A TIB study found unhealthy competition among and in schools to be one of the major reasons behind the phenomenon of question leaks. Credit: Star

By Moyukh Mahtab
Dec 21 2017 (The Daily Star, Bangladesh)

It’s that time of the year again, the season traditionally known for weddings and pitthas. But seasons undergo changes, and the winter can barely live up to its name anymore. And with that we should reconsider what things we associate with this time—a phenomenon that truly characterises this winter. I propose that the winter of 2017 be remembered as the season of question paper leaks, given the almost daily reports this month, sparing no grade, starting from class I.

Are question papers leaks a novelty then? Well, according to a study by Transparency International Bangladesh (TIB), the trend can be traced as far back as the SSC exam of 1979. And from then, it has only increased, and today it threatens to engulf the entire education system. So, maybe, commemorating our winters for these leaks might lead to actually acknowledging the problem. Maybe then we will finally realise that outright denials or sporadic threats will not be enough to deter those leaking and disseminating exam questions.

For those unaware of why I feel that this issue warrants importance now, here’s a list of the instances of question paper leaks I found through only a cursory look at this month’s newspapers. December 13: We reported that in Munshiganj all examinations in 119 schools had to be cancelled following leaks of questions for classes II-IV. December 14: Following leaks of questions each of classes I and V, final exams of one subject each were cancelled in 248 schools in Barguna. December 19: In Natore this time, the maths final exam of 123 schools had to be suspended. Gone are the days when question leaks meant SSC, HSC or university admission exams. What lows have we sunk to, if someone thinks that they can now make money from leaking questions for primary school students? What next? Leaking of viva questions for kindergarten enrolment? For those who forgot, the higher levels are already swamped with similar allegations. In October this year, University of Dhaka authorities, when asked about the allegations of the leaking of question papers of D unit admission exam, outright denied it. Questions for some subjects of this year’s SSC and HSC exams too were widely circulated—in some cases even openly on Facebook.

The situation is so bad that the Anti-Corruption Commission last week sent a letter to the cabinet to step up efforts for stopping corruption in the education sector. That, and the conscientious parents who pointed out the leaks to the authorities has seen some results. In Munshiganj, nine have been arrested. There have been some arrests too of individuals linked to leaking of DU university admission questions in 2015 and 2016. Ironically, one such recent arrest is of an assistant director at Bangladesh Krira Shikkha Protisthan (BKSP), allegedly a mastermind of a question paper leaking gang, who himself got the government job because of his “connections”. All this brings me to the conclusion that question paper leaks and their growing prevalence is not merely a problem but a symptom of a bigger issue with our educational environment. And worse, the intellectual crippling of an entire generation is yet to come.

What the wise parents who pointed out to the authorities when questions were leaked in the recent cases did is not the established practice. The TIB study mentioned earlier found unhealthy competition among and in schools to be one of the major reasons behind the phenomenon of question leaks. Our entire education system today is based on securing top marks at any cost and parents are rightly worried; missing out might mean a bleak future for their wards. This explains the mushrooming of coaching centres, the ubiquity of the supposedly banned guide books in the market and of course spending money to buy question papers. To quote one parent of a JSC examinee from a report in a daily newspaper, “We understand this is wrong. But our children are not that mature; they exasperate us if we prohibit them from obtaining those questions.” And the pressure on children studying for their exams is even more as one could imagine, knowing that their peers might be getting an unfair edge over them. The same report quoted a student saying: “We cannot concentrate on our study without having those questions provided with answers which can be obtained only at Tk 500.”

So what brought us here? For one, our education system is now a matter of prestige, where anything other than a “golden” GPA 5 or a background in science is shameful. Our questions are based on testing the memorisation power of students, and the creative questions which were supposed to be the solution, only created a new form of memorisation because of untrained teachers. It is far easier for students and teachers if the “creative” questions are selected from a pool widely available of course. Today, students from grades I onwards spend entire days running from one coaching centre to another. This of course is perpetuated by the school’s failing to ensure their fundamental duty: providing the education needed at school. Teachers are without incentive to do their jobs while parents care only about the grades. At the university admissions level—let us take the example of D unit of DU—the questions are so focussed on a student’s ability to memorise information, which they can easily look up when needed, that students are willing to do anything to get a coveted seat. On top of that, standardised exams at levels such as grades V and VIII encourage students to study not for learning but for securing grades. And then there is the farce of our textbooks—bland, riddled with inaccuracies and, as the events of this year showed, probably changing for the worse. So, blaming a few “corrupt teachers” for question leaks simply will not do when our entire education system is corrupt and built towards obtaining a prestigious grade.

