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Pushing the Limit
Jahin Tajwar Ahmed |
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The cold winter morning drew in as the sun broke over the horizon. Light flooded from the cracked window, crawling up the room, it shone in the eyes of Hassan, and he blinked and turned around to let the suns rays pass on top of him. Hassan got out of his bed with a sense of fear since it has been few months that Military government took over power in Bangladesh from the barrel of the gun from the democratically elected government. This military government was particularly brutal and less caring about people who were living in poverty. Since they took over the power in April 1982, they increased expenses for military and started reducing expenses for public services. They changed the long standing education policy for public universities which were highly subsidized for students admitted based on merits. They introduced an education policy stating that half of the public university seats would go to the students whose parents could pay in full and half of the remaining seats would be subsidized, as it was 100% before, and seats would be offered based on merit basis. This clearly means that they only care about the needs of the few, the rich and the elites. Hassan came from a poor family and got admission into the most prestigious public university (Bangladesh University of Engineering and Technology- BUET) based on his merit and studying on state subsidy. Otherwise, he had no hope to study in the university.
Hassan remembered that he had to gather a lot of students into the center of the university today to raise the protest against the new education policy. Though it was a dangerous time to raise any protest against military, shaking his head with determination, Hassan took his blow horn and ran out of the door.
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There had been an uprising against the military government and, in particular, against this education policy. Hassan had been in the forefront among several student leaders to collect 1 million signatures, from students of primary schools to universities, to present them to the education minister as a manifestation of protest against the policy.
Hassan hurried down the narrow hallways through the dorms, down the many flights of stairs, and out of the building. He walked over to the university premise where the statue of three brave students is placed, holding books in their one hand and gun in another raised hand, with a sign saying ‘Undefeatable Bangladesh’, which was a commemoration to the freedom fighters of the independence war against Pakistan in1971, in which 3 million people were killed in nine months. A brutal genocide that was still fresh among Bangladeshis minds, carried out by a military from Pakistan. Hassan was wondering whether the character of brutality in military is different whether it is from an invading country or it is from its own!
Hassan took his blow horn and raised it to his lips and spoke loud and clear voice: “Fellow comrades,” he shouted and waited for the people to turn and listen to him. “We are the conscious of the society, and we have the responsibility to stand against this evil policy that is going to harm than good to the poor. If we do not stand against it, there will be no way that we can get talent to generate from the poorer parts of this country. We need to have determination and courage to fight against this military government. So if you think that this policy must be obliterated, then stand out with us and my fellow comrades, gather around and listen to what we have to talk about against this policy!”
The center of the university where the statue stood was big and could hold all of the students and teachers combined. When every one gathered around, Hassan raised once again the blow horn and said:
“Ladies and Gentlemen, there will be a meeting here on the coming Wednesday where we shall meet for the organizing of signatures that we have collected over the past 2 months, as a clear demonstration of rejection of the policy, and then we will gather all the students who will be willing to go out to meet in front of Dhaka University, few kilometers down from BUET, and then march towards the ministry of education on next Monday. Then we will hand over the signatures to the education minister to cancel the policy.”
It was not until late noon of that same day did the boys and girls of BUET know about this plan, even the teachers, and few parents. Majority of students did not inform their parents since they would not let them go, knowing the brutality of the military government. The hallways were buzzing with anticipation and anxiousness for the planned day of student procession to the ministry.
The day of the protest came quicker than anyone thought. It was February 14, 1983, the Valentines Day! The air was cold and chilly in the days of February even though the sun shone brightly over the neatly cut grass, but there was not a student to be seen outside in BUET, everyone was either already heading towards Dhaka University or getting ready in their rooms. Hassan was in his room, even though he knew he was needed at Dhaka University. He was watching the sun rise up, already dressed up in his jeans and shirt; he was here because even though he did not want to admit it, this might be his last day here at BUET!
There were a crowd of students in Dhaka University, if looked at in birds eye view then they would look like millions of ants crawling around in the same area. There were about 40 to 50 thousand students there; all were preparing to take part in the procession. There were some from BUET, some from Dhaka University, and the rest from other universities and slum schools. There were loud and quiet conversations, as Hassan observed. He was sitting around with his friends in front of the gate, waiting for all the students that they were expecting to come, and then announce to the people that the protest had started.
“Look at all those people, there is no way that all of us can fit on the street,” said one friend, to no one in particular. “Yeah, I want to get this over with, the military government has done enough to the country. It is ruling the country by gun, they are cruel and brutal,” groaned another.
“I guess we’re going to find out how brutal they can be today,” Hassan sighed. When the crowed reached to its peak level by the mid day, Hassan took out a whistle and so did his other friends. They all went in different directions to make sure the noise got to everyone, Hassan stayed where he was and when everyone was in place, and he and his comrades blew their whistles, which announced the beginning of the first protest against the military government.
Hassan watched as thousands of people exited through the main gates of the university. He walked over to join them and then walked ahead of them and stayed in front of them along with his friends holding a long poster which stated: ‘we want the military rule to be over; we want our education rights back; and we want democracy’.
Hassan started to chant these words over and over again and watched as people in the streets started to look at them and some even joined them. It was quite a sight to see. There were so many people that it was unbelievable heading towards the ministry of education building and chanting slogans for what they believe in. The most spectacular thing about it was that it showed how strong those students could be and how far they could go to fight against the military government.
