This story first appeared in The Daily Star

The first time I saw Dr Zafrullah Chowdhury was in 2007, for a story in our weekend magazine in The Daily Star, on his Nagar Hospital on Mirpur Road, where anyone, no matter how poor could get medical care at subisidised costs. I was not expecting to see a clean, organised, fully-equipped, seven-storey hospital where patients could see a doctor for a mere Tk 20. The place was busy but organised, not chaotic like our understaffed, overcrowded public hospitals. Strikingly apparent was the presence of mostly female staffers — the receptionist, paramedics, pathologists, nurses, on-duty doctors, and even the drivers of the hospital vehicles. Among the patients were labourers, domestic workers, teachers, civil servants and beggars. It was the first time I heard that patients could get an insurance card — for Tk 150. Insurance holders did not have to pay to see an on-duty doctor, and to see a specialist the fee was only Tk 200. The most innovative part of the insurance scheme was that it was designed to provide healthcare to people according to their ability to pay. So, for someone who was destitute, the treatment would be free, for a poor person, it would be highly subsidised, for an upper middle-class person the cost would be higher. It was hard not to be floored by the foresight of the individual behind what seemed to me, a fantasy world where poor people had access to affordable, efficient medical attention.

But that is what Zafrullah Chowdhury is — a larger than life figure who had the vision to realise that it was the lack of access to affordable healthcare that condemned the poor to a life of continuous ill health. His fierce determination to break this vicious cycle led to the creation of an institution like Gonoshasthaya that has made revolutionary changes not only in healthcare but in public perception of women as vital nation builders.

When my team and I went to interview him at the hospital, I was a little taken aback by his appearance; longish white hair and clad in a batik Hawaiian shirt and khaki trousers, sandals half worn, he looked more like an eccentric artist than the founder of a mammoth development organisation. It was hard to gauge his mood as he went on his inspection of the wards, blasting the nervous staff at the top of his voice for some inefficiency and then suddenly cracking a joke to make them laugh, his hawkish eyes twinkling. His staff called him Boro Bhai, no “sir” or “doctor” for this no-nonsense man. But the respect and love he evoked among patients, paramedics, doctors and the staff, was obvious.

And when he met patients, he was extremely gentle and kind.

At present, Nagar Hospital has among other facilities, a burn and plastic surgery unit, cardiac unit, dental unit, surgery, counselling, physiotherapy, Ayurveda, Yoga and of course 24 hour emergency services.

So how did a vascular surgeon looking towards an ascending medical career in the UK end up being the founder of a multidisciplinary organisation in his home country that would be committed to the welfare of the poor and marginalised? The Liberation War of 1971 changed the trajectory of his life. He and his friend Dr MA Mobin left their studies in London to join the resistance by treating wounded freedom fighters. It was pure patriotism that laid the foundation for Gonoshasthaya Kendra. Zafrullah and his fellow doctors set up a 480-bed field hospital near the border with India to treat the wounded and sick. The young surgeon realised that while there were doctors in this hospital, the facility didn’t have any nurses. So girls and young women in the refugee camps were invited to learn first aid and assist in operations.

“I realised that it was not the amount of training that was important in this context but the access to training,” he said during the interview. When the war was over, the Field Hospital was renamed Gonoshasthaya Kendra (GK) which relocated to Savar with sub centres in surrounding areas and other districts. From his experience at the Field Hospital, Zafrullah knew how he could build a team of paramedics. GK started training girls and women who had completed their SSC (Secondary School Certificate). Soon it was a common sight to see these young women in the villages, going on foot or bicycle to visit households, telling them about basic healthcare, sometimes giving vaccines, even assisting in deliveries. The presence of these female paramedics gave women a new status. Villagers began to realise their importance and appreciate their work. GK’s involvement with the community had a major role in the success of national family planning, immunisation and ORS campaigns.

Gonoshasthaya Kendra (GK), which is a multidimensional development programme, involves the community as a whole. It includes projects ranging from primary healthcare centres and hospitals, community schools, agricultural cooperatives, women’s vocational training centres, training women drivers, to economic enterprises to help finance GK Trust activities. But GK’s most obvious success is its primary healthcare programme (mainly in the villages) that benefits over a million people.

GK has proved that primary healthcare can be a successful, sustainable system. In 1982, GK’s pioneering effort in forming a National Drugs Policy allowed local companies to produce essential drugs at much lower prices than multinationals did. GK itself produces essential drugs at subsidised prices. GK’s Gono Bishwabidyalaya (People’s University) trains doctors, paramedics and physiotherapists who will provide primary and tertiary care to poor communities.

The accolades he has received are many. Among them are a ‘Certificate of Commendation’ for his contributions during the Liberation War in 1971, the Swedish Youth Peace Prize, Sweden for founding Gonoshashthaya Kendra and providing primary healthcare to rural communities, Maulana Bhashani Award, Ramon Magsaysay Award, The Right to Livelihood Award, Sweden, One World Action Award, UK, Public health Heroes Award, UK, Fr. Tong Memorial Award, India, Doctor of Humanitarian Sciences Award, Canada.

His undeterred commitment to the welfare of the disadvantaged was probably because of his unconventional upbringing. His mother, Hasina Begum, a courageous, self-educated woman, who believed in the equal rights of women and men, taught him the value of sharing with the less fortunate. His father, Humayan Murshed Chowdhury, was an honest police officer and instilled in him love for one’s motherland. Zafrullah found his perfect match in his life partner Shireen Huq, a passionate human rights activist and one of the founders of Naripokkho, a women’s rights organisation. Their children are Brishti and Bareesh.

The basic philosophy that Zafrullah modelled all his endeavours on was to come up with indigenous solutions for all problems. Thus Gonoshasthya’s mission was to ‘go to the village and build the village’. The GK Savar hospital serves the community and provides all the medical services as well as alternative medical treatment such as ayurveda and acupuncture.

In fact, he has been unequivocally, an advocate of local medical expertise. In 2019, GK inaugurated its second dialysis centre in the Savar hospital, the largest such centre in the country. During the pandemic, he tried to popularise a locally made antigen testing kit and was ready to help set up a 2,000-bed Covid hospital which did not receive the support it warranted during the most challenging moments of the crisis. For his own treatments which included regular dialysis he would come to his hospital even when he was on life support. There are few individuals who can display such conviction of their own principles.

Considered at times a controversial figure for his incendiary remarks in public, he remained unapologetic and brutally frank all throughout, a fighter till the end. Battling with formidable ailments, waging a war against crippling poverty and ill health of people, to bring some solace to the most vulnerable and neglected, his contributions to this country cannot be listed within the confines of this article.