During my SSCs I remember a fellow student being berated by parents of other students because he refused to pay the Tk 200 to invigilators of practical exams at our exam centre because they thought that him not paying could mean wrath on the entire batch. This is the situation that we have come to, when parents can actually berate students for not being corrupt. During my HSCs, one could study a handful of past-years’ questions, not for practice, but knowing that among those say 20, 15 would be set in the final questions.

The ACC has pointed out, as has TIB in the past, the sources of our question leaks: namely the education board, BG Press, treasury and exam centres. They have given recommendations on how to tackle the issue such as greater oversight, digitalisation, separation of duties of question preparation and invigilation, checking if any of those involved have children sitting for exams that year. These are important. With that, I would like to add, what we need to fix too is the demand side of things—that students and parents opt for obtaining these questions knowing that it is wrong. And for that, we need to rethink our education system, from the training of teachers to how they teach in classrooms. Without that, we may put an end to leaks with great oversight, but education will continue to be about getting into a good university and a secure livelihood. These are important and realistic considerations of course, but if someone goes through almost 20 years of education without learning to distinguish and act on considerations of right and wrong, to love learning for its sake or without a basic sense of integrity, then where are we headed? Or are we there already, when one hears of university teachers scuffling with students, after almost a decade of corporal punishment being banned, teachers refuse to follow the law, and students beat up teachers after becoming president of a student body of a political party.

Moyukh Mahtab is a member of the editorial team, The Daily Star.

This story was originally published by The Daily Star, Bangladesh

A large plume of smoke is seen on the Myanmar side of the border from Teknaf, September 15, 2017. Photo: REUTERS/Mohammad Ponir Hossain

By Moyukh Mahtab
Sep 20 2017 (The Daily Star, Bangladesh)

The outpouring of help for Rohingya refugees who have fled to Bangladesh has been heart-warming. For a country itself plagued by scarcity, people from all walks have come forward to help them in whatever capacity they have. Buddhists in this country have set up camps to donate blood to Rohingyas who need it and Muslims here have come out to help both Muslims and Hindu refugees from Rakhaine. Now, Sikh volunteers from India have arrived in Teknaf to set up a community kitchen for the refugees. And, as befits a nation that constitutionally guarantees the rights of every citizen, irrespective of race and religion, some Muslim alems have come out saying that now, it is the duty of Islamic leaders here to ensure that no one harasses minorities in this country through misappropriation of the plight of the Rohingyas.

This is timely. There have already been reports of a few isolated incidents. Last week, a woman studying in university, was forced out of a bus she was travelling in as she was a Buddhist from the Chakma community, and by some twisted logic to some people, responsible for the atrocities in Myanmar. Prothom Alo reported on September 14 how a Buddhist monk who had just arrived in Bangladesh was picked up by three youths from a shop when he went there to buy water, and threatened. On September 15, Sammilito Bouddho Somaj held a press conference, denouncing the atrocities on the Rohingya in Myanmar, but also pointed out how a certain group was engaged in inciting communal hatred within Bangladesh. As precaution—and the state deserves praise for this—to ensure security of Buddhists here, police has increased vigilance around monasteries in Chittagong.

We have seen before how simplistic narratives of persecution of minorities can give rise to further communal tensions.

