The Dalits of Bangladesh are one of the most marginalized communities in the country.
For almost two centuries, they have been trapped in their professions as cleaners after their ancestors were first brought here by the British colonial administration.
Not only that, they continue to be shackled by their status as the lowest of low-caste Hindus, and discriminated against by Muslims and Hindus alike. To this day, they are known to many as the “untouchables”.
It is estimated that around 3 to 4.5 million Dalits still live in Bangladesh, and a sizeable portion of this community are concentrated in North Bengal. Known as Harijan – the children of God – in these parts, there are over 500 Harijans living in Nilphamari Sadar alone.
Until recently, almost all of the Harijan in the North received no education whatsoever and were concentrated in the cleaning professions. They were barred from eating in hotels or having their hair cut at barbers, and faced shocking levels of social exclusion – in schools, workplaces and neighbourhoods.
However, a new generation of the Harijan have decided to change their fates and claim what should be rightfully theirs.
Breaking the cycle
Meghuram Bhasfor does the same thing his family has done for centuries – he works as a cleaner. His 18-year-old daughter Joti Rani, however, is doing what was once considered impossible for a Harijan – she is training to be a nurse.
“I know it will be difficult and I will have to work very hard, but I feel like I will be lucky to be able to serve others,” says Joti, a demure girl with a shy, fleeting smile.
Joti is one of the best students in her class, and in her free time she teaches maths and English to 15 children in her neighbourhood.
Joti, however, is not the only educated, empowered woman in her family. Her 14-year-old cousin, Protima, is studying for the HSC exams while her older sister is a third-year honours student.
Though the Harijan communities have a high rate of child marriage and it is unusual for girls their age to be unmarried, Joti and Protima both laugh at such a prospect.
“I can’t get married, I want to be a doctor!” Protima protests. “And if anyone in our family tries to force us, we’ll drag them to the police station, because we know our rights.”
On hearing this, Joti aims a disapproving glance at her younger cousin.
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“We would never be able to study without the full support of our families,” she says. “Baba gets very angry if I miss even one day of college.”
The girls also generously praise their teachers, saying neither of them had ever faced any discrimination at their schools.
“If I miss school for a few days, the headmaster turns up at our house to see what’s wrong. It’s very hard to skip classes like this,” Protima says.
Freedom in education
Not every young Harijan has been as fortunate as Joti and Protima.
Roton Bhasfor was only 10 years old when his teacher asked him to not drink from the same tubewell as the rest of the children. He recalls how he came home in tears and told his parents he would not study anymore.
“Thankfully they refused to listen and sent me back again,” says Roton, who is now studying for his HSC exams while also working as a cleaner at Nilphamari Municipality Corporation.
Sanjit Bhasfor, who studied up to his SSC examinations and now works at Nilphamari Adhunik Sadar Hospital as a cleaner, also remembers feeling like an outcast at school.
“The teachers in primary school were very rude to me,” he says. “But when I moved to a bigger school it got better. There isn’t as much overt prejudice like there was once, but it still happens. A lot of the students still continue to stay away from our children.”
According to Masud Bhasfor, the district secretary of the Bangladesh Harijan Oikyo Parishad in Nilphamari, the Harijan community have “come on leaps and bounds” in education, going from an almost completely uneducated generation to one where over 50% of Harijan families now have educated children.
“Our older generation’s culture was different,” Masud says. “They were discriminated against and called ‘untouchables’ from the British era. They could not even imagine that their lives could be different.
“Everything has changed since then, but the real problem is finding jobs for the educated Harijan.”
This view is shared by all of the younger Harijan. While most of them are interested in continuing their studies, they are cynical about their future job prospects.
‘I refuse to be a sweeper’
Even then, the young, educated Harijan are far from giving up. A case in point is Ontor Bhasfor. One of the first people in his area to complete an undergraduate degree, he has spent years applying for jobs and getting turned down for every one of them.
“The most recent application was for a computer assistant job in a government office,” Ontor says. “One of the common replies from these places is, ‘You are already eligible for the quota of a cleaners’ position. Why do you want to work here?’”
It is not difficult to detect the frustration in Ontor’s voice.
He says: “I’m one of the most educated people in this neighbourhood. My father died young, and my mother broke her back paying for my education. Yet now I work as a salesman in a petty shop, barely earning Tk4,000 a month.
“The lady who owns the shop hired me as an act of defiance. She wanted to show people we could be different. But at the end of the day, it still means I am here because of my title.”
Ontor also does freelance data work to make ends meet, and it is obvious things have been hard for him.
“People tell me all the time to just give in and take a cleaner’s job. The title of Bhasfor is a curse for us, but I refuse to let it keep me down. If only a few of us can climb up, we can pull up the rest.”
Masud, at least, can see the potential.
“If Ontor could get a desk job, work with his pen and his brain, other young Harijan children would be inspired by him,” he says.
“They would know things can change.”