[Some information has been taken from Star Weekend Magazine, published on November 30, 2007]

Link to original story

This story first appeared in The Daily Star

I have to admit it, I am becoming a fan of Ananta Jalil. Not because of the explosive, deafening trailer of his latest movie, Din: The Day – a Bangladeshi-Iranian joint venture shot in Iran where AJ (“A Zay”) the superhero is performing logic-defying stunts, shooting a hundred bad guys while keeping his makeup intact and sporadically sporting his long auburnish w-i-g – ahem, mane. Neither is it because of that distinctive diction we so love as he makes speeches, listing the accomplishments of Bangladesh including how it has hosted the Rohingya refugees (which, I am sure, is somehow relevant to the intricate plot involving Afghani terrorists, drug cartels and an extravaganza of guns that would put the staunchest supporter of the National Rifle Association of America to shame).

No, this time it’s because of Ananta Jalil the human being.

When news of the devastating floods and human suffering started coming in, we were pleasantly surprised by a Facebook post from the much reviled and revered star. Ananta Jalil, of “Mansester” and “orenz zues” fame, without any cringe-worthy utterings,  announced he would stand by the flood victims and help them as much as he could. He would donate money for relief from profits earned from his business and movies. Admittedly, one would have wished he hadn’t mentioned that he would sacrifice one or two cows instead of the usual 12 and donate the money instead, but at least we know his heart is in the right place. According to news reports, he will be donating Tk 30 lakh for flood victims. What’s more, he has urged the well-off to do the same.

In fact there are individuals, NGOs and private organisations (like Bidyanondo Foundation) taking the initiative to help. The biggest challenge is to actually reach the relief to the people in remote areas where the water is so choppy and the weather so volatile, even the armed forces are finding it difficult to navigate. Tour operators like Onirban Boat have turned their holiday cruise boats into rescue boats, picking up stranded people from the remote areas, taking them to shelters. A number of tourism agencies part of the e-Tourism Association of Bangladesh used their boats stationed in remote areas to rush to the stranded people, housing them, providing food and carrying relief items. They are trying to raise funds from members and other sources to continue their relief operations.  A barrister, Syed Sayedul Haque Suman, announced on his Facebook page that he has raised Tk 97 lakh in just two days. Bangladeshi expatriates in the US are raising funds to arrange relief to be reached to the stranded.

These are heartwarming examples of spontaneous empathy and quick action. But they are still far from being adequate considering the widespread, prolonged nature of this catastrophe. An estimated 7,334,000 people have already been affected in Sunamganj, Sylhet, Moulvibazar,  Netrokona, Kishoreganj, Habiganj, Brahmanbaria, and Mymensingh. This is an ongoing humanitarian disaster, the financial, social and health effects of which will continue for months on end. In the meantime, every second counts and people’s lives are on the line. So, why isn’t there a more enthusiastic response from the wealthier sections of society?

It brings us to the issue of a bubble culture – people inside the bubble are impervious to the suffering of others as long as they do not know them and definitely if those suffering are part of the “invisible masses.” They will cry oceans with the tortured heroine and battered hero in their favourite drama serial but will feel nothing for the real life heroes and heroines battling for their very lives as the waters swallow up all their belongings, their homes, their crops, food, possessions, their cattle and, terrifyingly, sometimes even their loved ones. They will not know about the mother and her five children who have not eaten for two days, the farmer who has lost all the paddy he had kept to sell and feed his family in the coming months or the thousands of families who await a bleak future of destitution and endless borrowing from loan sharks just to stay alive. What kind of Eid these people can expect to have is not something the majority of the rich have time to think about.

There is a disturbing obtuseness among the wealthy that makes them unmoved by the acute suffering of their compatriots who are lower down the social ladder. Perhaps the floods in Sunamganj or Sylhet are not part of their newsfeed as much as the latest update on Amber Heard and Johnny Depp. Perhaps we need to revive the photo opportunities of the old days when anyone could get their few seconds of fame by handing a check to the PM’s relief fund and be seen on BTV news while doing so. It is strange that people will spend huge amounts of money for the salvation of their soul or a confirmed seat in paradise but not for helping someone just for the sake of helping. Why is philanthropy so rare in Bangladesh, despite the rising number of millionaires?

There is something ignoble about a class of people which spends obscene amounts of money on jewellery, watches, cars, and expensive holidays in Europe but have hardly any money to spare for charity just to be good human beings. Ananta Jalil has stated what rich people are supposed to do with their money – share it with the needy, helpless, and distressed. The privileged in society should listen to his appeal and stand by their brothers and sisters whose lives have been turned upside down by this disaster. If we can’t help them directly, we can always give our money to groups and organisations involved in rescue and relief. Sometimes we just need to be reminded of the obvious, as Ananta Jalil philosophically stated in his Facebook video: You can’t take your wealth to the grave.

Link to original story

This story first appeared in The Daily Star

Feminist icon, educator, and author Kamla Bhasin passed away on September 25, 2021, at the age of 75. The Daily Star pays tribute to her rich legacy by reprinting an interview first published in 2016.

Meeting Kamla Bhasin is like getting a booster shot of energy and optimism. Her vivacity and enthusiasm will catch you unawares and force you out of whatever cynicism is afflicting you. And cynicism in a world so full of injustice and superficiality is a comfort that is hard to let go of. But Kamla has given feminism a much-needed sanguine spin. She is kind of a brand ambassador for “South-South cooperation,” bringing together men and women from South Asia to learn from each other’s experiences, in the hope of bringing greater understanding and camaraderie in a region so divided by political, economic, and religious rifts.

For the last 40 years, she has been coming to Bangladesh speaking on uncomfortable things like patriarchy, gender inequality, and sexual violence. Kamla talks about such sensitive issues with simplicity, wit and clarity, making her one of the most compelling speakers one could have the privilege of listening to. I remember one such lecture—perhaps a good 10 to 15 years ago—that had left me riveted. Hence my elation at the prospect of interviewing her a few days ago.

Clad in her newly acquired Grameen check kurta—”for my birthday,” as she puts it (she was born on April 24, 1946)—Kamla looks very much the “development feminist” she calls herself. She is still the silver-haired champion of the marginalised, with piercing eyes and that straightforward eloquence that makes her the perfect interviewee.

I know my time with her is limited, yet cannot resist from asking her to begin from the beginning.