A little history of Myanmar, and how communalism works in general, is relevant. The religious nationalism that fuels the ethnic cleansing that is happening today in the Rakhine State is not something that suddenly flared up. Communalism is the use of a supposed religious identity as the basis of a political and social ideology. It seeks to categorise human beings as distinct communities along religious lines. It’s the expression of political and economic power through the use of religion. As Saskia Sassen recently highlighted in her article, the persecution of Rohingyas “might be partly generated by military-economic interests”—land grabbing and the greed for natural resources in Rakhine. (Is Rohingya persecution caused by business interests rather than religion?, Guardian, 2017) As for politics, the use of religion to consolidate support against some “other” is not new to this subcontinent. In this context, how we explain and generate public and international opinion on the Rohingya issue matters. The Rohingya issue cannot be described as an either/or: it is an entangled mess of religion, race, ultra-nationalism and business interests—to name only a few dimensions."Hearing of the horrors the Rohingya faced from those who survived, it is easy to fall prey to that same sentiment. Worse still, are those who intentionally use the horrors against the Rohingya to strengthen their brand of hate. The Buddhists of Bangladesh are not complicit to the crimes of Myanmar, as all Muslims should not be targeted for the crimes of those who intentionally misrepresent Islam.

Myanmar is home to at least six distinct groups of Muslims including the Indian-descended Muslim community of Rangoon, the Panthay who are Burmese Chinese Muslims and Zerbadi Muslims, descended from inter-ethnic marriages between Muslim men and Burmese women. Rohingyas are one such, although they are not recognised by the Myanmarese government. The official country puts the total Muslim population at around 4.3 percent, but as a 2006 US State Department report pointed out, the census may have underestimated the country’s Muslim population. The Rohingya population, which is not enumerated, consists of about half of the total Muslim population of Myanmar. Myanmar on the other hand claims that the Rohingyas are ethinically Bangalees, who crossed over and so not deserving of citizenship.

To say that religion is not a factor is wrong. As it is wrong to claim that religion solely drives the hate. There is a recent historical basis for Muslim–Buddhist conflict in Myanmar, but the case of the Rohingyas is distinct. And their plight is worse, because unlike other Muslim communities, they are not officially “citizens” of the country. Ethnicity is a crucial factor which drive the Myanmarese narrative—that of refusing to acknowledge Rohingyas as an ethnic group and claiming they are Bangalee immigrants.

Muslims have lived in what is Myanmar today for centuries now—and at times, the Buddhists, the majority, have coexisted peacefully with the minority population of Muslims who had started settling Myanmar from at least the ninth century. There are confirmed reports of Muslim colonies—which grew up over time from the Muslim sailors who settled in Myanmar, children of Muslim men who married Burmese women, mercenaries and migration—between the 13th to the 16th century. (Moshe Yegar, The Muslims of Burma)

At times Indian Muslims were very important to the administrative apparatus of Myanmar and held key positions in the ports and the court. Of course, there was tension at times, but there was harmony and coexistence for longer. Just take two examples which Moshe Yegar writes of in his book. Firstly, that of King Mindon who built a hostel in “Mecca for the comfort of Burmese Muslim pilgrims and at his own expense sent Burmese Muslims with money to erect the building …” in the second-half of the 19th century. In 1937, we find the Muslim Free Hospital and Medical Relief Society. A significant portion of its financing came from Zakat contributions for specific care of Muslims patients. In order to cater to all religions, the hospital started levying a fee, “a symbolic sum, upon the Muslim patients for the treatment they receive, for a Lillah (to God) Fund earmarked for the treatment of non-Muslim patients.” When it comes to the history of Myanmar, Moshe Yegar notes that Muslim persecution during the rule of one king in the 18th century was an aberration in the “background of tolerance.”

Of course, by the time Myanmar gained independence in 1948, the usual suspects of colonialism’s divide and rule policy had set in. Historically, tensions existed between those who lived in Rakhine, which was once independent from Myanmar, and the Burmese, but not along religious lines. World War II added to the discord when the two made different alliances. After Ne Win’s military take-over of the country in 1962, this hardened further. The pre-coup government of U Nu had recognised the ethnic identity of the Rohingyas, but since 1962, their claim to citizenship has been systematically denied. If one looks beyond the official Myanmarese narrative, one finds that in 1974, the government used the issues of “race and religion to consolidate its declining support.” (Imtiaz Ahmed, The Rohingyas: From Stateless to Refugee) Imtiaz Ahmed further writes, “Although in the entire matter, the government was selectively targeting the Arakanese Muslims or Rohingyas, it was not long before that the Arakanese as a whole (both Buddhists and Muslims) realised that such activities were intended to create a wedge between the majority Arakanese Buddhists … and the minority Rohingyas.”

