undermines parliamentary democracy. This role of the media will possibly remain significant so long as the politics of the country does not become sufficiently mature for healthy debate between the governing parties and the opposition inside the Parliament and outside.

However, with power comes responsibility. Bangladeshi media has yet to mature and shoulder responsibility to consistently provide analytical and unbiased views in their news coverage. With an increasing number of entrants in the industry, motivated more by influence peddling than professionalism, the industry as a whole is yet to become mature. Nevertheless, it has come a long way from where it started and has played a pivotal role by demanding more accountability from the state and its actors and in pro-actively engaging citizens in political processes. The media today stands at a critical juncture where it needs to constantly evaluate itself to avoid the threat of once again being placed under a restrictive regulatory frame.

Hanufa Shamsuddin and Jyoti Rahman

Published by the New Age on 29 October 2009.

The underlying cause of tension in the Chittagong Hill Tracts is the reality of continuing discrimination faced by the region’s indigenous peoples in terms of the ongoing land encroachment and eviction, often in the name of development (eco-parks, plantations, construction of infrastructure), discrimination in access to justice and protection of the law.

THE right to preserve and foster diverse ethnic and religious identities was one of the fundamental issues underpinning Bangladesh’s freedom struggle that culminated in the war of independence of 1971. Ironically, by declaring that citizens of Bangladesh were to be known as Bengalis, the constitution (Article 6 Part 1) of the people’s republic transgressed that very idea in 1972. The Bangladeshi nationalism adopted by post-1975 governments should have ameliorated the original grievance of the non-Bengali peoples of the Chittagong Hill Tracts. These didn’t happen because those same governments militarised ethnic tensions in the region, leading to the formation of Shanti Bahini, which waged a military insurgency that raged until the 1997 CHT Accord was signed to end the conflict in the region.
   As a result of the accord, Shanti Bahini no longer exists. It has been replaced by two Pahari political groups — the United People’s Democratic Front and Parbatya Chattagram Jana Sanghati Samity. These groups do not seek separation of the region from Bangladesh. Their demand is full implementation of the accord within the framework of territorial integrity of the country.
   Units of the Bangladesh Army are being withdrawn from the three CHT districts as per the accord. Some commentators have cynically questioned these withdrawals on misleading or distorted grounds. (Interview to the Himal Magazine by Brigadier Genera (retired) Hannan Shah is an example; see http://www.himalmag.com/Interview-with-retired-Brigadier-General-Hannah-Shah_fnw15.html.) Interestingly, many of these commentaries highlight only the most recent withdrawal of 35 camps, neglecting to mention 200 or so camps withdrawn during 2001-06 under the last elected government.
   The commentaries typically argue that as a result of the withdrawal of armed forces, the law and order situation in the region has deteriorated. But surely it is not the military’s responsibility to maintain law and order. If deteriorating law and order situation across the country doesn’t call for martial law, then why should CHT be an exception? Historically, it is the deferential treatment to the military that has created conflicts in this region.
   Indeed, the military’s record of keeping law and order in the region is akin to the peace of the graveyard, littered with random ‘arrests’, ‘questioning’ and torture by the army of political activists. There have been incidences such as the mass killings in Longadu in 1989 and Logang in 1991, or the abduction of Kalpana Chakma in June 1997. As late as in April 2008, 70 homes of mostly Paharis were burnt in Sajek. The inhabitants have still not been able to return to their homes. Those who held press conference in Dhaka were threatened and had to go into hiding.
   Another issue frequently raised by those who question the withdrawals is that of Bengali settlers. However, these pundits seldom differentiate between those who came in the region through natural migration and those who have been settled through forced migration. The Ganges-Brahmaputra delta of today’s Bangladesh (and neighbouring regions of the Indian northeast) has seen natural migration for many centuries. However, the source of discontent in the CHT region is usually not such natural migration. Rather, it is the 400,000 or so Bengalis who were settled there at gunpoint, and given deeds over land that was customarily owned by Paharis.
   The 1997 accord recognises customary ownership of land according to the CHT Regulation Act 1900. The forced settlement took place ignoring this act, and is the source of land disputes. The Bengali settlers here are as much victims as the Paharis. And demagoguery on this issue helps no one.
   Sadly, land grabbing is still going on in the CHT region. The forestry department alone has grabbed 2 lakh 18 thousand acres. The army has been taking over land in the name of garrisons, training and artillery. In Chimbuk recently, Parjatan (the state tourism bureau) took over 250 acres of land when they were only supposed to take ten. Even NGOs have taken part in land grabbing.
   Lack of proper demarcation compounds the situation. But the underlying cause is the reality of continuing discrimination faced by the region’s indigenous peoples in terms of the ongoing land encroachment and eviction, often in the name of development (eco-parks, plantations, construction of infrastructure), discrimination in access to justice and protection of the law.
   Those who genuinely wish to see peace in Chittagong Hills should focus on the discrimination and injustice, instead of using hyperbolic half-truths to support a military occupation