It was 1975. Kamla, then a twenty-something young woman, was working for FAO and was assigned to identify innovative development work in Asian countries and create networks between people across countries. “At that time, none of us, not a single NGO, knew anyone across the border,” Kamla explains. “Indians didn’t know Bangladeshis, Bangladeshis didn’t know Indians, Nepalis didn’t know Pakistanis—there was NO contact. So, the purpose was what later became known as South-South cooperation at the people level.”

At the time—mid- to late-70s—this was no easy task. There was a lot of animosity, says Kamla, between the countries. But Kamla persistently pursued the idea and eventually managed to hold a South Asian workshop in Dhaka attended by women from all these countries. It was for the first time that Bangladeshis realised that “not everyone in Pakistan was responsible for the atrocities, that there were people there who were actually against those policies, that governments don’t represent our people, and that we need to start to rebuild those bridges—at least among our civil society actors.”

It was also when Kamla met Dr Zafrullah Chowdhury and was completely wowed by what he had achieved with Gonoshasthaya Kendra. “If anyone has thought ‘out of the box’ in South Asia, it was this man. The way he started training women paramedics, drivers, security guards, was amazing. In our jargon, we call this ‘gender transformating’—when you change the definition of a woman or a man, you transform gender. Now gender is a social definition—of a man or a woman. Think of a girl who can drive a car, ride a bicycle. So when this man gave them jobs as paramedics, the first thing he told them is that you have to ride a bicycle and that was, for me, a revolution for Bangladesh.”

Thus, for Kamla, such development miracles also organically became lessons in gender politics. There was also a kind of awakening in the world in general. In ’75, the first global conference on women had taken place (in Mexico) and NGOs in the field, says Kamla, were realising two things: Firstly, development from the top was not reaching the poor—it was reaching the elite of the villages of our countries. Secondly, they realised that development was not reaching women, and these kinds of insights were coming from Africa, Latin America and Asia based on the work of the NGOs that were working with people, not governments.

She was invited by development activists from all over South Asia to hold gender training workshops. She challenged patriarchy and even the language of patriarchy: “The word ‘swami’ (husband), for example, means malik or owner. But the constitution says that Bangladeshi women cannot have an owner or master—they can have a partner—so swami is anti-Bangladesh Constitution as far as I’m concerned; similarly, ‘pati’ is against the Indian Constitution. No Indian citizen can have a pati controlling her. Even the word ‘husband’ is sick—it comes from animal husbandry; to husband is to control or domesticate.”

Kamla’s deep understanding of gender issues at the grassroots level comes from her own experience growing up in the villages of India—her father, a medical doctor, was posted at various villages where she attended school up until matriculation. She went to a government university and got her bachelors and master’s degrees “with second division—so had a bad education but learnt a lot of common sense.” Later, she went on to study sociology of development at the Muenster University in Germany with a fellowship.

In 2002, she resigned from the UN and gave all her time to the feminist network she had helped to set up, called Sangat, an informal network of which anyone can be a member.

Kamla rejects the notion that feminism is a western concept. From a development worker, she also became a feminist development worker, and therefore, at the conscious level, a feminist. This is the story of many others, says Kamla.

“We didn’t become feminists by reading western feminist theories,” she adds. “We became feminists by looking at the realities of women in the villages—e.g. what was dowry doing to women, about domestic violence, how women were being treated at home and in society…”

But feminist theory in the formal sense was also important, and Kamla and her fellow activists started inviting to their workshops academics—social scientists, political scientists, and economists who were feminists and working on feminist theories. The marriage between theory and action was created.

Kamla also started writing about these issues in courses, which became very important resource material—booklets on understanding patriarchy, gender. They were also translated into 25 to 30 languages. The movement that Kamla and her fellow activists started, moreover, got rid of binary divisions: “One of my slogans is: ‘I am not a wall that divides, I am a crack in that wall.’ So all these walls of nationalities—Bangladeshi, Pakistani, Indian—we become cracks in these walls and we go across borders and make friends. Pakistani women were the first to apologise for the genocide here—Pakistani feminists.”

Cultural expression was the most effective tool to reach the messages of equality. From the very beginning, music, dance, and posters have been part of Kamla’s work, especially in reaching an audience that was mostly illiterate. She wrote a hundred songs and compiled them into CDs and had posters with slogans such as “Zero tolerance for violence against women,” “Men of quality are not afraid of equality,” “Honour killing—no honour in killing,” etc translated in the vernacular.

But despite such dedication and innovative feminist efforts, we are in a world where violence against women is alive and kicking, and objectification of women is at its zenith. When I ask why, Kamla’s answer is simple: “Capitalist patriarchy” along with religious and cultural patriarchy. She cites the pornography industry which is a billion-dollar industry that reduces women (and children) into objects of sex. The cosmetics industry, says Kamla, promotes the idea that a woman is just a body, and unless she decorates herself in this way, she is nothing. Women have been reduced to being just bodies—perfected through surgeries and procedures. “So once you are a body, what’s the harm in raping you or groping you?” Kamla asks. In a capitalist patriarchy, she says, everything saleable is sold and profit predominates over people.

Patriarchy, says Kamla, is equally damaging for men because it dehumanises and brutalises them.

“One other thing,” she adds, “our struggle for gender equality is not a fight between men and women. It is a fight between two ideologies—two ways of thinking. One ideology is that patriarchy is better, that men are superior. The other says, no, equality is better, men and women are different and equal, and equality is good for all. And that men must realise that unless women are free, men cannot be free.”

With that provocative comment, my interview with this innovative, compassionate development feminist comes to an end. I still have so many questions, but reluctantly I relent, remembering that she has a birthday to celebrate.

Link to original story

This story first appeared in The Daily Star

Is it really 2022? How did 2021 go so fast? Was it because we had such high expectations and ended up facing one daunting catastrophe after another, that we didn’t realise that the days had turned into weeks, weeks into months, and months into a whole year?

It was supposed to have been the year of salvation—the year when we would finally be able to at least take our masks off and breathe. Instead, it became another battle: another, more vicious strain of coronavirus called Delta ravaged our nations, killing and debilitating humans even more ruthlessly than its cousins, destroying families. Then, just as we were starting to believe the pandemic was on its way out, Omicron made its way in to give us a rude reminder that it was far from over.

It has been the year of “realisation”: that we must live with Covid—for how long, no one knows. Scientists fear that newer variants of the virus may crop up from time to time, and the one way to combat them is to update the vaccine formulae and keep inoculation rates high.