Soon there was a new chorus started in the procession and more and more people started to join in “our country, our rights, our lives, our land! You can strip us of our rights but you can never own our souls.” The procession moved over one kilometer from the university.
Suddenly there was a blast of noise as police trucks and military vehicles stampeded on the road and blocked the road. Hassan stopped chanting slogans and so did the tens of thousands of students with him. A man in a military uniform came out with a blow horn and spoke.
“Students and others, under the orders of the military government you may not pass this limit, you must turn back and go back to your homes. If you try anything then we will be forced to use arms against you. Please comply.”
There was a moment of silence, Hassan observed. Then there was a loud voices from the procession rejecting the orders and showing promise to proceed and hand over the one million signatures to the minister. Then everyone shouted and joined in and surged forward towards the barricade of police.
Then the worse of the worst expected happened. There was a piercing whistle and then the police and the military opened fire with real bullets at the students! Students were hit with live bullets left and right. Hassan was confused as his friends were falling lifeless before his eyes. Then every thing was a blur. So this is the force of the military brutality, he thought, this is how they took over power and how they manage the country, with the power of the guns!
As soon as it started happening, Hassan ducked behind a nearby car as bullets soared past his head, only missing by a hair. He looked past the car and suddenly he was knocked out. Hassan fought off the dizziness to find himself being grabbed and hauled up and suddenly there sticks being brought down on his face and legs, then everywhere. As much as Hassan tried, he could not let go of the rock hard grip of whoever was holding him, presumably the police or the military. There were blotches of blood everywhere around his body. He tried again and again to be free of this grip, and suddenly he was let to go and dropped to the ground. There were students crying as they were either shot at or beaten ruthlessly. A beautiful Valentines Day turned out a bloody killing field!
The streets were littered with bodies and the soldiers would not leave the lifeless bodies alone, still harassing them even further, to hide the facts away from general attention. Hassan could not bear the sight that lay before him; his muscles pained from the beating, fresh blood was pouring out from his wounds. Suddenly there was a sharp pain in his right thigh. Hassan cried as the pain surged up his leg as something pierced his flesh and burned the area around it, and he fell to the ground unconscious.
Memories flashed before Hassan’s eyes…
There were cries from all around me, as the beautiful day with flowers that graced the sides of the streets, turned into a black nightmare and the flowers turned into ashes. Military officers were pushing the students backward with their plastic shields and their armed guns. Students were falling back and being forced to the ground, then silenced. There were no screams from the students, for there was no mental pain, because they knew they were dying the way they wanted to, fighting for the rights of others. A sound rang in my ears, and I fell unconscious…
Hassan woke up from his nightmare, to find himself in a bed in what appeared to be a hospital, but there was no one else there except for other beds full of students that were injured. Hassan felt the pain of his wounded leg. He reached down to feel his wound only to find his hand grab open air. Hassan looked down in alarm and found that his leg was not there. He screamed and cried as he finally found out what had happened. He was shot in the leg and the doctors could not save it. He cried for the remainder of the day, not just for his leg, for all the students had lost their lives fighting for what they believed in, they were the heroes to Hassan because he might not have given his life for his beliefs, even if he had a lot of courage. Loosing his leg was more than he could handle.
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It was a month later that Hassan was released from the hospital, with one leg amputed, but he was still in the custody of the police. A lot of students were released from the hospital, but all of them were in custody of the police. The letter along with the one million signatures was lost in the protest. The students in custody were finally released under a general amnesty from both domestic and international pressures.
Thanks to the thousands of students who created this first protest against the government. More students got motivated towards fighting against the government against this law, all over the country, continued protests and over hundred deaths finally resulted in the abolition of this law in November 1983. The first students who started the protests were the heroes of this whole process because they showed that students around the country could stand up against the threats for their rights and they showed no fear.
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Hassan was back in his dorm, but his life was very different indeed. Since he had only one leg, he had to use crutches. To him, losing his leg was a reminder of the hundreds of people that gave their lives, some of them were his friends, and it was also a reminder of his accomplishment, as well as the mark of the time where the students fought for what they believed in. The cancellation of the law allowed access to education of over 20,000 thousand boys and girls from poor families to the eight different public universities every year and helping them escaping the poverty. This has far more important than losing his leg and having a crippled life. He does not feel the pain, because there was a reason that he had lost it --- this is a mark of his accomplishment in bringing back the rights of the poor.
Hassan is not known at the height of those great heroes like Ché Guevera or Nelson Mandela, and will never be, but he is one of the many people whose names go silent, but their courage, determination, and sacrifice brings change to many peoples’ lives. Hassan is one of those untold and unheard heroes. |
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| http://www.sonarbangladesh.com/articles/JahinTajwarAhmed |
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| বাংলা (ইউনিকোডে) অথবা ইংরেজীতে আপনার মন্তব্য লিখুন: |
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| লেখক পরিচিতি |
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| Jahin Tajwar Ahmed was born in September 21, 1996 in Nairobi Kenya. He started his early school in Nairobi Montessori school. He moved to Khartoum in July 2000 with his parents when he was almost 4 years old. He studied in the Khartoum International School and took Arabic as his third language. He moved to Angola in August 2004 and since then living in Luanda (capital city of Angola). He is studying in the Luanda International School which has students from 50 different countries with a total of more than 500 students. He is currently in Grade 8 (in IB system he is in Year 9). He speaks Portuguese and Spanish fluently as third language (in addition to Bangali and English). |
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