Being of Bangladesh was not something that a lot of our generation had learnt to accept as a positive thing.
Since birth we have been told that being from here might be some sort of a disadvantage, a disability even. The obvious benefits of having a foreign degree perpetuated generations of society-approved ‘brain drain’ and meant that we never quite developed into a clan of devout patriots. There were exceptions, of course.
Despite the disdain, this nation has been a huge part of our identity. We love monsoon rains, listen to Bangla band shongeet, celebrate Pohela Boishakh in red and white and have come to terms with the fact that all of us know someone who loves shutki bhorta; a fermented fish paste that sometimes smells worse than the Buriganga River, choked by human waste. Somewhere in us, we were proud to be Bangladeshi.
I speak of us especially; the Bangali-Muslim-Liberal minded young ones, out to save the world, with rose colored glasses. I had thought that I was one of them, a blind patriot, supporter of everything red and green. What choice did I have? My father was a Muktijoddhya after-all.
We had a set definition of Bangladesh in our heads. When someone from a foreign land asked us about this country, our answer would often be along the lines of: ‘Bangladesh is a small country which shares borders with India and Myanmar. Dhaka is the capital and it is very densely populated. We are a young country that gained its independence in 1971 because of the Language movement. We are very colorful people who celebrate everything. You should visit!’
This initial response never included religion. We were never exclusively Muslim.
On the 1st of July 2016, in a brutal religion-driven terrorist act of violence; a group of six men had rendered us into an internationally acclaimed #PrayFor hashtag.
And it really hurt. Everyone was talking about it, but no one was listening. In a day, our generation was hurled into a massive despair of an identity crisis. We no longer knew who we were. Were we now to be known as an extremist nation? Were we going to be on a no-fly list? Had we become a country where Dayesh had a stronghold? It no-longer fit into the definition of Bangladesh in our head. Us, the ones with the shiny eyes and unlimited mobile phone data.
Nationalism has been a big part of our identity and that being threatened we quickly lost a foothold on reality.
In an attempt to find answers for myself, I had asked some young men and women around me, how July 1st had impacted them on a personal level? Who did they become afterwards? This was collected over a month in September-October 2016. Here is a collection of some of those stories:
1) Female, 27 years old, Development worker:
I worry constantly for people I know and love but mostly I'm just ANGRY. So angry!
I wanted to go for a walk the day after the attack, because I felt like I was suffocating. I walked down the street only to realize and suddenly be very self-conscious about the fact that I was the ONLY woman on the street. For the first time, it felt like every single man was staring at me without trying to be discreet.
One man on a bike, while crossing me said something profane to me out loud and I remember thinking that this person would not have the guts to talk to me under normal circumstance much less swear AT me. It felt like the attackers gave courage to every single creep in the nation to let their perverse thoughts out. Somehow given some unnamed faces the right to treat me like meat!
Then when I went to Agora, I was the only uncovered woman in western clothes and I felt attacked by the other women for refusing to cover. I still sometimes feel like they're wondering why I'm not doing that even though I know I'm probably wrong. I felt judged, othered, threatened.
My mom is worried that I'll get attacked constantly. Not for my thoughts or opinions, but now simply for existing and choosing to be outside.
Now, almost two months from that night, I have realized that the problem is universal; it's not restricted to Bangladesh. Anyone who's thinking it's only in Bangladesh that people are unsafe, is mistaken.
There are more people worthy of love than feared, so let’s just concentrate on that for now.
2) Male, 29 years old, Journalist:
The attack has sent shudders to many of the sane young civilians. I always feel it is a proximity issue. Such attacks have been taking toll in many places. Some of us sympathize, some don't even notice, thinking they are distant global affairs.
July 1 has proven that the devil has come at our doorstep and in a fashion we have never felt so scared about. It has questioned our trust issues. It has made us insecure and thinks twice about who we hang out with in the society.
This isn't just me but from a bunch of young people that I’ve spoken to. I feel very unsafe.
3) Female, 31 years old, Development worker, mother of a baby girl:
I was affected very harshly at the initial stage. I remember walking down the street in my usual shalwar kameez and it suddenly hit me that my arms were uncovered. I panicked.
Added to all this was the fact that my child’s daycare had closed down and even when it did open, I was scared. Would I be able to ever leave my child alone anywhere? Life was at a standstill.
But then I decided I couldn't go on like this. I could not let this one incident take control of my life. So I chose to be not scared anymore. I don't think "desher obostha onek kharap"; this could have happened anywhere and is happening everywhere.