But since we are starting the New Year, let’s try to see the silver linings among the constant barrage of tragedy and chaos. Unsurprisingly, it has been the young people who have provided the balm to our wounded psyche. Nothing could be more exhilarating than the Bangladesh U-19 women’s football team clinching the 2021 SAFF U-19 Women’s Championship after defeating India 1-0. The euphoria of the girls was so contagious that it was hard not to get teared up with pride and wonder. How heart-warming was it to see the feisty Mogini twins—Ana Mogini and Anuching Mogini—play, with Ana scoring the winning goal? It proved again how girls from the remotest, most impoverished and neglected communities could be trained to become the most formidable athletes. This, and the happy event of the Bangladesh national women’s cricket team qualifying for the Women’s ODI World Cup for the first time, are signs of where we should be turning our attention to: sports facilities and support for our girls and women—something that has been grossly neglected for decades.

While we are talking about getting awards for excellent performances, let’s not forget the 16-member team of girls and boys who won four gold, two silver and five bronze medals in the 23rd International Robot Olympiad. It proves the point about giving young people the right opportunities at the right time to bring in outstanding results.

Last year has also shown us just how passionate our young people are about protesting against injustice. The death of Nayeem Hasan, a Notre Dame College student who was hit by a Dhaka South City Corporation garbage truck, reignited protests by hundreds of school students demanding road safety, compensation for victims, and proper monitoring of vehicle fitness. It showed that, despite the heavy-handedness and intimidation they had faced in the first road safety movement in 2018 (also sparked by the deaths of two students hit by a killer bus), these young people refused to cow down from stopping vehicles to check for valid papers, and demanding something as basic as roads that are safe from reckless drivers, who think nothing of bulldozing a human life and speeding away.

All over the world, young people are joining the movement for change—whether it is Greta Thunberg from Sweden continuing to chastise governments for their ineptitude and insincerity in combatting climate change, or Malala from Pakistan who took a shot to the head for championing girls education banned by the Taliban, or those thousands of young men and women pouring into the streets to protest police brutality and gross racial discrimination against Blacks or People of Colour, or the students of Dhaka University protesting the torture and killing of a fellow student by a sadistic husband. The young are tired of the impotency of greying leaders who talk incessantly and continue to fail in leading, protecting or nurturing them and their planet. Their outrage is contagious and has connected millions of their comrades across the globe, and now collectively they are a force to be reckoned with.

In the Orwellian systems that seem to be spreading all over the world—where the innocent continues to be denied justice, silenced for even asking for it; where the slightest dissent may be ferociously muzzled and where the tentacles of corruption reach far and wide—it is the young people who have the temerity to throw their fists into the air in protest or victory. It is their courage, resilience, solidarity, the clear perception of what is right and wrong, the ability to be creative in the direst circumstances, and the innovative spirit that emerges during each crisis as well as each technological revolution—it is all this that we must embrace, encourage and support with sincerity and love. The year 2021 has given us ample evidence that pandemics, climate change and greed for power will continue to threaten our very existence. As we stumble into 2022, let’s have faith that our young will find ways to reverse this doomsday trajectory, and come up with the antidote for a toxic, dystopian future.

Link to original story

This story first appeared in The Daily Star

Airports are the most fascinating places in the world. This forced congregation of total strangers from all corners of the world, rushing off to destinations as exotic as Zanzibar or Casablanca—isn’t it just wonderful? Isn’t it amazing that when we are at the airport, we are all in sync, looking at the same monitors together, all worrying about whether we will make it to the gate on time, everyone trying to find the best spot to sit at the waiting area, everyone watching everyone else rushing, laughing, talking, trying to sleep in the uncomfortable chairs, attempting to soothe screaming, sleep-deprived children, eating the same sandwiches and having the same longing for a nice, cosy bed?

Oh, wait! That was in the old days and in other international airports. So, what’s it like at our own dear Dhaka Airport (Hazrat Shahjalal International Airport), especially during the Covid-19 era and at a time when flights are only allowed between 8am and 12am, as it’s closed from 12am to 8am due to renovation purposes?

Well, to put it simply, it’s the centre of total chaos and mayhem. There are lines—unruly ones, of course—just about everywhere: starting from the entry point with cars and microbuses creating three lanes trying to get into that one little gate all at once, to the line outside the airport departure area, lines to get Covid tests verified, lines at the check-in counters, lines at the restrooms, lines to get into the immigration area, and the regular lines outside the boarding gates. Now that all the flights (over a 100) have been crammed into 16 hours instead of 24, at any given time there will be thousands of people at Dhaka airport with these eternal queues being constantly broken by “considerate” travellers who think nothing of just shoving their heavy trolleys right into the middle of the queue, impervious to the dirty looks or even curses inflicted on them.

Trolley battles are common, with men running to the trolley lines treading on toes, elbowing out women, children, airport cats—anyone who may come in their way—and then getting into brawls with other contestants until the most aggressive one wins the trophy of a trolley and zooms away in triumph. The reason for this savage behaviour is simple: there are just not enough trolleys for everyone, regardless of all the assurances—was it 2,500 extra trolleys that were promised?—given by the authorities. There is also no airport staff controlling the crowd and making sure that people know where to go or just behave like decent human beings.

Many of the flights are to the Middle East, so there are swarms of worried migrant workers who have absolutely no idea about which counters they should go to or what forms they must fill up or even how to ask for help at the fancy help desk. Unsurprisingly, our greatest remittance earners, and the backbone of our steady economic growth, are treated with utter disdain and apathy. Why there are no designated airport staff to guide and help them go through the formalities is anyone’s guess. After all, authorities have only had about a few decades to figure this out.

Strangely, while we are being told that we cannot hold public events and must show our Covid vaccination certificates at restaurants, in addition to the “No Mask, No Entry” policy at all venues and establishments, at Dhaka airport, Covid health protocols are optional.

While people are running around trying to get their Covid test results verified—why this can’t be done during check-ins like everywhere else in the world is a mystery—most people at the airport, including the staff, either wear their masks with their noses exposed or have no masks on whatsoever! There are also those who believe that the mask itself must be saved from germs, so whenever they feel the urge to sneeze or cough, they lower their masks, eject all their germs out to the world, and put their masks back on! Even the salespeople at the snack kiosks feel it’s okay to keep their masks under the nose, so that they can breathe (perhaps even sneeze a little) into the chicken patties and coffee before serving them.

That non-existent phenomenon called aesthetics in this airport perfectly complements this shabby show. The pathetic excuse for a snack area is a dusty corner with uncomfortable chairs and tables next to a dirty tile mural with a few small cupboards put up against them, apparently to stow away backpacks belonging to, who knows, the snack bar employees? The tables are so close together that you can practically hear everything your neighbours are saying—which wouldn’t be such a bad thing if it weren’t for the fact that they are also following the “no mask” etiquette, and again, no one is there to enforce any health protocol.