The infamous Operation Naga Min of 1978¬–79 is reported to have been directed against both the Muslims and Buddhists of Rakhine. The Rohingya sought refuge in Bangladesh, hoping for shelter from their co-religionists. Between 1978-1983, military atrocities like those of today resulted in the deaths of 1,725 and the rapes of 2,715 Rakhine Buddhists. During the time 437 Rohingyas were killed and 1681 Rohgingya women were raped.

In 1990, the military government refused to hand over power to a democratically elected government, and had killed a few monks who were protesting. As Imtiaz Ahmed puts it: “The targeting of the Rohingyas in November 1991, therefore, fulfilled the double-task of consolidating the Buddhist majority and, at the same time, wrecking the unity of the Arakanese.” This time, pandering to populist sentiments, the main targets were the Rohingya Muslims, who were made targets for being of a different religion and ethnicity. Like right-wing populist leaders we see today, demonising an “other”, the military government wanted the support of Buddhists throughout Myanmar. Placating of hard-line monks meant increased tension between Buddhists and Muslims. The spectre of an “Islamisation” of the country and constant state propaganda created a narrative of the Myanmarese community as distinct groups. Tun Khin, a human rights activist and president of Burmese Rohingya Organisation UK, summarised to Newsweek recently: “Rohingyas are a different ethnic group, they have a different appearance and religion.” They were easy targets.

The point of this short and incomplete summary is to show how communalism appropriates religion. The state-military promoted this until the doctrine of hate against “outsiders” had become normalised.

Hearing of the horrors the Rohingya faced from those who survived, it is easy to fall prey to that same sentiment. Worse still, are those who intentionally use the horrors against the Rohingya to strengthen their brand of hate. The Buddhists of Bangladesh are not complicit to the crimes of Myanmar, as all Muslims should not be targeted for the crimes of those who intentionally misrepresent Islam. After all, the same Buddhists from Bangladesh have decided to refrain from their Prabarna Purnima festivities this year protesting the atrocities in Myanmar and have decided to distribute the money for the refugees.

The background to the ethno-religious violence against the Rohingyas and the combined effort of all communities in helping the refugees should be an antidote to the hate Myanmar preaches. We must remember that what we are doing to help the Rohingyas and speak up for them stems from a shared humanity, it rises above the communal politics of Myanmar.

Moyukh Mahtab is a member of the editorial team, The Daily Star.

This story was originally published by The Daily Star, Bangladesh

By Moyukh Mahtab
May 11 2017 (The Daily Star, Bangladesh)

We live in a country where women who are survivors of sexual violence not only have to go against the traditional grain of society but the justice and law enforcement systems as well. Our antiquated laws, medical procedures to prove rape, the cruel character shaming and the general social impunity granted to men makes one wonder how brave a woman has to be to even demand justice.

It’s been almost a week since newspapers started reporting on the rape at gun point of two university students in a hotel in Banani. We know five men have been accused, that the women have been threatened against going to the police, and that when they did go to the police, their characters were questioned and it took 48 hours to register the case. We know that among the accused is a son of the owner of a leading jewellery brand, who despite being home for days after the case filed, was not interrogated let alone arrested by the police. We know that keeping to the norm in this country, his father defended his actions. By the time the police did raid his home on May 9, a full three days after the case was registered, the accused and his passport were missing.

Yet, social media is full of people defending the rape of these two women as “divine justice” for their supposed transgressions: they should not have gone out to a “party”, they should not have been friends with men, and they should have fit the narrow ideals of what the role of women is in a society. I do not know what to say to these people, for despite the reality they witness, they are blind to the concept of consent. But for those, who feel compelled to point out that for now, we should put the word “alleged” before the word rapist, or question why the women waited more than a month before going to the police, please remember the society we live in.