My mom keeps on saying “orna poro na keno tumi ei obosthaye!” But I choose to wear what feels comfortable for me.
Maybe because I usually travel by a car that I don’t feel like I need to cover up more than I used to.
4) Female, 33 years old, Independent consultant, Women’s Rights Activist:
I wear orna randomly, always have but then I like scarves anyway. Sometimes I hate it that I feel better if I have an orna when I walk in the streets, but then I have also accepted that it's okay to give in to that.
Under the current circumstances, it took me almost a month to be alright to walk on the streets or take a rickshaw by myself. It also took me extra courage to NOT wear an orna on the street and the first time I was able to do so post 7/1 felt scary but liberating.
I have had to go through unforgivable mental ups and downs in the past two months. I don’t know how I feel anymore. A friend’s cousin and an associate had gotten out alive from Holey, some had not been as lucky, I have had to help LGBT guys fill out a form for assistance since they got a threat letter mentioning their names, strangers have seemed a lot scarier than ever before.
I think what has really helped me is how well my parents have been handling everything. They haven’t freaked out once or asked me to be extra careful. The other week I was telling my mother about a possible consultancy in east Africa, and she said, “If it happens take it up, these are the chances. Never say no to something because you are worried about safety.”
Things are bad and they are bad everywhere. There is no solution for this, and if you plan to shy away now, then you are looking forward to a lifetime of saying no a lot. What really bother me are people saying that you can’t walk on the streets of Dhaka but not having a problem being a tourist in Paris or Thailand.
So yes, things are bad. Be aware of where you are, what’s happening around you, take basic precautionary methods, maybe have emergency protocols in place.
And then, go out and live your life to the fullest.
5) Male, 31 years old, Police Officer, was then living abroad:
I feel pure rage. This made me specifically opt for the counter terrorist unit. I cannot concentrate on my studies. My thesis got affected.
I feel extremely helpless because I cannot immediately join the fight. I am not scared for myself It’s my family I have at home. I have sent my younger sister to abroad and my parents have gone with her. She will stay there, they will come back.
If I am given the opportunity, I want to fight this evil on the field.
6) Female, 26 years old, Private sector worker, Student:
Every day, I would frantically search for news on the Holey Artisan tragedy, on the newspapers and on TV because somewhere in me I felt that I could not fathom the extent of the calamity that had fallen upon us.
One time I remember talking to a friend about Ishrat Apa and telling her how her smiling face made me feel guilty of breathing. I like addressing her as Ishrat Apa although I never knew her because of the tremendous love I feel for her and for all the other victims.
What has changed after July 1st? Everything.
My whole perception about life and existence in my country has changed. I always thought Bangladesh's problems would not and could not go beyond political turmoil or natural disaster but after July 1st, I now know that anything might happen at any time.
I feel like we are living in a perpetual state of dissonance.
7) Female, 33 years old, Development worker, Mother:
I have come to know after this incident that there are people among us who support these activities. Deep down, the hatred has always been there.
They don’t usually express themselves and they are the most dangerous people.
Initially I had freaked out but now everything is back to normal. I am worried about my son though. I do not know which school to put him in, worried about who will be his friends, scared whether I will be able to bring him up as a good liberal human being.
For myself, I don’t worry much. If something bad has to happen it will happen, what we can do best is be cautious and careful. Leaving the country or running away is not a solution!
8) Male, 30 years old, Entrepreneur:
The July 1st incident has had a profound impact on the collective psyche of the residents of Dhaka, in fact all of Bangladesh. The youth of the city has been trying to make sense of such ruthless acts, perpetuated by some of the people who could be their “friends”.
Personally, it has made me more skeptical of those around me. I am very much aware of a general shift in the perspective as to how I perceive others around me; mostly with a questioning look, wondering if they could be the possible perpetrator of the next such brutality.
My mother worries about what I wear now. She doesn’t feel comfortable letting me go out in a Panjabi. My 14 year-old cousins don’t want to go to school, for they worry there might be an attack there. Another young cousin asked my sister to take down some memorable pictures taken at Holey Artisan Bakery from Facebook. The terrorists have successfully accomplished their goal in debasing the overall sense of security that existed. This has given rise to paranoia. Giving into this paranoia means doing exactly what the terrorists wanted. I have not altered my routine, for I am not going to give into this paranoia.
If you are in the retail sector, there is a very high probability that your business has been adversely affected in the aftermath of the July 1st attack. If you are in the export oriented manufacturing sector, you might not see any changes in the short run. However, the long term revenue curve may still be erratic, albeit the buyers promise of not moving their business elsewhere. The overall situation is not one where one can be optimistic.