Outside the airport building is the maze of lanes surrounding bizarre, unseemly steel sculptures, and a car park that resembles a garbage dump with empty plastic bottles and packets of chips strewn here and there on the grimy floors and the uppermost floor being treated as a public toilet.

Everyone knows that travel these days has become a stressful, unenjoyable ordeal. But for those who must go through Dhaka airport—whether during arrival or departure—the trauma is on a whole new level. Unless, of course, you belong to the VIP or VVIP category.

Link to original story

This story first appeared in The Daily Star

As ritualistic as it may be, we must keep talking about the murder of Sohagi Jahan Tonu, even though there is nothing new to say—or precisely because of that. We must talk about it because her murder is one in the long list of unsolved killings that have occurred over the last decade or so. It is this “unsolved” aspect that has become such a crucial part of our reality as we try our best to stay alive by seeing no evil, saying no evil and hearing no evil.

In six years, the story of Tonu’s ghastly death has remained the same, eliciting the same conclusion. A 19-year-old studying history at Cumilla Victoria College, a theatre activist, interested in poetry and music, who tutored students to help out with her family’s expenses suddenly gets her life cut short by unknown individuals who attack her inside the Cumilla cantonment, beat her up, rape her and kill her. Her father finds her lifeless body behind a bush and files a murder case. An autopsy is carried out that establishes nothing despite all the signs of severe injury. Protests break out all over the country, demanding the killers be brought to book. A second autopsy is conducted, which turns out inconclusive. Finally, a DNA analysis reveals that three men had raped Tonu before killing her. You would think that such compelling evidence would lead to the arrest of the individuals whose DNA matched the samples and their subsequent conviction. Under the Women and Children Repression Prevention Act 2000 (under which this case would be applicable) murder after rape may award a death sentence to the accused. But this time, although the police have the DNA of the murderers, they continue to remain traceless. The police have said that they did not find any matches for the DNA samples. No individuals have been accused and, after six years of investigating, the police have come up with nothing.

Shocking, right? Not really. Alongside our outstanding successes in development and economic growth, we have also excelled in firmly establishing a culture of impunity of certain sections of society linked to power. It is not easy to say whether wealth comes before power or the other way around. It is a circular system that allows individuals to get away with any crime under the sun and make sure that uncomfortable questions are either not asked or are silenced.

The Taqi murder case and the Sagor-Runi killings exemplify this better than any others. Tanwir Muhammad Taqi was a 17-year-old A level student who went missing on March 6, 2013 on his way to the library from home. Two days later, his body was found in the Shitalakkhya River. A day earlier, his A level results revealed he had the highest score in Physics—297 out of 300. There is always heart-breaking irony to these stories.

But unlike Tonu’s case, where no one could be accused and no clear motive could be established, Taqi’s father, Rafiur Rabbi, a well-known cultural activist in Narayanganj, was quite sure who his son’s murderers were. He filed a case at the police station accusing seven men, including a prominent MP, by name and around 10 other unnamed persons. A year after, a draft of the investigation was leaked and it revealed that the investigating officers found evidence that the nephew of a powerful MP of the district and 10 of his associates were involved in the murder.

According to the investigating report by Rab, Taqi had been targeted because of a personal vendetta against his father. Rafiur says that although the investigation was completed in a year, the Rab officials have not submitted the probe report to the court till date, and this March marked Taqi’s eighth death anniversary.

In 2013, law enforcers arrested a few individuals in connection with the murder. Two of them confessed that the MP’s nephew had indeed led the killing, only to retract their statements later. It does not take much deduction to guess why they backtracked and why they were set free on bail. Again, it is the fear of the powerful and mighty that comes in the way of justice for an innocent teenager. This fear is so great that even law enforcers who have found incriminating evidence cannot submit their charge sheet. To make sure that this fear is kept intact, local media have been gagged while others have been attacked by goons.

The culture of impunity can only thrive in the culture of fear. Which is why in the famous Sagor-Runi case the shroud of mystery weighs heavier than ever. Instead of justice being served, members of the victims’ families have been harassed and intimidated in a bid to make them give up seeking justice. The investigating officer in the case has failed to submit the probe report in court 85 times. Mahir Sarowar Megh, the couple’s only son who was just five-years-old and present in the apartment when his parents were so brutally slaughtered, is now 15 and continues to wait for some kind of closure for the indescribable loss and trauma he has endured. The same goes for Taqi’s inconsolable mother and his father, who has led countless demonstrations to demand justice.

Then there is Tonu’s father whose health has severely deteriorated after her death, her distraught mother, her other loved ones—when will they have closure?

As a nation born out of democratic values, can we not ask how long justice for these innocent souls will continue to be gobbled up by those connected to power?

Link to original story

The brutal murder of Abrar Fahad brings in light a different angle of Chhatra League politics in Bangladesh. An introspective analysis by SAWM Bangladesh member Aasha Mehrin Amin.

It is a common belief that only meritorious, above-average students can get into a university like Buet. It’s no joke when amongst thousands of applicants, only a handful are selected. Abrar Fahad, a second-year student of the university, was, according to his family and associates, one of those promising students who would probably have done remarkable things had his life not been so brutally cut short. Shockingly, his assailants, too, are all Buet students—supposed to be part of the elite group of the smartest and the brightest as this institution’s student body is considered. Less shocking is the fact that all those so far arrested are leaders and activists of the Buet unit of Bangladesh Chhatra League (BCL). So why is this not surprising?

You don’t even have to be an ordinary student of a public university to know how things work in these campuses. For decades, the public universities and colleges have allowed a strange culture to flourish in the residential halls. Depending on the party in power, members of the student units of the ruling party, aptly called “cadres”, will always have “control” over the residential halls. “Control” does not merely mean getting the best room for themselves and their lackeys, it also means maintaining a reign of terror so that regular students are always “kept in line” regarding who they must pay allegiance to. Thus there is a shadow administration within the university administration consisting of the student cadres who will control everything—from who will get the contract for constructing dormitories to who can stay in them.

