Remembering the 1971 refugees

Today, June 20, is World Refugee Day and the UNHCR gives us the following information: • There are currently 59.5 million forcibly displaced people around the world, and of these, 20 million are refugees and 10 million are stateless • An average of 42,500 people a day flee their homes to find safer places either in their own country or beyond their country’s borders • More than 10 million Syrians are currently displaced -- about 45% of the population • The world’s largest refugee camp is in Dadaab, Kenya with more than 329,000 people • Of the 20 million refugees worldwide, 51% are under the age of 18. This is the highest number of child refugees since World War II The facts and figures above paint a very grim picture of the world today and remind me of the very painful birth of Bangladesh, details of which many around the world, and even in Bangladesh, have either forgotten or never learned. In 1971, 10 million Bangladeshis fled to India as refugees and an estimated 20 million were internally displaced in Bangladesh -- about 40% of the population. Some days we saw over 50,000 Bangladeshis a day cross the many border crossings to India. 20,000 or 30,000 a day was normal. The largest refugee camp in 1971 was Salt Lake, Calcutta which had about 250,000 people. When I remember the work that OXFAM undertook in 1971, I remember the faces of the children suffering severe malnutrition the most. In April 1971, I was in some muddy refugee camp, wondering how the OXFAM assistance could make them a bit more comfortable and how the children could get better food and have a chance to learn and play. It was a daunting task to say the least. At the time -- the end of April 1971 -- the world had not understood the enormity of the refugee problem and even the head offices of the UN and international NGOs like OXFAM were finding it hard to accept the reports that were coming to their offices from Calcutta. In the field, we were witnessing death and disease on a scale that was unimaginable. I still have nightmares about the deaths of children in the refugee camps in India. I still remember as though it was yesterday the wounds of men who had managed to arrive to safety after being attacked by machetes by the collaborators of the Pakistani authorities. Some of the wounds had become septic during their painful journeys. Sometimes, in my nightmares, I see the body of a dead child lying in the rain, its arms and legs gnawed off by dogs, its eyes pecked out by crows. I will never forget the babies with their skin hanging loosely in folds from their tiny bones, lacking the strength even to lift their heads. The children with legs and feet swollen with edema and malnutrition limp in the arms of their mothers. Babies going blind for a lack of vitamin, or covered with sores that will not heal. Seeing in the eyes of their parents the despair, wondering if they will ever have their children well again. Seeing the corpse of the child who died the night before. It was only when cholera swept through the camps towards Calcutta that the conscience of the world was alerted, but even this killer came and went. It left behind what was there before, suffering and despair -- no homes, little or no food, insufficient medical supplies, and, worst of all, no hope. It is very right to celebrate Bangladesh’s remarkable development successes and progress over the years, but we must never forget the pain and suffering that was invested into the foundation of this beautiful country. I will never forget. My recurring nightmares will not allow me to do so. Remembering the birth of Bangladesh should help us to redouble our efforts to see that the world shows more kindness to all the refugees being displaced and to see that the politicians work more seriously and concertedly to overcome all these problems which create the movement of people as refugees.