Unemployment would be on the rise, investment in the economy has a real chance of falling. This means that those trying to find employment will be disheartened. The overall climate is not one, under which economic growth will be achieved.
Moving within the city has become more difficult due to security concerns. How, then, will goods and people move freely?
9) Female, 30 years old, Visual media artist:
It took me almost one month to start my normal life. It was like an emotional roller coaster.
First thing I felt was an unbearable pain, not only for those you died but also for this country. I could not take that truth all I could think was not MY motherland! Then I started to dig into how these men could have become so vicious. I talked to my family members; brother, sisters, niece, nephews, to understand their states of mind.
That night for sure I grew up a bit. I was closer to Allah than ever before, I felt closer to love than ever before and that night took away my fear. Every time I prayed and on my jayenamaaz I uttered Allahu Akbar, Allah made sure that I did not forget to pray for all the victims of July 1st.
We are from one and we will go back to the one. This world is a drama and we all are acting here. This body is nothing but a cage.
But our soul, where we are true, knows no divination. There we are one and to the one we belong!
And then there is me.
I am 30 years old, a young-ish Bangladeshi woman working in an international organization, an activist for women’s rights, a feminist and an artist.
I did not sleep for a month after. Most nights comprised of less sleep and more nightmares. I heard voices screaming, bombs going off, bullets being fired and phantom knocks on the door when I closed my eyes. So after a point I just didn't.
Let's just say my apartment was very very clean!
Adding my voice to these stories is important because July 1st haunts us all in many ways that cannot always be defined or understood.
It haunts us because it SO EASILY could have been one of us or someone we love. It affects an immense portion of our identity. It is of and by people whose shoes we can so easily step into. It is directly our lives being affected and it is the proof that we can no longer ignore the nearly 60 other individuals who had been systematically hunted and murdered in Bangladesh by religious extremists. July 1st is not an independent incident.
So here it is; ten young people with 10 different stories about one incident that has irreversibly changed all of our lives. These stories represent only a small portion of many countless stories. A small reflection of why, we as a generation, living and warm-blooded may never know where we belong, again.
As a group, not only of these 10 people but a generation we are suffering from PTSD and we must learn to cure ourselves in order to move forward.
Since birth we have been told that being from here might be some sort of a disadvantage, a disability even. The obvious benefits of having a foreign degree perpetuated generations of society-approved ‘brain drain’ and meant that we never quite developed into a clan of devout patriots. There were exceptions, of course.
Despite the disdain, this nation has been a huge part of our identity. We love monsoon rains, listen to Bangla band shongeet, celebrate Pohela Boishakh in red and white and have come to terms with the fact that all of us know someone who loves shutki bhorta; a fermented fish paste that sometimes smells worse than the Buriganga River, choked by human waste. Somewhere in us, we were proud to be Bangladeshi.
I speak of us especially; the Bangali-Muslim-Liberal minded young ones, out to save the world, with rose colored glasses. I had thought that I was one of them, a blind patriot, supporter of everything red and green. What choice did I have? My father was a Muktijoddhya after-all.
We had a set definition of Bangladesh in our heads. When someone from a foreign land asked us about this country, our answer would often be along the lines of: ‘Bangladesh is a small country which shares borders with India and Myanmar. Dhaka is the capital and it is very densely populated. We are a young country that gained its independence in 1971 because of the Language movement. We are very colorful people who celebrate everything. You should visit!’
This initial response never included religion. We were never exclusively Muslim.
On the 1st of July 2016, in a brutal religion-driven terrorist act of violence; a group of six men had rendered us into an internationally acclaimed #PrayFor hashtag.
And it really hurt. Everyone was talking about it, but no one was listening. In a day, our generation was hurled into a massive despair of an identity crisis. We no longer knew who we were. Were we now to be known as an extremist nation? Were we going to be on a no-fly list? Had we become a country where Dayesh had a stronghold? It no-longer fit into the definition of Bangladesh in our head. Us, the ones with the shiny eyes and unlimited mobile phone data.
Nationalism has been a big part of our identity and that being threatened we quickly lost a foothold on reality.
In an attempt to find answers for myself, I had asked some young men and women around me, how July 1st had impacted them on a personal level? Who did they become afterwards? This was collected over a month in September-October 2016. Here is a collection of some of those stories:
1) Female, 27 years old, Development worker:
I worry constantly for people I know and love but mostly I'm just ANGRY. So angry!