Fariha Sarawat

Published by the Daily Star on 14 October 2009.

MODHUMITA, a housewife and mother of two, hasn’t had a full night’s sleep since May not since her house and the small shrimp hatchery her family owned got washed away by Cyclone Aila and her two small children almost died.

The last time I was down in her village Shakbaria: a small community of about a 40-50 mainly Hindu families on the south-western coastal belt of Khulna her family of seven was still living in a makeshift house made of straw, fronds and plastic sheeting provided by Save the Children UK.

This was almost four months after the Cyclone had hit the house that got washed away. That was an NGO-prescribed “climate-resilient” variety of the kind that had been built to stand tall even against the onslaught of violent, tropical storms. It got washed away by the fierce tidal surge of unprecedented velocity. The early warning systems in place had only predicted the storm, not the ferocity of the tidal surge. The collateral damage was not caused by the storm, but by the mighty tidal surge that it had propelled. This shows once again that we need to scale up our disaster risk reduction efforts and hone our early warning systems.

I have worked with two different kinds of climate change survivors the ones who live at the forefront, on the coast, and deal with the frequent calamities, and the ones who have migrated to the cities because they figured survival, which is hard enough in this part of the world under normal circumstances, would just be easier if they didn’t have to fight a huge storm or flood every few months.

The latter group seems to be increasing in number. But not out of choice.

For the families who live at the coast, migration to cities is not a choice; it’s a necessity. The coast now has fewer jobs, less arable land, or even dry land to build houses on; schools get flooded and closed down; trees, crops and vegetation are dying from salinity, and fresh drinking water is always scarce in supply.

But here’s the ironythings are worse in the cities.

The cities are overcrowded. The slums where the migrant families take shelter are already too cramped with their former residents. The condition of the sewerage system is abominable, and it continues to contaminate drinking water sources; housing is scarce and expensive, as is the general cost of living. Hence entire families, including the young children, have to work for food and rent. I met one ten-year-old boy in a Dhaka slum called Rubel, who’s been working since he was just five years old. His parents had moved to Dhaka after their home had been washed away by river erosion.

Sitting here at the forefront of climate change, we hear talks of helping climate change migrants cope with their changing lives in the city. While I applaud this effort, I can’t help but wonder if this is how we’re looking at reducing risks and damage from disastersby shifting people away from the disaster zones.

Is this not myopic? Will it be sustainable?

Where are we planning on whisking people away? We have no space!

As the world gears up for the December talks in Copenhagen, life is still not picking up speed in the Aila-devastated areas of Khulna and Satkhira. With scores of families still living in makeshift houses on the embankment and children still dependent on humanitarian aid for their basic needs of food, safe drinking water, and medicine, and most importantly a safe shelter, life is still far from “normal”.

But what is most jarring about the whole tragedy is that given the present trends in climate changehigher frequency and intensity in disasters, more forceful tidal waves and rising water levels this “makeshift” lifestyle can become the norm for the region.

How will these people cope? Who will help them? Or will they also be forced to migrate?

While most of the world’s brilliant minds are occupied with developing complicated models and equations to figure out the phenomena, very little is being done to help the people living at the forefront adapt to their changing situation. People like Rubel and Modhumita are the human faces of the climate change. And while the world negotiates the policy trade offs, they’re the ones left to pick up the piecesa job that is becoming increasingly difficult.