Let us start with why the women waited a month before going to the police. According to their testimonies, aides to the accused filmed them while they were being raped. They were threatened that the clips would be released on the internet if they did, and also told that because of the power and money of the accused, the police would not be able to do anything to them. These women knew the consequences of going public: that they would be shamed, their characters put to the stand and that there would be enormous pressure on them and their families. The officer in charge in Banani police station BM Forman Ali, who is now on a five-day-leave, had initially asked if the women were “nortoki” or dancers from the hotel. Why else would women be at a party there? (Samakal, 10 May, 2017)

Questioning of the women’s character is part of the criminal proceedings of rape cases. As Ishita Dutta in her paper in the book Of the Nation Born: The Bangladesh Papers, points out this “Good Girl-Bad Girl Dichotomy” shifts the question of ascertaining the guilt of the accused to “whether the survivor was chaste enough to have made a true accusation.” She writes how under Section 155(4) of the Evidence Act 1872, “the victims testimony may be discredited by showing that she was of ‘generally immoral character’.”"We need policy and law reforms. We need cells at police stations and medical facilities where they will be heard and not further abused. We need institutional changes in the way the police act towards the survivors. Till then, the least we can do is not question if these women are speaking the truth.

What is heartbreaking is that despite the courage it took for these women to finally seek justice, as the head of forensic medicine at DMC who headed the board that examined the women says, it would be difficult to find evidence of rape if the incidents took place over a month ago. But, even if they had gone the next day, what are the chances that justice would be facilitated? It took two examinations before it was officially established that Shohagi Jahan Tonu was indeed raped before she was murdered. The legal definition and medical tests proscribed by our law also means that any delay, even due to unavailability of medical facilities, would essentially make it harder to collect forensic evidence. The laws which lay out the procedure of collection of evidence date back to the colonial period, and as such barbaric procedures such as “the two finger test” to determine if rape had occurred are still used. The two finger test rests on the presence or absence of the hymen – a procedure which is not only medically anachronistic, but also seems to assume only a woman who has never had any sexual relation before can be raped.

Dutta points out how while globally the legal definition of rape has evolved to the establishment of consent, in Bangladeshi law, rape is defined as “forced penetration.” That is, even if a person is sexually assaulted, say at gun point, but there was no physical force used on her, it would technically not be considered as rape. The question of consent, that is whether the the woman was in agreement with the sexual act is absent from our laws and our society.

We need a change and our laws need to define rape in terms of consent. For example, the Department of Justice of Canada, defines consent as “the voluntary agreement of the complainant to engage in the sexual activity in question. Conduct short of a voluntary agreement … does not constitute consent”. It then sets out the situations which would entail lack of consent such as cases “where the accused induces the complainant … abusing a position of trust, power or authority”. That is, rape would be defined not in terms of whether the woman was physically forced into the act but by whether she voluntarily consented to that act.

If these were not enough barriers, in court, the women are again subjected to similar attacks on her character. Since the legal definition of rape rests on the purity of character of the woman, her life is dissected in a patriarchal, unfriendly environment. The initial reluctance and questioning of character when filing cases, as was claimed by the women who were raped in Banani, point to an institutional structure which is far from being gender sensitive. It does not give women a safe space where they can seek refuge and justice, but from the filing of the case to the court proceeding, puts them through the trauma of having to prove that they are not immoral people who somehow “asked for it”.

Then comes the “pressure”; from society and from the perpetrators. And if the perpetrators are powerful men, we even see instances where the police officer questions the women if they are filing a case to claim money from the accused. The accused might even go missing just before the police put up a show of action and end up in a different district, where they will not be found.

When women, under these constraints, still appeal to our courts of law to seek justice, it is cruel to start our discussion with questioning whether she is lying or not. We as a society cannot get over the idea that women supposedly have the upper hand or some ulterior motive when reporting sexual violence.

That is not to say that we can bypass the legal requirement of proof when it comes to rape or any other crime. That we are sometimes bound to take a stand speaks of failures of our justice system. We need policy and law reforms. We need cells at police stations and medical facilities where they will be heard and not further abused. We need institutional changes in the way the police act towards the survivors. Till then, the least we can do is not question if these women are speaking the truth.

The writer is a member of the editorial department, The Daily Star.