I wanted to go for a walk the day after the attack, because I felt like I was suffocating. I walked down the street only to realize and suddenly be very self-conscious about the fact that I was the ONLY woman on the street. For the first time, it felt like every single man was staring at me without trying to be discreet.
One man on a bike, while crossing me said something profane to me out loud and I remember thinking that this person would not have the guts to talk to me under normal circumstance much less swear AT me. It felt like the attackers gave courage to every single creep in the nation to let their perverse thoughts out. Somehow given some unnamed faces the right to treat me like meat!
Then when I went to Agora, I was the only uncovered woman in western clothes and I felt attacked by the other women for refusing to cover. I still sometimes feel like they're wondering why I'm not doing that even though I know I'm probably wrong. I felt judged, othered, threatened.
My mom is worried that I'll get attacked constantly. Not for my thoughts or opinions, but now simply for existing and choosing to be outside.
Now, almost two months from that night, I have realized that the problem is universal; it's not restricted to Bangladesh. Anyone who's thinking it's only in Bangladesh that people are unsafe, is mistaken.
There are more people worthy of love than feared, so let’s just concentrate on that for now.
2) Male, 29 years old, Journalist:
The attack has sent shudders to many of the sane young civilians. I always feel it is a proximity issue. Such attacks have been taking toll in many places. Some of us sympathize, some don't even notice, thinking they are distant global affairs.
July 1 has proven that the devil has come at our doorstep and in a fashion we have never felt so scared about. It has questioned our trust issues. It has made us insecure and thinks twice about who we hang out with in the society.
This isn't just me but from a bunch of young people that I’ve spoken to. I feel very unsafe.
3) Female, 31 years old, Development worker, mother of a baby girl:
I was affected very harshly at the initial stage. I remember walking down the street in my usual shalwar kameez and it suddenly hit me that my arms were uncovered. I panicked.
Added to all this was the fact that my child’s daycare had closed down and even when it did open, I was scared. Would I be able to ever leave my child alone anywhere? Life was at a standstill.
But then I decided I couldn't go on like this. I could not let this one incident take control of my life. So I chose to be not scared anymore. I don't think "desher obostha onek kharap"; this could have happened anywhere and is happening everywhere.
My mom keeps on saying “orna poro na keno tumi ei obosthaye!” But I choose to wear what feels comfortable for me.
Maybe because I usually travel by a car that I don’t feel like I need to cover up more than I used to.
4) Female, 33 years old, Independent consultant, Women’s Rights Activist:
I wear orna randomly, always have but then I like scarves anyway. Sometimes I hate it that I feel better if I have an orna when I walk in the streets, but then I have also accepted that it's okay to give in to that.
Under the current circumstances, it took me almost a month to be alright to walk on the streets or take a rickshaw by myself. It also took me extra courage to NOT wear an orna on the street and the first time I was able to do so post 7/1 felt scary but liberating.
I have had to go through unforgivable mental ups and downs in the past two months. I don’t know how I feel anymore. A friend’s cousin and an associate had gotten out alive from Holey, some had not been as lucky, I have had to help LGBT guys fill out a form for assistance since they got a threat letter mentioning their names, strangers have seemed a lot scarier than ever before.
I think what has really helped me is how well my parents have been handling everything. They haven’t freaked out once or asked me to be extra careful. The other week I was telling my mother about a possible consultancy in east Africa, and she said, “If it happens take it up, these are the chances. Never say no to something because you are worried about safety.”
Things are bad and they are bad everywhere. There is no solution for this, and if you plan to shy away now, then you are looking forward to a lifetime of saying no a lot. What really bother me are people saying that you can’t walk on the streets of Dhaka but not having a problem being a tourist in Paris or Thailand.
So yes, things are bad. Be aware of where you are, what’s happening around you, take basic precautionary methods, maybe have emergency protocols in place.
And then, go out and live your life to the fullest.
5) Male, 31 years old, Police Officer, was then living abroad:
I feel pure rage. This made me specifically opt for the counter terrorist unit. I cannot concentrate on my studies. My thesis got affected.
I feel extremely helpless because I cannot immediately join the fight. I am not scared for myself It’s my family I have at home. I have sent my younger sister to abroad and my parents have gone with her. She will stay there, they will come back.
If I am given the opportunity, I want to fight this evil on the field.
6) Female, 26 years old, Private sector worker, Student:
Every day, I would frantically search for news on the Holey Artisan tragedy, on the newspapers and on TV because somewhere in me I felt that I could not fathom the extent of the calamity that had fallen upon us.