After the next disaster that strikes Bangladesh, Modhumita, like Rubel’s family, will also move to the city, which will in no way improve her situationthis is provided of course that we are able to save the family from the next flood or cyclone. Without a comprehensive disaster risk reduction and emergency preparedness plan in place, saving people from the onslaught of high frequency disasters will get increasingly difficult.

Asif Saleh

Published in the Star Weekend Magazine on 9 October 2009.

I have moved back to Bangladesh recently after spending 19 years abroad. In the process of reintegration to the society, I have been amazed to see how much it has changed. I compare my teenage years with those of a teenager today and I find youngsters are so much more globalised, open to new ideas, and hungry for success.

However, there are certain things that have remained the same. Our attitude towards our domestic help have changed very little. Even though, we, the urbanites, spend a major chunk of our time agonising over our ‘kajer loks’, the issue of our treatment towards them still remains a taboo. Would I be really exaggerating if I say even though I had a full time stay-at-home mother, my life has been surrounded by domestic helps? Would it be any different a story for any of you who are reading this? Are they just our employees, or as people who share our private lives, they are a little more than that? I grapple with this issue while introducing my daughter to the domestic helps whom she calls ‘helpers’.

This write up is an ode to the invisible helpers who helped me become what I am.

My first orientation to the concept of domestic help was through Jainal who came from Bogra at the age of eight after losing his father. My mother employed him so that he could play with me and I was not bored in the afternoon. Jainal was an instant hit among our friends with his sharpness and athleticism. My brother and sister started teaching him during the time when President Zia made it compulsory for all SSC candidates to teach an elder illiterate. He was taken in for a ‘viva’ and he did so well that pretty soon all of our relatives and friends started taking him as their case study. Jainal moved on after a few years. He eloped with our chef 10 years older than him, and after a few years in wilderness came back to us looking for a job. His wish was granted in no time. Jainal runs a successful rental car company now and provides me with car service every time I need one in no time.

Much before Jainal there was Abdul bhai who taught me driving in between my trips to different tutors in Dhaka. Abdul bhai also has been with us since he was eight. His parents passed away and he came to our family in Kaptai. My mother can’t remember who brought him to us. But he graduated from a house help to chef, and then from a chef to in-house driver in a few years. Since then, through thick and thin, he has remained with us — now for 40 long years. My mother is as worried about his retirement plan as she is with hers. When my father died, Abdul bhai cried more than any body else. Till date, in his spare time he goes to his graveyard and makes sure that it’s clean and tidy.

Have you ever wondered what’s the story behind so many of the domestic helps being referred to by their son’s name?

I am wondering as I am thinking about Harun-er ma (Harun’s mother). We never asked her real name. But she was the cook-in-chief at our house for the longest time. When my sister had a baby, she asked Harun-er ma whether she wanted to come to the US to help her out. She was ready instantly. For the next five years, she took care of my nephews while my sister was at work peacefully. When I visited her there, she would often ask me to write a letter to Harun on behalf of her. I remember the indignation of a longing mother asking her child to be responsible. Harun was of my age and so Harun-er ma always had a special corner for me. After my return to Bangladesh 13 years later, Harun-er ma came to see me with tears in her eyes. Harun passed away due to some complication after a surgery. I was stunned. Harun-er ma has told my mother that she wants to cook in my house because that would make her feel that Harun is close to her. She starts work next month.

The person who gets the most emotion out of my mother still, however, is Aklima. Aklima stayed at our place for eight years. But she was notorious for her temper. She would fight with a karai if she could when she was in a bad mood, which would happen quite often. But she was a grand cook and someone my mother could rely on when she was away. She would be bitter and angry one moment, and the very next moment would be laughing away. One of her weekly rituals was to fight with my mother and make her mad as hell. We never could figure out why my mother employed a woman who made her so angry. Eventually one day it was a little too much for my mother and she let her go after a bitter fight. Aklima was diagnosed with breast cancer a year after she left our house. My mother quietly used to send her money for her treatment. She mellowed down a lot and eventually passed away only in her thirties, and talked about my mother till her dying days. Till date my mother fondly remembers her service.