This story was originally published by The Daily Star, Bangladesh

Te Urewara National Park

By Moyukh Mahtab
Sep 9 2016 (The Daily Star, Bangladesh)

In 2008, Ecuador codified the principle of Rights of Nature in its Constitution, recognising that ecosystems have an inalienable right to exist and flourish. “Nature, or Pacha Mama, where life is reproduced and occurs, has the right to integral respect for its existence and for the maintenance and regeneration of its life cycles, structure, functions and evolutionary processes,” reads Article 71 of the Constitution. Not only does the Constitution set out in detail the rights of nature, it states that “persons, communities, peoples and nations can call upon public authorities to enforce the rights of nature.”

Article 72 on the other hand states that “In those cases of severe or permanent environmental impact, including those caused by the exploitation of non-renewable natural resources, the State shall establish the most effective mechanisms to achieve the restoration and shall adopt adequate measures to eliminate or mitigate harmful environmental consequences.”

Going a step further, New Zealand has now granted legal personhood to its Te Urewara National Park. In effect, what this means is that now the national park, a verdant forested landscape, possesses the same rights and powers as that of a citizen. Like the Constitution of Ecuador, this legislation gives stronger rights to nature: to protect its rights, cases can be filed on its behalf. The same is true for the Whanganui River. And, as should be, nobody, not even the government can ‘own’ them. As Pita Sharples, former minister of Maori Affairs put it: “This is a profound alternative to the human presumption of sovereignty over the natural world.”

As environmental concerns over the world grow, the examples of Ecuador and New Zealand come as a sweet surprise. The balance between consumption and exploitation of nature and its preservation have been strongly on the side of the former, and with passing time the threat of harming biodiversity and disrupting the ecosystem continues to grow to epic proportions. A recent study by the United Nations Environment Programme (UNEP), which involved 1,203 scientists, hundreds of scientific institutions and more than 160 governments, unequivocally stated that already the degradation of natural resources worldwide is outpacing the nature’s ability to absorb that damage (Humans damaging the environment faster than it can recover, UN find, The Guardian). It goes without saying that the need to act to protect them is crucial, now more than ever.

Going back to the case of New Zealand, the legal status was a result of agreements between the government, and the Maori groups over guardianship of the land. The New York Times quoted Chris Finlayson, New Zealand’s attorney general, as saying: “In their worldview, ‘I am the river and the river is me’. Their geographic region is part and parcel of who they are.” From years of debate, came the agreement to grant the natural land a legal status.

Now, the concept of legal personhood granted to a national park may seem absurd to many – how could nature assume the rights of a person? But, if corporations, which are profit driven, can be given legal personhood and rights, the question is why should nature and the ecosystem not be given the same rights. They are surely more important for the survival of the species.

It’s unfortunate that where a few countries are willing to go to such extremes over concerns for their natural environment, Bangladesh today stands on the eve of what might possibly be irreversible damage to the Sundarbans. Surely, no one expects the home of the Bengal Tiger to be granted a legal personhood with rights and dignity any time soon, but can we in good conscience get behind this project, no matter how bountiful be its return in developmental terms?

The writer is a member of the editorial team, The Daily Star.

This story was originally published by The Daily Star, Bangladesh

Illustration: STAR

By Moyukh Mahtab
Aug 22 2016 (The Daily Star, Bangladesh)

No punishment including physical violence and/or mental torture in any form, can be imposed or inflicted on anybody in pursuance of fatwa,” reads the Supreme Court verdict regarding fatwas. The landmark verdict also made it clear that no one can be forced to abide by a fatwa, and that such verdicts cannot in any way violate the rights or reputation of any person.

There is not much room for misreading or misinterpreting the verdict — that punishment cannot be handed out through such edicts is categorical. Speaking to the BBC in 2011, Attorney General Mahbubey Alam said: “No fatwa can be issued against the existing laws of the country. That means that no-one can dole out punishments in the name of a fatwa, especially when it may be mental or physical punishment.”

Yet, this week a woman in Rangpur was caned 101 times for an alleged extramarital affair due to such a ruling, that too, by a member of the Union Parishad.