One time I remember talking to a friend about Ishrat Apa and telling her how her smiling face made me feel guilty of breathing. I like addressing her as Ishrat Apa although I never knew her because of the tremendous love I feel for her and for all the other victims.
What has changed after July 1st? Everything.
My whole perception about life and existence in my country has changed. I always thought Bangladesh's problems would not and could not go beyond political turmoil or natural disaster but after July 1st, I now know that anything might happen at any time.
I feel like we are living in a perpetual state of dissonance.
7) Female, 33 years old, Development worker, Mother:
I have come to know after this incident that there are people among us who support these activities. Deep down, the hatred has always been there.
They don’t usually express themselves and they are the most dangerous people.
Initially I had freaked out but now everything is back to normal. I am worried about my son though. I do not know which school to put him in, worried about who will be his friends, scared whether I will be able to bring him up as a good liberal human being.
For myself, I don’t worry much. If something bad has to happen it will happen, what we can do best is be cautious and careful. Leaving the country or running away is not a solution!
8) Male, 30 years old, Entrepreneur:
The July 1st incident has had a profound impact on the collective psyche of the residents of Dhaka, in fact all of Bangladesh. The youth of the city has been trying to make sense of such ruthless acts, perpetuated by some of the people who could be their “friends”.
Personally, it has made me more skeptical of those around me. I am very much aware of a general shift in the perspective as to how I perceive others around me; mostly with a questioning look, wondering if they could be the possible perpetrator of the next such brutality.
My mother worries about what I wear now. She doesn’t feel comfortable letting me go out in a Panjabi. My 14 year-old cousins don’t want to go to school, for they worry there might be an attack there. Another young cousin asked my sister to take down some memorable pictures taken at Holey Artisan Bakery from Facebook. The terrorists have successfully accomplished their goal in debasing the overall sense of security that existed. This has given rise to paranoia. Giving into this paranoia means doing exactly what the terrorists wanted. I have not altered my routine, for I am not going to give into this paranoia.
If you are in the retail sector, there is a very high probability that your business has been adversely affected in the aftermath of the July 1st attack. If you are in the export oriented manufacturing sector, you might not see any changes in the short run. However, the long term revenue curve may still be erratic, albeit the buyers promise of not moving their business elsewhere. The overall situation is not one where one can be optimistic.
Unemployment would be on the rise, investment in the economy has a real chance of falling. This means that those trying to find employment will be disheartened. The overall climate is not one, under which economic growth will be achieved.
Moving within the city has become more difficult due to security concerns. How, then, will goods and people move freely?
9) Female, 30 years old, Visual media artist:
It took me almost one month to start my normal life. It was like an emotional roller coaster.
First thing I felt was an unbearable pain, not only for those you died but also for this country. I could not take that truth all I could think was not MY motherland! Then I started to dig into how these men could have become so vicious. I talked to my family members; brother, sisters, niece, nephews, to understand their states of mind.
That night for sure I grew up a bit. I was closer to Allah than ever before, I felt closer to love than ever before and that night took away my fear. Every time I prayed and on my jayenamaaz I uttered Allahu Akbar, Allah made sure that I did not forget to pray for all the victims of July 1st.
We are from one and we will go back to the one. This world is a drama and we all are acting here. This body is nothing but a cage.
But our soul, where we are true, knows no divination. There we are one and to the one we belong!
And then there is me.
I am 30 years old, a young-ish Bangladeshi woman working in an international organization, an activist for women’s rights, a feminist and an artist.
I did not sleep for a month after. Most nights comprised of less sleep and more nightmares. I heard voices screaming, bombs going off, bullets being fired and phantom knocks on the door when I closed my eyes. So after a point I just didn't.
Let's just say my apartment was very very clean!
Adding my voice to these stories is important because July 1st haunts us all in many ways that cannot always be defined or understood.
It haunts us because it SO EASILY could have been one of us or someone we love. It affects an immense portion of our identity. It is of and by people whose shoes we can so easily step into. It is directly our lives being affected and it is the proof that we can no longer ignore the nearly 60 other individuals who had been systematically hunted and murdered in Bangladesh by religious extremists. July 1st is not an independent incident.
So here it is; ten young people with 10 different stories about one incident that has irreversibly changed all of our lives. These stories represent only a small portion of many countless stories. A small reflection of why, we as a generation, living and warm-blooded may never know where we belong, again.
As a group, not only of these 10 people but a generation we are suffering from PTSD and we must learn to cure ourselves in order to move forward.
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