When I remember these people and their stories, I often wonder about the stories of abuse I read in the paper. Only a few days ago I went to a child domestic worker drop-in center run by Ain O Salish Kendro and supported by Save the Children and Drishtipat. There I met many of these young Jainals, Abduls and Aklimas. They were trying to learn new skills and get education so that they could climb on the mobility ladder. I was fascinated talking to them. When I read their profiles, it all seemed too familiar. Sons and daughters of landless farmers coming to Dhaka for employment and getting disconnected from their families forever.

I asked the supervisor if they talk about any kind of abuse in their ‘host family’.
“All the time”, she replied.
“Do you not do anything about it?”, I asked.

“If I do anything, they will stop sending them over to the drop-in centre. I only alert people when their complaints become extreme and unbearable”.

“What kind of complaints do you get?”
“Physical abuse by the house head, sexual abuses by the young brothers-in-law of the family — it’s of all kinds. When I talk to them, they often deny it and get very defensive.”

My jaw dropped, and it explained after all these years why the middle class is still afraid to talk about this issue. We have moved ahead so much in our journey as an independent country. We take pride in the progress and liberalisation of our society. But when are we going to look at these skeletons in our closet? Too often we dehumanise our domestic helpers so that we can rationalise our treatment to them. But there lies a Jainal, Aklima, Abdul and Harun-er ma in all our houses.

Can we start with humanising them in our own houses first?

Hana Shams Ahmed

Published by the Star Weekend Magazine on 9 October 2009.

When Samia arrived at the lawyer’s office with her friend she was hoping to get advice on how to file for a divorce. The lawyer asked her some obvious questions about what was wrong with the relationship and whether she had children etc. When she told the lawyer that her husband had molested two teenage maids in the house, Samia expected the lawyer to be in full solidarity with her decision. The lawyer did not display much emotion, what she said in response shocked Samia instead. “This is quite normal for men of our country,” she said. Instead of pointing out to Samia that her husband had committed a punishable crime which she was an eye-witness to, the lawyer was showing her commiseration and in a meandering way saying that this was not serious enough for the dissolution of a marriage.

In another incident in a corporate office, a woman — involved in among other things, human rights activism — was complaining to her colleagues about how shoitan (evil) her young maid was. When asked what were among her greatest ’sins’, she replied that the maid lapsed from her work regularly when she went out of the house and watched TV and received phone calls from her boyfriend!

The attitude and choice of words of the female lawyer and ‘human right defender’ points to how deeply embedded this acceptance of abuse of the underprivileged is. The discrimination and complete disregard of a domestic worker’s right to live like a human being has been discussed in the media in small columns, but has had little effect on societal outlook. The middle-aged approach of treating domestic workers as a human punching bag (sometimes literally) of everyone’s anger and frustration stays on, and is still the most exposed, yet invisible, form of human rights violation.

Girls are the most vulnerable among all groups of domestic workers. They are brought from the villages at an age when they are supposed to be playing tag at school with their friends. Overnight they become baby-sitters, kitchen helps, caretakers and nurses all-in-one. And if the lawyer’s words are anything to go by, they have to invariably face some form of sexual abuse from a male member of the family, where she does not even know the name of that form of abuse.

A nine-year-old domestic worker Tanzina used to be tortured by her employer (a doctor’s wife) and her two sons regularly at their house in Azimpur (Daily Star: July 9, 2009) until DB of Police rescued her and a case was filed against the persecutors.

A 12-year-old girl was rescued from a house of a doctor, who in collusion with his wife, had confined the girl in their house for six years and tortured her regularly until a labourer who used to work in the neighbourhood complained and she was rescued by police (Daily Star: August 14, 2009). She was so traumatised by her experience she could hardly speak. The girl had earlier revealed to the day labourer that the doctor used to beat her up regularly and “do bad things” to her body parts which she did not understand. The previous week her face had been dipped into a bowl of hot water because she did not do her work properly. Her nearest relative, her grandfather, refused to file a case because he said he did not have the money to fight a case, so a general diary was filed at the police station instead!