The reported story is incomplete. From what we know now, it stands as such: one Saidul Islam had entered the house of the woman when her husband was not at home. Villagers heard of it from another neighbour. The ‘morality police’ that they are, they took it upon themselves to tie up Saidul. Of course, it is not surprising that the woman’s version of what happened is missing.

What happened next is sadly too familiar. The UP member, Aktar Hossain, was brought in and asked to conduct an arbitration. Villagers had said that even during the arbitration, the woman was not heard out by Aktar. He ordered the woman to be caned 101 times by her husband, while he caned the man 20 times. The number of issues that are horrifying, not to say illegal, here are astounding.

Firstly, in ordering the punishment, the UP member has clearly violated the law. In meting out his ‘arbitration’ by ordering physical punishment, he violated multiple points of the Supreme Court verdict. The verdict stated that only ‘properly educated’ personnel can edict fatwas, and even in that case they would not be binding. Instead, not only did he not refuse to accept mob justice, he took the law into his own hands. His arbitration verdict, which he was not qualified to give in the first place, was violent in nature, and on top of that he made sure it was duly enforced.

This begs the question: are the laws and verdicts of the highest judicial authority just mere words that a member of the administration can so casually disregard them? What actually happened is still murky, but even if the allegations against the woman and the man are true, what right does a UP member have to play the part of judiciary? Or is it that he was not aware of the verdict at all, in which case, it is all the more disturbing. Why are there not steps to implement in practice what is stated on paper?

Sadly, this incident is about much more than a failure to enforce the law; it is another manifestation of our collective mentality towards women. The disparity in the punishment for the man and the woman is striking — if both are party to the same crime, what justifies the five times harsher punishment for the woman? Even when the woman fell ill after the barbaric torture, she was sent home, instead of a hospital. To say here that our society remains deeply patriarchal and misogynistic is an understatement. Our misogyny, sugar coated by polemics about women’s honour, social codes, moralities, and religion has taken on a hideous form, and this incident is just one of the symptoms.

According to Ain o Salish Kendra, there were 12 documented cases of violence against women due to shalish and fatwas in 2015. This year, from January to June, ASK reports two more incidents. That one of this was a fatwa ‘punishing’ a woman by lashing because there was an attempt to rape her is outrageous.

Despite many achievements in curbing violence against women, we are in no position to be complacent. We have entertained demeaning and sexist attitudes towards women here for so long that when in the name of social codes and culture their rights are violated and they are physically or mentally harmed, we find justification for it. Take the incident of sexual harassment on the University of Dhaka campus during Pahela Baishakh celebrations last year. It was horrifying to see people on social media actually blaming the women for the attacks on them.

No wonder, many jumping on the morality bandwagon will think that the woman was at fault and deserved what was done to her. And that is precisely the problem. As long as we justify wrongs done to women with whatever excuse, our sexist attitudes will continue to thrive. What happened in Rangpur may not be representative of all cases, but the underlying thinking is endemic. Every time someone at the road thinks it their moral duty to chastise a woman for what she is wearing or doing, it reveals our sexist nature. Judgemental remarks about their behaviour and morals are something almost every girl in this country is familiar with. We continue to place women on pedestals while in our minds they remain little more than sexual objects.

There is of course a failure in our judicial and administrative system when a member of the Union Parishad so blatantly disregards and breaks the law. That must be punished, and laws need to go beyond paper. But, to truly get rid of violence against women, we also require a change in the way we think of women.

The BBC article on the Supreme Court verdict on fatwas cited the incident of a 14-year old girl who was killed after public lashing for allegedly having an extra-marital affair. Where do we stand, when administration officials can take it upon themselves to continue the very thing that the law sought to redress?

The writer is a member of the editorial team, The Daily Star.

This story was originally published by The Daily Star, Bangladesh

When blogger Rajib Haider was killed in 2013, the outcry was tremendous. But, over the next three years, at least 38 more were added to the list of those murdered, which includes writers, publisher, foreigners, religious minorities and LGBT rights activists. There have been reports about alleged IS involvement, and last week, the security forces launched a drive that resulted in the arrest of 194 ‘militants’. But the collective outrage over people being murdered seems to have mellowed.

Alfredo Ramos Martínez, 1934.

