Exactly a year ago, two days after what was possibly the worst terrorist attack on Bangladeshi soil, I wrote about how that would be the point which would start off the end of Bangladesh as we knew it.
I said, with much conviction, that that was the point which changed everything. It was the point in our collective history when the principles of secularism and equality, of brotherhood and sisterhood between the citizens of this country, would start to fade away into nothingness.
The language that united us once a little over 45 years ago would no longer be enough. That we were bred from different religions but spoke with the same tongue that we inherited from our mothers, would no longer suffice.
A year onwards, was I wrong?
The new normal
Life, after all, has returned to normal. I go to work, I meet my friends, I engage in conversation with my rickshaw-wallah, I flirt with women, I read the news involving other issues and other countries.
The initial spate of heightened security with which the masses were inundated at major points in the city and while entering shopping malls and restaurants, that too has ceased to annoy with its overbearing attention to detail. The heavy-handed checks into rucksacks and handbags have dwindled into asexual pats on the body.
Some have heralded this as a return to normalcy, a veritable proof of the Bangladeshi people’s resistance, a shining reminder, a revolt against the forces of terror.
In fact, it is less of a reminder than a practice in forgetfulness; it is a way to push to the back of our heads that, not so long ago, every single person in the country spoke of only one thing.
Between then and now
Since then, despite the normalcy, or rather, the illusion of it, much has happened.
Of course, the Sholakia Eidgah attack. Then raid after raid on “militant dens” which showed us with increasing promise that terrorism was being rooted out.
Terrorism of this sort, the one branded by the West, I believe, had until then been unforeseen. Much of it came about because of the fact that Islamic State had claimed responsibility for it, with the attackers soon found in garbs pledging smile-mouthed allegiance to the organisation.
Everything claimed has been met with, or at least should be met with, some hint of doubt. The JMB or IS narrative continues while the government says one thing, and the evidence clearly points somewhere else.
Two people, who were victims, were arrested and kept under lock up. One has been released, the other’s fate still hangs in the balance. Sometimes, all we seem to be getting are more questions.
The appeasing of the religious right has cemented the idea that a certain kind of people will get preference in the country
Even after having perused almost all accounts of the attack, I remain confused about the details of the incident. Clarifications have been rare; transparency even rarer.
Even now, I do not know for certain exactly how many people were killed, which organisation was responsible, who killed who, if innocents were killed at the hands of the police, etc, etc. What bugs me the most, personally, is that I cannot relay the events in chronological order.
And I cannot explain fully what the terrorists were doing on the floor with two of the hostages.
The four horsemen
Whether or not life has returned to normalcy, the four attackers brought about some sort of an apocalypse: It changed the way we connected terrorism and the upper middle class.
This is an issue that has been visited before, but the liberal upper middle class is the one sect of the population whose behaviour and thought processes I have found to be the most disappointing in the ensuing months.
Maybe this is because I, too, am a part of it. But much of it is because of its inability to be objective, its genuine lack of liberalism, its attack on free speech, its demonisation of those who disagreed with them.
What does that have to do with terrorism? Look at Trump, look at yourself, and wonder if the way you demeaned and condescended could have any connection with a growing discontent.
Gods amongst men
The July attacks may have confused us about our national identity but many of these elements were present and we were too preoccupied by the struggle to survive to have noticed or, alternatively, too comfortable in the cocoon of daily living.
In a time like this, what was needed, in the ensuing months, more than anything, was concrete evidence of Bangladesh’s stand against terrorism. One could see the raids and the words of important people in the government as such, but these paled in comparison to what we were greeted with instead: Removal of Greek “goddesses” from public grounds, pandering to Islamists, communal violence against Adivasis.
The appeasing of the religious right has cemented the idea that a certain kind of people will get preference in the country. But the fact that these forces have gained traction and success following Holey is frightening.
And it should be, especially if you’re not Bengali, not Muslim, not financially well off, not with parents of import; you might as well surrender. The Bangladeshi spirit of secularism was, in fact, always an illusion. Go as back as 1947, and maybe you’ll know.
At least now, we’re not pretending anymore.
SN Rasul is an Editorial Assistant.