With 10 years of Awami League rule, it is only part of this unwritten law that Chhatra League would rule the university campuses. The gruesome death of Abrar, a bright student of electrical and electronic engineering, is a reminder of the level of lawlessness that years of overindulgence of Chhatra League by their parent body have resulted in. Dhaka Medical College Hospital autopsy reports have confirmed that Abrar died of internal bleeding and excessive pain caused by merciless beating with blunt objects like cricket stumps and bamboo sticks. Can you imagine how his parents felt when they learnt of how much pain their son had to endure before he lost his fight with death? A son they were so proud of, for always being a meritorious student, a quiet young man everyone liked. A son who had come home during a break along with his younger brother, and who had decided to go back to his university a few days earlier than planned to get a head start on his studies. A son who talked on the phone with his mother a few times while on the bus back to Dhaka and who let her know that he had “reached safely”.

How ironic that he thought he was safe. How could he have possibly known that an innocuous Facebook post regarding his concerns about his country’s welfare would provoke the wrath of Chhatra League members to assault him so ruthlessly? His post was critical about Bangladesh’s recent agreement with India that would allow India to withdraw water from Feni River. He also stated three historical examples in which Bangladesh failed to make any headway with its neighbour regarding use of port, water sharing and export of energy resources. When was expressing one’s views on bilateral agreements enough reason to be killed? According to news reports, after returning from his village home, Abrar was called to Room 2011 by third-year Chhatra League members for “interrogation” under the pretext that he might be a “Shibir activist”. So why would merely being a Shibir member (which Abrar was not) come with a death sentence? Why did they think they had the right to mercilessly beat a young man until he was dead—just for expressing views they did not like? Most importantly, why did they think they could get away with such a coldblooded murder that many of the victim’s fellow students were very much aware of?

Such questions bring us back to square one: the culture of thuggery in the name of student politics that has prevailed for years on end. It is no use saying that these are just “a few bad apples” giving the entire organisation a bad name. Please. Do not insult our intelligence anymore. The excesses of Chhatra League members have been all over the news for many years now. According to Prothom Alo, from 2009 to 2014, 39 members of BCL have been killed due to infighting between factions. Within this timeframe, 15 other men from other organisations have been killed at the hands of Chhatra League men.

But even without these grisly statistics, can we ever forget the horrifying, gory killing, captured on video, of Biswajeet Das by Chhatra League members in 2012 who had “mistook” him for a Shibir member? Can we ignore the allegations of Chhatra League cadres swooping on students during the anti-quota and road safety movements? Are we supposed to pretend that these things did not happen?

Abrar’s murder inside a room (known as the torture room) of a residential hall of the most prestigious educational institute of the country, is bringing a wave of protests from students, teachers, the ordinary people of this country. It has revealed the failure of university authorities in public universities to ensure the safety and security of the majority of its students. It has made it obvious that the university authorities have looked the other way while student cadres have taken over the dormitories, turned rooms into unofficial “interrogation and torture” cells and basically created an environment of terror and powerlessness among the ordinary students. But most of all, it has made it obvious that these goons have a sense of infallibility because of the indulgence bestowed upon them by their parent organisation. Call it indulgence, call it fostering or call it political expediency, it is about time the Awami League abandoned all that and curbed the unbridled power enjoyed by its student body and held those involved in criminality accountable under law.

Awami League General Secretary Obaidul Quader has stated: “You can’t just beat someone to death for having a different opinion. Whoever is the criminal, the law will take its own course.” We would really like to believe in the sincerity of these words. As citizens of this country, we expect that every single individual involved in Abrar’s murder, not just be arrested but be given exemplary punishment for the ruthless, cold blooded slaughter of this bright young man. But just meting out punishment to Abrar’s killers is not enough. In the spirit of the corruption drive against errant Jubo League leaders, the government should now focus on freeing the campuses of thugs and killers who believe they have unlimited protection from their parent party. We refuse to live in constant fear that our children may be murdered inside the campus for speaking their mind—the whole point of the university experience.

Link to original story

After the teen environment activist Greta Thunberg expressed her utmost anger and frustration to the world leaders in United Nations COP24 Climate Summit, Poland 2019 for the environmental disaster across the globe, Aasha Mehreen Amin, a SAWM member pens a heartfelt letter to the children of the world, apologizing on behalf of the grown-ups and thus pointing out to the scary picture of the environmental devastation all over the world.

Dear Children of the World,

This is a heartfelt apology to you all from me and on behalf of my fellow grownups for leaving behind a messy, scary, volatile world that has the possibility of being completely obliterated   by our actions. We are grateful to you and to your visionary leaders like Greta Thunberg, Malala Yousafzai, activists of the March For Our Lives and the Road Safety Movement (Bangladesh) and countless others, for passionately pointing out to us what we have done and how we have jeopardised your future. They are true heroes.

I apologise for all those lofty claims by us grownups, of how “children are our future” and how we should protect them, when we have done practically everything to ensure that more of you, children, will be tortured, die violent deaths, or be permanently maimed in bomb blasts or gun violence or just choke to death from the fumes of our ignorance. We have managed to create more wars than we ever did for our obsession with grabbing land and resources of others, made refugees out of you and your families, and allowed millions to die in conflicts or as a result of them. In fact, at this point in time we have managed to develop the most technologically advanced and lethal weapons that could wipe out the face of the earth and lead to the extinction of humankind.

We make big commitments at high-powered climate change conferences. But at home we are gleefully cutting down trees, lush forests that could have saved us from cyclones and abnormal heat waves and provided the oxygen we need to live on;   we have filled up precious rivers or killed them with toxic waste—all in the name of “development”—ironically to ensure a better future for you!

So despite hearing about how fossil fuels are contributing to the world heating up (with an increase of about one degree Celsius since the pre-industrial era), leading to glaciers melting and the extreme weather patterns we are already witnessing, we still decide to pour in money to build coal plants instead of renewable energy systems using solar or wind technology. Why do we do this? Oh, because, you see, we are greedy and addicted to power. We cannot help but be attracted to the wads of dollars that will go into our pockets if we cut trees and replace them with noisy, dirty fuel-making plants. Did Greta say 200 species are going extinct every day because of loss of habitat? Animals, plants, trees—I’m afraid we don’t really care. As Greta said, most of us are just not bothered about what will happen fifty   years from now—we’ll be dead anyway. Oh, and our children? Yes, it is sad that they will live in such difficult circumstances and could very well be looking at a dystopian future: a future, say, like the one in the fictional web television series “The Handmaid’s Tale” (based on Margaret Atwood’s novel), where pollution and disease have drastically lowered fertility rates and America—the icon of progressive thought and freedoms of all kinds—is ruled by a militarised authoritarian, repressive regime where women are degraded in the most horrific ways and have no rights whatsoever. Unfortunately, as extreme and farfetched as it sounds, many of these frightening scenes are no longer fictional. Yet here we are, doing nothing about it.