A recent article by The New York Times tries to explain the situation. The report quotes the Chief of the Police Counterterrorism Unit, Monirul Islam: “They have tried to pick their targets with care, with the aim of gaining support from the public. . . Their goal was to convert Bangladesh’s mixed secular and religious culture to an Islamist one.” The report does not inspire hope. Further comments from Monirul Islam and the reporter run along the same lines: “To a surprising extent, the militants have succeeded in their aim of discrediting secularism”; “In general, people think they have done the right thing, that it’s not unjustifiable to kill”. (“Bangladesh Says It Now Knows Who’s Killing the Bloggers”, NYT, June 8, 2016)

The killers seem to have achieved what they wanted. They targeted the deep-rooted cultural biases and attitudes of the largely Sunni Muslim population of the country. The moment bloggers of the Shahbagh movement became branded as ‘atheists’, the public outrage over fanaticism shifted. A pervasive fear has taken hold that Islam is somehow under threat, and eliminating elements that supposedly run counter to the religion need to be discarded. In the week of the police crackdown on militancy, a Hindu college teacher was stabbed in Madaripur, and staff of Ramakrishna Mission received death threats. And yet, the majority of the people remain unconcerned.

And here we must confront some uncomfortable issues. Despite our loud proclamations of being a secularist country, are we truly, by any definition secular? Our Constitution guarantees the right to freedom of speech and safeguards against persecution due to religious belief. Secularism entails official neutrality of the state in matters of religion: that is religion is a personal issue, not a state one.

Yet, our minorities have been marginalised over the past four decades and the country’s Hindu population is on a decline (from about 30 percent before ’71 to less than 10 percent today). Since independence, secularism as a basic principle of the Constitution was removed, a state religion was ordained, and now we have the conflicting state of both being there at the same time.

Institutions like the Awami Olama League can today demand removal of Hindu ministers and judges with impunity and still operate under the AL banner. Age-old traditions of celebrating Pahela Baishakh are challenged as being un-Islamic. There has been increasing pressure from sections of society trying to impose parochial values and codes on women in the name of religious decency. Just this week a post that sparked a lot of debate on social media exemplified the manifestation of our belief when a woman was abused verbally on the road for driving a car instead of being at home, preparing iftari. The abuse was met with support of the general onlookers, as they berated the woman for not being at home, where she belonged.

Clearly, the state of affairs did not develop overnight; ghosts of unresolved communal issues, stretching from 1971 to as far as at least 1947, and the post-independence coups and countercoups have resulted in a fragile and fragmented society with serious identity issues. We seem to be grappling with the question of who we are. Instead of our identity being based on our roots in this country, with the corresponding effect of apathy and hostility towards not just other religions, but also towards other Islamic schools of thought like those of Shias and Ahmeddiyas. The root of the problem is that increasing number of people, including students, from universities and madrasas, are becoming radicalised.

On top of that, the educated liberal elites’ defensive stance on the issue has created further confusion. The Islamophobia in the West, and the repercussion of US foreign policy, has meant that Muslims here have been active in refuting the terrorist association with Islam. But, what they seem to miss is that the Islamophobia of Trump in a country where Muslims are a minority, and the case of a country like Bangladesh with a Muslim majority are not the same. Islam does not promote terrorism and killings in any form. That does not mean that certain schools of thought have not misinterpreted the religion in justifying vile acts. The flagging of all Muslims as terrorists is reprehensible, as is refusing to deal with the fact that in the name of the religion, actions are being carried out that go against its core values.

The previously mentioned New York Times article quotes authorities in Bangladesh as saying: “Only when the leaders are caught will the attacks be stopped, and at that, only for a while if the appeal of Islamic fundamentalism is not blunted.” Collectively, we are indifferent towards those being hunted down and butchered. We refuse to acknowledge the issues that plague our society. Religion is not at fault here. The problem is with how religion is being interpreted by some people; the killers are being used as pawns, while the general people stand aloof. As long as we do not confront our exclusionary beliefs and accept that people with different beliefs than ours live in this country, no amount of anti-militancy drives or constitutional amendments can stop the killings.

The writer is a member of the editorial team, The Daily Star.

This story was originally published by The Daily Star, Bangladesh