Another teenage domestic worker was raped by a union parishad chairman in Dimla upazila of Nilphamari (Daily Star: July 27, 2009). While she was being rescued by her parents and taken to a hospital in a bloody state she was kidnapped by the rapist’s goons. She managed to escape after a couple of days and filed a case against him with her parents’ help.

Those who have the responsibility of protecting these girls sometime seem to be no different from a common criminal. Two lawyers raped a young domestic worker at one of the lawyers’ house in Dhanmondi Lake Circus (Janakantha: August 3, 2009) while she was sleeping. The lawyers threatened to kill her if she spoke to anyone about it.

Another little girl Rubina was beaten up mercilessly by her employer Arju who blamed this nine-year-old for causing diarrhoea to her child by her unhygienic cooking standards (Janakantha, August 31, 2009). She poured hot water over her head. Then she tied up her hands and feet and with an orna, took her to the bathroom and beat her up with an iron rod and tried to muffle her screams for help by turning on the shower. A few days earlier she had chopped off her hair with a boti. She also had other more ‘moderate’ forms of torture — like not letting her eat properly!

Unfortunately, our system has failed to protect these children from the worst forms of abuse. Ain o Salish Kendro (ASK) keeps records of girls who have faced some form of abuse in homes. In 2008, 110 cases were reported and a total of 54 cases were filed against some form of abuse on a girl domestic worker. In 2009, till date, there have been 64 reports and 38 cases filed. But these figures don’t paint the actual picture as this and other organisations only keep records of cases that have been filed at the police station and have been published in the media. Individual investigation into homes is an impossible task, which is also why there is no data of the actual number of children who are employed in homes. And it is not within the jurisdiction of any outsider to go into a house and enquire about the well-being of people who work in homes, whether they are adults or children.

Poverty drives poor parents to send their young girls to work at homes hundreds of miles away, knowing well that there is every possibility that she will be treated badly, beaten up, not fed well, tortured, raped, or even killed. The right to be protected from any form of sexual abuse is breached by these families these families, for whom it is in practice a privilege to be able to protect their daughters.

But it is not just the extreme form of physical abuse that is so worrying of this society with its convoluted moral standards. It is how this form of abuse inflicted on a certain class of people is not even considered getting outraged at or even worth acknowledging.

The only way to stop such atrocious crimes is to legislate specifically for children who work inside homes, including limited working hours, minimum wage, and minimum standard treatment. A hotline should be introduced, especially to raise awareness on abuse and sexual abuse.

Their little shoulders take a heavy burden. They are forced by our utterly inequitable and grotesquely uneven development process to leave their sheltered lives in their homes and come and work. The least we can do for them is to treat them with respect and look out for their welfare whether they are in our home or someone else’s. No social change can ever happen unless we break out of this conventional system and step forward and stop these crimes.

Hana Shams Ahmed

Published in the One World South Asia on 8 October.

Anwara Begum’s new book takes a look at women in the Bangladesh media. She argues that TV ads don’t only sell products but also attitudes and in the process set standards of beauty and mannerism, as defined by men. This piece reflects on the stereotyping of women.

Dighi is the darling of the Bangladeshi media. She has long, beautiful hair and has just the right moves that will keep the viewers glued to the TV screen. There are life-size photos of her on big billboards in the city and big roles in films and drama serials already.

It was a commercial for a brand of henna that gave her the big break. In the ad, with a face full of pinkish makeup, she flaunts her translucent pearl-coloured hands exquisitely decorated with dark henna. Her on-screen friends gaze at her hands longingly, wishing they too could look like her.

Of course, this feeling is shared by thousand of girls who are on the other side of the television screen. Although Dighi’s hands look beautiful, one doubts whether that is what the viewers are focusing on.

The attention is clearly on what she represents. As Anwara Begum points out in her book, ‘Magical Shadows: Women in the Bangladesh Media’ (AH Development Publishing House, 2008), “TV ads don’t only sell products, they sell attitudes.” At an innocent age of 10 years, Dighi is the nation’s favourite child model.

The ‘attitude’ sold in the henna commercial is the standard of beauty and mannerism, as defined by men – the fair-skinned, long-haired, bubbly girl. The consequence of the ad is the indoctrination of this attitude in girls who have not even reached puberty!