We are also deeply remorseful for not giving you any role models to follow. We have elected leaders who do not believe women should be treated as equal human beings, who allow the grossest injustices to be inflicted on the powerless, who do   nothing to provide the people with access to education, nutritious food, shelter and basic healthcare, and who use misogyny, racism, bigotry and xenophobia to get elected and re-elected. We tolerate leaders who deny climate change and conveniently forget that the biggest polluters like the US have a moral responsibility to reduce their fossil fuel emissions and contribute to the Green Climate Fund. These people are deaf to Greta’s intense warnings regarding how we must stop everything and focus on formulating policies that will protect whatever little natural resources we have in the globe and prevent further destruction. As she has painfully stated, she could not believe that climate change was real because if it was, then that would be all that we would be talking about! It’s shocking how blinded we have become by our own selfishness and obsession to feel superior to everyone else!

It is a tragedy that you will have to witness terrible things. There will be more people fleeing their homelands as new wars break out on the flimsiest of grounds, even false ones, causing mass exodus of people into countries where nobody really wants them because they are considered economic burdens. There may be very few trees left as the old ones will be murdered to clear the way for development projects, malls, arcadias and luxury apartments for the elite and the   powerful. You will have to strictly ration the water because the rivers will all be dead—we are making sure of that by encroaching on them and poisoning the water with toxic industrial waste. The ground water will be dried up and all other waterbodies filled up with our concrete fantasies. Birds will no longer migrate from as far as Siberia to Savar (Bangladesh) as their habitats will have been decimated to build dorms and administrative buildings. You will only read about the Royal Bengal Tiger in the Sundarbans and merely wonder what a mangrove forest could look like. Ocean floors will be filled with   plastic, and fish and other aquatic creatures will be poisoned by this ghastly, non-biodegradable pollutant. In fact, given the speed of extinction every year (one thousand species!), you may rest assured that there will be very few living creatures in your future.

We also regret the fact that instead of increasing opportunities for the girls amongst you to be educated, we have actually regressed to a point where we have more child marriages than ever, forcing girls to drop out of school, abandon their dreams, be   subject to sexual and other forms of violence, and bear babies that their bodies are not ready for.

As bizarre as it sounds, we have made the roads more unsafe for you (those of you who may survive) despite your wonderful efforts to create awareness about traffic rules and force us grownups to follow them. Instead of applauding you, we have tried to intimidate you and silence your voices. We have not done anything to protect you from madmen who decide to use their semiautomatic   weapons to take revenge on innocent people, many of them children, like you.

Although we celebrate you and your leaders for taking such bold steps, going on strike or protesting in the streets to make us grownups listen, how can we not hang our heads in shame? We have used religion, nationalism and “protection of democratic values” as excuses to pillage, destroy and kill. We have forced you to grow up far ahead of your time, robbed you of carefree childhoods, forced you to come out of school and essentially be the grownups to shake us up and make us hear you because, at this point, your very existence and that of your world are on the brink of annihilation.

We have failed you, dear children, so please try to forgive us if you can. We hope your voices will reach us before it is too late.

Aasha Mehreen Amin is Senior Deputy Editor, Editorial and Opinion, The Daily Star.

Original Story

The tragedy of Asma Jahangir’s sudden passing away at only 66 years of age, on February 11, is that she has left the world at a time when it needed her most. As a singular voice against injustice and intolerance, she seemed to be one of the last remaining courageous warriors in a world ruled by cowardly bullies. And the best part is that she spoke for the voiceless and disempowered not just in Pakistan but in all of South Asia and beyond. We are now living at a time when democracies are facing an existential crisis as more and more leaders are taking the quick route to power—through authoritarianism and compromise with undemocratic forces. The result is a cauldron of an unidentified stew, the ingredients of which defy the commandments of the preparation, in this case the principles of democracy. With the voices of intolerance getting louder and louder—causing wars, displacement, inequality, gender discrimination, and meaningless violence—Asma Jahangir’s was one that challenged the status quo and exposed it with fearlessness and clarity.

A human rights lawyer and social activist in a country that has increasingly become a victim of toxic religious extremism, political opportunism and manipulation, Asma has exhibited a rare kind of courage that defied all odds. She actively participated in a movement for restoration of political and fundamental rights during the military regime of Zia-ul-Haq for which she was put under house arrest and later imprisoned in 1983. She was again put under house arrest in November 2007 after the imposition of emergency rule in Pakistan.

In 1987, she co-founded the Human Rights Commission of Pakistan and served as its Secretary General until 1993 when she became its chairperson. She was also the co-chair of South Asians for Human Rights. She was appointed UN Special Rapporteur on Extrajudicial, Arbitrary or Summary Executions and later as the UN Rapporteur on Freedom of Religion or Belief. She won countless awards including the 2014 Right Livelihood Award (along with Edward Snowden), 2010 Freedom Award, Ramon Magsaysay Award, 1995 Martin Ennals Award for Human Rights Defenders, and the UNESCO/Bilbao Prize for the Promotion of a Culture of Human Rights.

The tributes paid to her within hours after the news of her death are a testament to the value of her relentless efforts to establish social justice and promote peace and equality. Marvi Sirmed, a senior Pakistani journalist who knew her personally, writes in The Daily Times how as a teenager she was inspired by “Asma ji’s perseverance, her clarity of purpose, her strength of character…her itch to question the powers of the time, and her passion to fearlessly fight for the oppressed and whatever she considered right, come what may.”

One of the most significant acts of bravery was Asma’s determined battle against the anti-women Hudood laws that Zia-ul-Haq had introduced. With her sister and fellow activists, Asma established a law firm, the first ever by women. Together, they formed the Women’s Action Forum that campaigned against the Proposed Law of Evidence, where the value of a woman’s testimony was reduced to half that of a man’s testimony, and the Hudood Ordinances, where victims of rape had to prove their innocence or else face punishment themselves. Asma defended a blind 13-year-old who had been raped by her employers and had become pregnant but was sent to jail charged with “zina.” She was sentenced to flogging and three years’ imprisonment. The verdict was overruled by an appeals court thanks to the efforts of Asma and fellow activists. She was a strong critic of family laws that discriminated against women.

The Human Rights Commission of Pakistan that she co-founded has defended religious minorities in blasphemy cases as well as taken on cases of honour killings. Such courage comes at a high price in a country like Pakistan, where religious extremism is increasingly infiltrating politics and daily lives of people. In fact, Asma has faced death threats—once she had to send her family away to safety. Yet nothing stopped her from speaking out against injustice, whether it was at protest marches on the streets, interviews on television, or speeches at universities abroad.

