e_Paper_Thursday_December 30, 2016

22
FRIDAY, DECEMBER 30, 2016
DT
Opinion
Oppressors and exploiters, be careful
The plight of the Santals is nothing if not heart-wrenching
• Zahir Ahmed and Fiaz Sharif
It’s winter in late November
2016. We are accompanied by
a local Santal young man to
visit the Gobindaganj Santal
villages since the massacre in early
November. There is a sense of an
external intervention instantly
from the wire fence around the
crop fields.
Near the temporary
accommodation given to the
evicted villagers, are posters
written in both Bangla and Santal
languages. Whilst not explained,
these posters have statements
which convey the nature of
dissatisfaction -- they are merely
another form of protest.
While the posters are a visual
representation of the Santal, taken
from their muddy house walls
around the villages, the messages
reflect and convey the historical
roots of their struggle, focusing
on some elements of the glorious
historical movements led by
heroes like Kanu and Sidhu whilst
appealing to the government to
give their land back.
They read: “It is our land, we
used to own it” … “Honorable
administration, find our
disappeared individuals” …
“Stop filing cases against the
Santals” … “It is impossible to stop
indigenous peoples’ movement
with a gun.”
Some slogans are written in
in the Santali language: “Diku
pera janum jati Husiar Husiar”
(the oppressors and exploiters,
be careful); “Sidhu kanu rakapen,
hule hul hule hul, bagda farm hasa
lagit, Hule hul hule hul” (wake up
the successors of Sidhu-Kanu,
wake up the inhabitants of Bagda
farm).
Not surprisingly, the legacy of
the Santals’ current protest is more
complex than the official version
would have us believe.
Some Santal farmers showed
their anger with a grimace when
we wanted to talk more. They
said that the whole affair is a bit
disappointing -- they have been
frequently asked similar questions
by numerous journalists and
activities. Nothing was beneficial
to them. They argue: “All are
with the leaders and the sugar
mill authority. Do you have a
solution?”
Some villagers told us that
they had lost household property.
When the district administration
sent food as relief, the protestors
did not receive it although they
had been hungry for three to four
days.
A group of individuals gave an
Will the Santals ever get their land back?
eloquent description of the recent
massacre: “The political thugs
are obsessed with death and see
it around every corner and our
blood drips from every plant in the
field. The only way to live in such
a terrifying world is to leave our
ancestral lands.”
Mongol Mardee is standing
beside the wire fence, looking at
the paddy fields with blood-thirsty
eyes. We have walked the short
distance here from his demolished
house, with its makeshift
dwelling, where we saw that many
others have been compelled to
lead sub-human lives as attackers
have vandalised and set their
homes ablaze, looted everything,
including food grains, valuable
things, and domestic animals.
Mardee doesn’t like living as
a refugee in his own ancestral
land. He says: “Seeing the wire
fence and giant machine which
has harvested their green paddy,
brings indescribable pain. We met
some mill officials near the fields.
We have asked them a very simple
question: ‘Why are the officials in
the field?’ They replied that the
court had ordered them to harvest
the paddy as early as possible.”
The story highlights how, within
the minority context, the official
statement is motivated. Yet,
whilst land-grabbing politics is
evident, efforts are made to ignore
them. The hidden political view
is rendered apolitical via the
anodyne language and benevolent
efforts. Within this context,
the apparently philanthropic
transcripts of the players involved
in the massacre can be understood
as a form of governance in which
the entitlement rights of the
minority that cause the massacre
are not interrogated, the status
quo remains unquestioned, and
neo-liberal ideologies asserted.
On our return to Dhaka, we
stopped again in front of the wire
fence. Hemonto Tudu of Madarpur
squats patiently in front of the
fence, staring through the barbed
wire into the paddy fields.
It’s a new world to him -- new
management with giant machines
to harvest, a new place where
police are deployed, mill workers
turned into agricultural labourers
with trousers and helmets, and
security regulations strictly
upheld.
A placard near the entrance
declares the area protected.
Further on, a big power tiller is
neatly parked next to paddy straws
to till the land for sugar cane
plantation.
This is a new world to Hemonto,
one beyond his imagination.
He was narrating his past days
when he used to pass this field
across narrow muddy paths that
led him into his Joypur home
village with his cattle. It is because
of this contrast that Hemonto is
MEHEDI HASAN
While the posters are visual representation of the Santal, taken from
their muddy house walls around the villages, the messages reflect
and convey the historical roots of their struggle
here. He could not stop crying
about the recent massacre, about
how brutally demolished were the
houses.
He is now helpless, hanging
around the wire fences with his
matted hair and lunatic eyes.
Before we part towards
Gobindaganj, and Hemonto Tudu
heads back to his temporary
shelter, he takes our hands and
makes a request that, wherever we
have a chance to do something for
them in Dhaka, we should.
His words haunted us as we
later sped down a tarmac road to
Dhaka. •
Dr Zahir Ahmed is a Professor,
Department of Anthropology,
Jahangirnagar University. Fiaz Sharif is
an MPhil Researcher, Department of
Anthropology, Jahangirnagar University.