The ‘modernisation’ of the media culture over the years, with the arrival of private television channels and advertisement firms has had commensurate effects on the culture of patriarchy.

Take for example, this set of ads. An earlier commercial shows a woman, who had come to be ‘viewed’ by a prospective groom, pleasing the family with her fine culinary skills, indicating that she remains within the four walls of the house.

The next version shows a woman who is not domesticated, she does not know how to cook and her husband rebukes her for this. Hurt and distraught at her ‘failure’, she wins him back by whipping up a delicious meal with her discovery of readymade cooking spices. The next phase shows a man cooking.

The readymade spices are so easy to use that EVEN a man can cook. Of course, he makes a mess in the kitchen, emphasising further that the kitchen is not really his place to be.

This shows that the camera almost always serves patriarchal interests. So the heavily made-up woman’s delight at getting the keys to a beautiful new apartment from her husband seems to be perfectly logical. It’s the wife, the mother or the children, who receive privileges, like living in a luxury apartment, from the ’shonar chele’ (golden son). A man’s success in life is rated by what he brings for those who depend on him – the various women in his life.

In her book, Anwara Begum explores these relationships – like the phone which brings the man and woman together.

The man leaves his wife to go to London for a work visit, the mother breaks down because her son has found a job in the city, the little girl asks her father to scold the mother for not believing her… Again, the father is in an office and the mother at home.

Of course, companies are aware that portraying the woman strictly in the home environment is no more acceptable. So out comes a phone package for women, the “Ladies First” for working women who have to talk a lot.

Currently, there is a cement ad that proudly states: “Today’s mechanic, tomorrow’s engineer”, and shows two boys with hard hats pretend playing to be construction engineers, while their female counterpart pretends to be a school teacher.

Not that it is any less respectable to be school teacher, but on screen some professions like teaching, nursing and fashion designing seem to be reserved for women, while engineering, politics and multinational business management are for men.

Advertising agencies are doing good business: A whopping US$215 million has been spent on advertisements by corporations this year so far. New money has been poured in to get fresh ideas from these advertising power houses.

However, the general theme of the ads – be it romance, where the shy young woman is waiting to be swept off her feet by a handsome man; or marriage, where the wife, even if she is employed, is still in charge the family, are still very popular. The single, independent, successful woman is hardly represented.

Take the ad for an antiseptic soap that shows a child impressing his mother by showing her an excellent result sheet and no absence record at school. On cue the father comes home from work to tell the wife that he has received a bonus for not missing a day of work. He hands over the envelope to her because, of course, it was her conscientious care-giving that keeps the family healthy. The audience does not know what she does but the underlying assumption is that she is a housewife.

The stereotype continues

It is with hair care products that women’s images are most objectified. Commercials do show clear signs of cultural change – the woman is no longer house bound, she is wearing trendy clothes and she is seen within the work space.

The constant feature, however, is that she is embarrassed if every physical attribute of hers is not in perfect order and she is also forever seeking the attention of the man. The confident woman is the woman with the perfect hair. She has the best job, is the perfect wife and mother.

Anwara Begum talks about the effect that this desire for unattainable perfection has on women. She says, “This story of lovely heterosexual romance functions to cover up the harsh realities in relationships between men and women is a restrictive patriarchy where most suicides are committed by women.”

The electronic media does its own bit of social responsibility when covering events – from press conferences to art show openings. In a nod to affirmative action, they give equal screen space to men and women.

But the TV camera operator seeks out the most attractive-looking woman in the press conference and focuses the camera on her for much more time than is necessary.

This woman might not have any relevance to the story being told but perhaps the underlying notion is that it brings more viewers for the TV channel. Given that most camera operators are men, this kind of treatment is hardly surprising.

Someone once observed that the sure-fire sign of a more liberal and progressive Bangladeshi society was its ever increasing number of beauty pageants and catwalks. It was his firm conviction that a coy-looking model with perfect physical features walking down a ramp was a statement of the woman’s newfound independence.

A bank’s billboard reflects this thought. It shows “achievement” as perceived by three groups. The child’s achievement is learning the skill of tying a shoelace, the man’s achievement is making his first step on the moon and, finally, the woman’s achievement is getting crowned in a beauty pageant.