A recurrent concern for Asma was the increasing intolerance she witnessed not just in her own country but all over the world, and this she considered was the root of all evils. This intolerance was not just that of religious elements but also the so-called secular forces. It was the cause of polarisation in societies leading to conflict and war. In a lecture at the London School of Economics (LSE) she says: “Religion and fear has been politicised so that they have played into electoral politics, into policies, into institutional discrimination…The double standards are more visible—think of the Patriot Act, the laws on migration…” She cites Aung Sung Su Ki’s unwillingness to protect the Rohingya as an example of how “intolerance seeps into politics and the level it has seeped immobilises politicians.” She points out how long it took the UN to recognise the blatant injustice of Jewish settlements in Palestine territory.

Such candour in a climate where truth is vilified by the most powerful leaders of the world, is rare and badly needed in a global scenario where the basic tenets of democracy are being attacked—whether it is freedom of expression, freedom of speech, or freedom from discrimination based on race, religion or gender.

It is a sad fact that a person’s true worth is revealed after they die—in the outpouring of grief and overwhelming expressions of admiration and respect. But it is also a great achievement for any human being to be remembered with such unabashed adoration and reverence. This is what Asma Jahangir has been rewarded with in her passing, an endless trail of admirers and followers who will carry the torch she has so tenaciously held on to.

There is no doubt that Facebook represents an alternate reality that many of us like to escape to. It gives one a glimpse into the day-to-day lives of people we cannot see face to face—because they are thousands of miles away; because they are only a few miles away but the traffic makes sure that you reach them in the same time as it would take you to fly to another country; because although the person is right in front of you, you just can’t look them in the face and say anything. It makes one wonder why married couples must declare their unquestionable adoration for each other on Facebook. Do they not see each other every single day of their lives? Perhaps they are just too shy.

Certainly shyness is the last thing you see in a Facebook post. And why not? Have you ever seen anyone post an unflattering picture of themselves? Yes other people may put up unflattering photos of you—pictures in which they look like glamorous actresses and you look like a tornado took a pit stop on your hair before moving on. But be frank, if you had to do it wouldn’t you put the best shot of yourself, standing at an angle that perfectly camouflages those love handles, hair perfect, make up perfect, skin airbrushed and face contoured with that special app that is so less painful than plastic surgery? If not, then perhaps you just don’t belong to this world of the happy, bold and beautiful where everyone “likes” everyone, and “loves” everything they do. It is a place to “share” your accomplishments with your friends—awards, trophies, recognitions, degrees, marriages, anniversary celebrations, etcetera etcetera etcetera.

It is not a place to tell your friends you are in the middle of a messy divorce, that you are practically bankrupt or that your husband fancies your best friend and always has. Which is how it should be perhaps since Facebook is a public forum—like a party where you try to put up your best face and socialise with only those you want to mingle with while judging others about their clothes, looks, partners, even the way they spell (lol)—a magical place where you can just vanish unceremoniously without saying a single goodbye.

Hence the complacency of some delusional fools, who think they can kill (yes murder) people, even be convicted in court and then post pictures of their birthday party in Malaysia on Facebook. A report in this paper has found that four convicted killers of Zubair Ahmed, a university student who was brutally killed, did exactly that. To make things a little clearer, Zubair belonged to a faction of the Chhatra League and his killers were from an opposing faction of the same organisation.

Let’s not get into why members of the same league have factions and what motivates them to kill each other or why—pray why must they pretend to be university students when they are aspiring to be Kala Jahangir? No, let’s ask why they would think that they would not be exposed if they posted their pouting pictures on Facebook? This is surely a mystery. After all, these young men have been convicted of murder, had escaped from the lower court and reported as absconding. And now they are posting their New Year pictures in nightclubs, commenting what a pity it was that his fellow countrymen in Bangladesh could not even hold a rooftop party because of the government ban. In case anyone had doubts about whether the four were “friends in deed”—one of them even posted a group photo of all four at a Cineplex in Kuala Lumpur. How they disappeared (willingly of course) from the lower court, got to the airport, went through immigration and boarded a plane to Kuala Lumpur completely undetected, we do not know. Neither do we know why there was no arrest warrant for two of the killers who had been sentenced to death in court or why the police have not made any effort to bring back the murderers from Malaysia, a fact everybody seems to know, thanks to social media. In another eerily similar story, five of the 13 convicted killers (members of Chhatra League) of the ill-fated young man Biswajit Das who was mercilessly hacked to death by them, also posted on social media, even though they had been awarded death sentences or life terms by the court. At least four of them had social media posts from places in Dhaka.

So are people so caught up in the virtual reality of social media that they forget that this media is also connected to the real world? That people will know that you were partying away at Westin when you said you had an E Coli poisoning from a misguided enthusiasm for street side chaltar achaar and hence could not make it to the wedding reception. Or that people, maybe even the police, will see that even though you are a fugitive convicted of murder, you are taking a selfie at the mall in Dubai.

So what’s going on? Have people lost all their grey matter?

The answer to that question is pretty obvious, don’t you think? Well not exactly. Yes those ordinary fools who post pictures of every second of their lives are perhaps not the most brainy of individuals since they do not realise that they are providing vital information to “certain powerful groups” who take surveillance to pathological levels so that even an innocuous “share” can become case for sedition/defamation/blasphemy.

But what about the other group—those hormonal hooligans who seem least bothered that they are exposing their hideouts even though technically they are fugitives from the law and face death or life imprisonment if they are caught? Are they really that pea-brained? One would think not. Perhaps they belong to a group that enjoys unusual diplomatic immunity that allows them to extort, maim or even kill, not be held accountable and guaranteed a free pass to a foreign safe haven. Perhaps even the fact that they are gleefully active on social media will not make much of a difference to the protectors of law who have the capacity to trace them and bring them back to face justice.

One cannot help but wonder what will happen with the introduction of the specialised police unit which will employ more than 500 skilled personnel and includes a sophisticated software that will be able to detect cybercrime through a single incriminating word—say, “atheism” or “fascist”. Will these super cybercrime-busters catch those who have killed people and disappeared only to reappear on social media? Or will they do an even better job than their predecessors by weeding out troublemakers who dare to express opinions that do not conform to the current politically elite school of thought? That indeed, is the question.

Aasha Mehreen Amin is Deputy Editor, Editorial and Opinion, The Daily Star.

source: http://www.thedailystar.net